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October 16, 2022 / barton smock

final installment of Lou Poster’s ‘The Kindness of Strangers’ ( at Schuylkill Valley Journal

As said before, if you read everything from bones to palms, or read nothing between two hells, or need the whole to place you in parts, you owe it to yourself to read this dense and gutting first work by Lou Poster, who writes backward and sets a trap for touch. 

The final installment of Lou Poster's 'The Kindness of Strangers' is up at The Schuylkill Valley Journal.

October 13, 2022 / barton smock

( anymore I just say it again 2020

Glacial, this spiritual panic. But also, sudden. The bluest of left fields. I know the order of the last three deaths I was near and I know the order I put them in. I am up most nights either sick or wondering why I am not. Circa 1995 I was driving Gen home, it was late, and a cop pulled me over for a dim license plate light and he made us describe to him what we were wearing while he shook his flashlight as if fire had discovered him and had kneeled. It took some time to get home that night. Time, long as nakedness. As a kid I cried for years after hearing of the soul but really it was about this one toy I wanted to take to heaven. And now I have these four children who can cry backward. Who can die. Who can be secretly sad but even moreso secretly happy. Poetry knows we only learn to read once, and doesn't know that there's nothing younger than sleep. My hand has been a handful of hospital snow.
October 13, 2022 / barton smock

( well 13 years ago

SONS       (mostly for Noah)

i.

even  
if under 
your breath: saying

damn.  asking
a man 
in a wheelchair
about weather.  not liking

halloween.  laughing
even
if under
your breath

when your sister
drops a seashell.  reading

poetry.  aloud.

blowing smoke
into a room
where your mother
makes

a bed.  also, 

ii.

dying
is rude.
October 13, 2022 / barton smock

( I don’t have time to be smart but I am afraid

so a quickly compiled loosely categorized list of horror/thriller movies for Halloween that I'd recommend, some recent some not, I don't have time to be smart, no debate though bc I'm right, if I said something about the thing then what I said will be included:

CLASSY/PSYCHOLOGICAL:

(The Night) - Psychologically patient, Kourosh Ahari’s The Night is a knockout of a horror film that follows a couple and their child long enough that something behind us begins to live with the guilt of being temporary. With the dual portals of imagery and language, the performances by Shahab Hosseini and Niousha Jafarian go from ghost to ghost, barrier to obstacle, knowing that a shallow grave is deeper than a jump scare and that one eye is never surprised there’s a second. 

(Thelma)

(You Won't Be Alone) - Goran Stolevski's You Won't Be Alone is an awestruck and forged thing of first creatures and last acts that makes up both words and silence and puts them together to say body in a way that doesn't forget the teeth or how to pull them from the stories of the horribly bitten and damn if the lit work of Noomi Rapace, Alice Englert, Sara Klimoska, and Anamaria Marinca doesn't keep a lonely fire, hold the quiet, and give it air.

(Nanny) - Elegantly untouched by director Nikyatu Jusu, who knows that stories are owed their belongings, Nanny is a delayed stunner of a film that never feels behind or slow but instead, and in line with the spiritual and physical fluidity of Anna Diop's fictile performance, stops and starts in a depth that feels both timeworn and newly doomed. 

CREATURAL:

(Hatching) - Misshapen and willful, Hatching is a vividly off-kilter horror movie of painted-on happiness and colored-in connections in which director Hanna Bergholm gives us both the double lives of the dead inside and the lonely ghosting of those unsurprised to be caught on camera.

(Antlers)

(The Swarm)

FUCKING DISTURBING:

(Speak No Evil) - An arrival numb to departure, Christian Tafdrup's Speak No Evil is an out-of-body duet unsung by people too close to partnership and camaraderie to see a single evil let alone name any tune not already on another's tongue. It is important that a film this alone remain within itself at length, or forever, and with performances and visuals that achieve both the hermetic and wild, it painfully and almost perfectly leaves itself an inheritance of inaction and etiquette enough to afford its callous but necessary payoff.

(The Swerve) - The Swerve is both ascent and descent, is both invite and mousetrap, and is all so slowly and elegantly killed. What Azura Skye does in this film is dissolving, and with the lower beauties that her performance is able to unearth, she is able to replace being looked over with being decidedly invisible. If cure has no choice that poison hasn’t already tried, then illness is all of the above.

(What Josiah Saw) - Creatively and gloriously unreliable, Vincent Grashaw's difficult and restoring What Josiah Saw chooses how it begs and gets two-headed performances from all involved. Nick Stahl gives his ghost a ghost, Scott Haze retraces steps that didn't touch the earth, Robert Patrick closes every space in which he appears, and Jake Weber gets the story wrong with a menace that kills the right. But, damn, this is really Kelli Garner's movie. From the moment Garner's Mary puts the path in her path with the body language of anti-destination, the movie makes a scenic witness of its periphery and goes about vicariously burning itself beside the salvage of Garner's nervously resigned vision.

(Resurrection) - While keeping confession pinned beneath the unholy ripple of Tim Roth's flickering muscle of a performance, Resurrection, as guided and committedly freed by director Andrew Semans, is a film of secret chaos and bodily left turns that lovingly loses its permission to a possessed and wholly overtaken showing from Rebecca Hall. While surely mad and caringly unpredictable, it wouldn't be able to talk its tongues without the work that Grace Kaufman does as a child who moves the happening from under the accident with a waiting lonely enough to cradle the hurting young and uncarried old.

(The Dark and The Wicked) - The Dark and The Wicked is a hopeless beauty of a film, and Marin Ireland and Michael Abbott, Jr. use the sibling performance of their lived-in bodies to avoid possession and give us something humanly frightening. After this and In The Radiant City, am thinking they were born to play siblings.

(Kill List)

UNSUNG AND OFF:

(Triangle)

(Come True) - Come True as directed by Anthony Scott Burns is a film of impulsive longevity that crops trauma and isolation with the yield of sleep. I’m not sure how many left fields one can come out of, but was glad for how Julia Sarah Stone centered her performance and guided her character as touch to the overly handled. If you need to leave something behind, I’d suggest watching this film once today and then once tomorrow if you can get there.

(Moloch)

(Reunion)

(Caveat)

FUN TRASH OR CLASSY SLASHER:

(Hunter Hunter) - Hunter Hunter, as directed by Shawn Linden, is a slowburn resignation of hunger and skin that seems it might close in on itself only to come loose like a B-movie rabbit jumping from the reappeared hat with a half-human hand in its mouth. Grim magic that knows violence when it sees it, and knows also how to make itself scarce when needed.

(X)

(Bodies Bodies Bodies)

(Sissy) - Sissy, as directed by Hannah Barlow and Kane Senes, stops time long enough for its slasher sensibilities to overtake both homage and mantra with the faster sisters of fomo and isolation all while tracking the otherworldly un-mirrored performance of Aisha Dee as it duels for the same safe-space nostalgia and the right to say to everyone and to no one 'if it's not in the frame, it didn't happen yet'. Dee is exodus and revelation, and moves the end times back into the middle where belief must re-earn its brutal beginnings. Full of backhanded admittance and disappearing permissions, this movie is proudly and gloriously someone's fault.

~

And finally, and so unfairly maligned, imperfect but beautiful, I have to also recommend (The Empty Man)
October 10, 2022 / barton smock

installment seven of Lou Poster’s ‘The Kindness of Strangers’ ( at Schuylkill Valley Journal

Part seven of Lou Poster's 'The Kindness of Strangers' is up at Schuylkill Valley Journal.

It's dark in here. So dark, one can see.

October 7, 2022 / barton smock

( works, a note, etc

privately self-published works, pay what you want:

rocks have the softest shadows, 237 pages
poems, Dec 2020
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo: @Barton-Smock-2
or CashApp: $BartonSmock

untouched in the capital of soon, 187 pages
poems, Sept 2021
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo: @Barton-Smock-2
or CashApp: $BartonSmock

blood to bathe us in its blue past, 217 pages
poems new and selected, May 2022
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo: @Barton-Smock-2
or CashApp: $BartonSmock


*be sure to include your mailing address in the comments of the order. any questions can be directed to bartonsmock@yahoo.com

a note:

Most of my work is privately self-published via Lulu. The work I privately self-publish is designated as pay-what-you-want. I don't usually have hard copies of my work on my person...so, when one orders any of these works via my venmo/cashapp/paypal...I order the book at that point from Lulu, and send it. So, if one wants a work autographed, I order the work, send it to myself, sign it, and then send it on from there. As such, there is no print run nor stash of author copies. I don't care how anyone does what they do. I like the doing, and care for it in all of its forms. But one shouldn't misunderstand the shape, especially if they want to take it.
October 6, 2022 / barton smock

aparture iii

Two misidentified boys in a field of handstands are having a funeral for a bicycle. Their fathers aren’t dead but bring the same car horn to every town. How about that field. I am not crushed when sleep forgets how to hold me. 
October 6, 2022 / barton smock

( words toward film, God’s Country

Director Julian Higgins navigates the difficult and earned God's Country as a map redrawn of a land scarred by permission, sacrifice, and, finally, invitation. Nothing here is god-given- not character, not spirit, not image. Thandiwe Newton is radar and blip, and never fails to locate the strayings of her lived-in living out. What a performance. If fire and flood, here, are the easier answers, then what a mercy that the last scene poses a devastating ask in a new nothingness where the local and the symbolic abandon each other equally.
October 5, 2022 / barton smock

aparture ii

I can be in the wrong room for days and not see my sons. I heard recently that the child of god and death wasn't here soon enough to live forever. Fuck. Write in pencil, like a ghost. 
October 4, 2022 / barton smock

Erin Wilson’s ‘Blue’, from Circling Rivers

Had the inner and outer honor of saying something toward Erin Wilson's 'Blue'. Inclusion is the fullest art. Lovely book.

~

Praise for Blue:

Invigorating, inventive, and remarkably honest, Blue sparks from “only the suggestion of a few bones” “a strong urge to know / each magnificent unraveling spire in pure light.” These poems tell the story of a life at risk of spilling over the edge of the page, capturing the magnitude of a restless, relentless search for both wound and healing. These are poems born of a kind of wrought faith that, despite all the breaking, language still might bring us closer to each other, and closer to ourselves. Wilson has given us a heady, intoxicating experience, a fascinating collision of tradition and innovation, all exquisitely layered in self, art, tenderness, and a rich testament to the ever-present need for risk and empathy. 
— John Sibley Williams, As One Fire Consumes Another and Skin Memory

These poems are startling and joyful at once… With such daring, Wilson illuminates a universe that hurts us to see. But she accounts for the days in Blue with such humility and restraint that it is a gift. To read this book is first to be saddened, winded, and then to be surprised by joy. 
— Emily Tristan Jones, editor Columba

Erin Wilson’s Blue is a work of radical worry that brushes over the invisible fossil of location with a verse that paints sons and mothers into corners so sharply that it separates survival and existence long enough that losses grieve differently over the same portion of brevity. I loved this book. For the vague science of its radiance, for its reverse resurrections, for the timestamps its poetry puts on the disorientation of the parent and the parented, for its carrying of a sorrow that remains unpaid by sadness, and, most of all, for trying to keep with color a nothingness from going bad. 
— Barton Smock, Skin To Skin In An Unmarked Life and Ghost Arson

Book is HERE