originally appeared in third coast. lots forthcoming this summer…
Thanks to sweet and wonderful D.A.Powell for soliciting this poem for Nomadic Ground, who puts poems in their bags of coffee. You can read the other poems of this quarter and buy coffee here. It means so much to me that these poems from “Like Nebraska” are being embraced so mightily by the world. Alaska Quarterly Review is about to take quite a few, maybe over 10 pieces. “Like Nebraska” is pretty much all I wrote for the past few years. I feel like the work is paying off. The work is paying off.
This poem of mine is in the final issue of Interrupture, a journal which I’ve admired for a long time. The editors were generous enough to invite all past contributors to send a poem for inclusion. I had two poems in their June 2012 issue, one which made it into Meet Me Here At Dawn (with a slight revision) and one which did not, which is here:
I know why this poem didn’t make it into the book… I simply don’t feel it’s as strong as some of the others. I can see revising this one some day…..dismantling it, seeing what its made of, what it could be….. maybe it is meant for another book, another time. it’s always interesting to return to old poems, to see the words we didn’t know were a part of us. Here, for me, it is the word unlatch….
Fare thee well, Interrupture. Thank you for being a platform for lovely work in this world, for including me.
“Meet Me Here at Dawn is a book of scrutiny and of elegy. Klahr moves with grace through topics of infidelity, age, pregnancy, and loss—but it is an uncommon grace of grim determination….In a time when language itself is under increased attack, when telling the truth is jarring and unexpected, this is the poetry we need.” – Colorado Review
“Not since Anne Sexton’s Love Poems have I read a book that so unflinchingly captures both the intense passion and the loneliness of an affair…..Klahr sheds light on powerlessness, on an often epic struggle against desire, one that—even with its suggestions of animalism—is supremely human.” – words + sweet photo by Fork & Page
this year has been full of such grace and heartache and unexpectedness so far.
writing to you from a field in Nebraska, full of crickets and wind.
In the coming months, I’ll have work in The New Yorker, Ploughshares, Zyzzyva, Blackbird, and AGNI. “You’re really blowing up,” said to me yesterday, by way of congratulations, for The New Yorker acceptance. The truth is, I’m hunkering down. I let the poems live on their own for awhile. For a long while. These days, I don’t submit any work that’s under two years old — I revise and revise and revise. I trust my gut. I follow the example I’ve found in Eduardo C. Corral, who seems to hold his poems close for a long time. I don’t overestimate my first thought, my first spark of love for a poem — there is no rush. I believe in Rilke’s suggestion that everything is gestation, then birthing. Everyone has their own way. But I know how changeable I am. Perhaps my writing is the one thing I am really, in some deep essential way, willing and able to let go of.
happy september. i hope the fall finds you well.