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August 9, 2019 / barton smock

reading from Ghost Arson / Animal Masks on the Floor of the Ocean / MOTHERLINGS

August 8, 2019 / barton smock

no ache

what we’re seeing hasn’t reached us yet. what is it a sister says? a god dies when its coffin is empty?

August 8, 2019 / barton smock

{ mask & mother }

self-published, private, June 2019:

animalmasks

Animal Masks On the Floor of the Ocean, 114 pages, 10.00
poems, June 2019
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo @Barton-Smock-1

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

MOTHERLINGS

MOTHERLINGS, 52 pages, 4.00
poems, June 2019
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo @Barton-Smock-1

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

August 7, 2019 / barton smock

The Last Thing I Wrote Before I Had To Live In A World Without Toni Morrison

SWoods's avatarScott Woods Makes Lists

Yesterday morning I was writing the following notes for an essay:

“Hope is frequently misplaced in the face of white supremacy, by which I mean the wrong people are often asked to have and confer hope, by which I mean black people.

Possessing hope is a personal decision. No one can demand of you to hope for a thing. Hope takes energy, consumes bandwidth, tasks the world around you to rise to an expectation. But white people and black people aren’t talking about the same thing when we talk about hope. Hope is a fluid thing, and when black people apply it, the goal can change from day to day. “I hope I don’t get pulled over today (aka, I hope I don’t get killed today).” “I hope my racist boss isn’t in today (aka, I hope I don’t have to hate myself for biting my tongue today).” Hope for…

View original post 590 more words

August 7, 2019 / barton smock

act ache

as a telescope
skips
loneliness

please love
this octopus
embracing

the outsourced
beehive

August 7, 2019 / barton smock

original ache

younger, I skin my knee in the museum of the dropped jaw. you say blue is a color and I say it’s a clock. god is there and is asking no one we know to leave space for a birthmark. we are somewhere between my grandmother dying and my grandmother dying. a noise outside could have come from this painting of three window-washers kissing the same egg or it could have come from outside.

August 1, 2019 / barton smock

closing ache

you were born that you could be shown where you were left. wasp didn’t get that way trying to move a scar

but a spider can dream

July 31, 2019 / barton smock

{ un, ask }

I. REFLECTIONS, RECENT

on Blue Bucolic, Rebecca Kokitus:
http://isacoustic.com/2019/07/19/blue-bucolic-poems-rebecca-kokitus/

on Our Debatable Bodies, Marisa Crane:
http://isacoustic.com/2019/06/28/our-debatable-bodies-poems-marisa-crane/

on Kill Class, Nomi Stone:
http://isacoustic.com/2019/06/11/kill-class-poems-nomi-stone/

on As One Fire Consumes Another, John Sibley Williams:
http://isacoustic.com/2019/06/09/as-one-fire-consumes-another-poems-john-sibley-williams/

on Emily As Sometimes the Forest Wants the Fire, Darren C Demaree:
http://isacoustic.com/2019/06/05/emily-as-sometimes-the-forest-wants-the-fire-poems-darren-c-demaree/

on Banjo’s Inside Coyote, Kelli Allen:
http://isacoustic.com/2019/05/30/banjos-inside-coyote-poems-kelli-allen/

~

II. WORK, RECENT

https://thecollidescope.wordpress.com/2019/07/07/goodbyes-for-exodus/

~

III. WORK, SELF

non self-published:

Ghost Arson, 15.00
(Kung Fu Treachery Press, Dec 2018)

orders can be made via paypal to ghostarson@gmail.com or by using link:
PayPal.Me/ghostarson

or via Venmo @Barton-Smock-1

*be sure to include your address in the notes field
**all copies will be signed

or one can send a check to:
Barton Smock
5155 Hatfield Drive
Columbus, OH 43232

on amazon:

at barnes & noble:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ghost-arson-barton-smock/1129931893?ean=9781946642868

reviews:

review by Dd. Spungin: https://kingsoftrain.com/2018/11/28/dd-spungins-review-of-ghost-arson/

review by George Salis: https://kingsoftrain.com/2018/12/17/review-by-george-salis-of-barton-smocks-ghost-arson/

~

self-published, private, June 2019:

Animal Masks On the Floor of the Ocean, 114 pages, 10.00
poems, June 2019
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo @Barton-Smock-1

MOTHERLINGS, 52 pages, 4.00
poems, June 2019
can be purchased via paypal (bartsmock@gmail.com)
or Venmo @Barton-Smock-1

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

~

IV. PRAISE, PREVIOUS:

The work of Barton Smock, a prolific mid-western poet, modifies the meaning of Christian Wiman’s idea in that it seeks unceasingly for the spaces between those ‘annihilative silence[s]’ that would pursue us, and for the watchful reader opens some door into human experience in a way that is at once intensely personal and detached. Through the manipulation of both common and cerebral language Smock’s poems maintain a dance between the familiar and the unspeakable. They act as a shout to the silences that curl up in experience- offering some view from the inside of that experience, but never in an expected way.

…The themes of family, abuse, poverty, and alienation figure heavily in the book, but to call this confessional poetry seems a bit out of keeping with what is traditionally considered confessional. He speaks of mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers while also utilizing the first person, but the reader can never be exactly sure who these characters are. They are changeable, and often engaging in nearly surreal activity that might confuse more than enlighten. The key seems to be finding some language to quantify suffering, or some way of qualifying experience out of context – which at moments brings it ever more sharply into sight…

…Smock has found a way to speak for those who don’t perhaps know that they have something important to say; to share. The marginalized child, the grieving mother, the ailing child or sibling- they will all find a voice here, and though it might not be the way they would voice the affliction that rests within them, they are sure to recognize their faces. Whether this is a burden or a blessing remains a judgment to be formed by the individual reader, but I find the poetry…to be full of the intensity of experience in a way that I can’t help but identify and empathize. Something preserved so as not to be forgotten, and perhaps repeated.

~Emma Hall

Speaking of being captivated, when I was in Cleveland’s most exciting new independent bookstore, Guide to Kulchur, I picked up on a whim a few small volumes that appeared to have been published by the author using Lulu. I was so entranced by the seemingly simple but endlessly complex, prickly lyrics that I wrote to the author, Barton Smock, through his blog, kingsoftrain.wordpress.com. He’s been sending me books now and then and his latest, Eating the Animal Back to Life, is just knocking me out. These poems are desperate, tender, wry, alarmed, god-obsessed, and musically driven. Smock is not published by others, he does it all himself…
All the advanced degrees and publishing credentials in the world can’t get you the unspeakable duende that Smock somehow taps into, poem after poem.

~Kazim Ali, from
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2015/11/reading-list-november-2015

~

V. THINGS WHY

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/write-poetry-barton-smock

http://mysmallpresswritingday.blogspot.com/2019/02/barton-smock-my-small-press-writing-day.html

interview by Crystal Stone for Flyway Journal:

Interview with Barton Smock, Author of “Ghost Arson”

~

youtube channel readings:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC6WuSKK8yNnngtdNlb5NfwQ

~

TINYLETTER
https://tinyletter.com/BartonSmock

July 30, 2019 / barton smock

available ache

what we don’t do is tape a dead frog to the chest of a doll and call frog an airbag. what else we don’t is laugh at the woman who with a skateboard and a pool stick retraces the river that took her dog. what we will is look for an ashtray as a ghost might for locust.

July 28, 2019 / barton smock

counter ache

my son trades a mirror for a shadow stuck in the ice and horses won’t eat the trampled birds of my hands. we dream and dream but cannot fog the whale’s eye. it’s a small life. perhaps something will land on the angel’s neck. birth helps god move the body.