The element of surprise: Pif Magazine

Pif Magazine

Given the scheduled sequence of my reviews, it was with the sincerest of intentions that I endeavored to review an online literary website in serious need of a reality check. And so, with beady, sweat brimmed eyes, and my arched hunch of meanness shifting into position, I began looking for sites with even the slightest hint of inadequacy; clumsy HTML, clashing color panes, the shameless placement of ads, and of course, my favorite, the obvious forum for self-published first-time writers desperate to legitimate their existence through some hurried, slapdash online rag. Yes, after earning two degrees and a teaching credential, it is to this that I have succumbed...moo hoo ha ha!

I kid.

But of course, I had indeed set my thermonuclear-literary-critic-targeting-device upon Pif Magazine. I was ready; I sensed blood, the letter worn surfaces of my keys were longing for the adrenaline propelled press of my fingers, especially after stumbling across this enticing statement:

"We pride ourselves on working with new and emerging writers and artists. To this end we tend to shy away from previously published works, but will consider anything that is of high-quality, intriguing, and of interest to our readers."

My first instinct, amateurs: a ham-handed, albeit candid, excuse for entry level work that literary enthusiasts should nonetheless feel obligated to suffer through. After all, even novices deserve a high profile medium through which to hone their skills. Right?

Well, I am happy to state that I was grossly mistaken.

Pif Magazine, a print and online literary website, run by Lissa Richardson and Derek Alger (and staff), offers a surprisingly wonderful and varied collection of fiction, poetry, essays, interviews, and art work.

I was also impressed by the website's aesthetic design; ripped, ink stained borders, crinkled edges and textured surfaces successfully mimic the look and feel of print. The site's choice of aqua blue, sea green, and muted pink for color theme is pleasing and easy on the eyes. There are also a lot of well-placed design elements such as pop-ups when a cursor hovers above a recommended book selection, floating image banners, and a convenient drop down categories menu. My only complaint is the general sluggishness of the website; scrolling and clicking are always accompanied by an almost full second delay (sad isn't it, how impatient us web browsers have become).

After reading Pif's introductory disclaimer about catering to first time, unpublished writers, I was wholly surprised after reading Sheyene Foster Heller's creative nonfiction entry, California. This is not the work of a starry eyed literary neophyte. California is a facile, bold, and introspective exploration of a mother's struggle to manage the lingering psychological impact of early childhood isolation against the present challenges of life, work and family. But it doesn't end there. In the following passage, Heller anxiously reflects on her initial and enduring fascination with older men at the expense of suitable mates closer to her age:

"Their foreheads were too smooth, their bodies too unformed, like a block of clay dough straight out of the package. I knew it would take years of experience to form them, to give them the lines and curves and character I found interesting. Somebody had to shape them, and be shaped along with them."

Heller's piece also reveals the tensions and frustrations that accompany having a child (in her case, a stepson) with special needs. And despite such myriad personal and interpersonal complexities, Heller's narrative is never sentimental or forced.

Most of Pif's entries are solid, which then prompted me to do some research. Pif is hardly an exclusive site for first time writers. Most of the artists featured have at least some form of established publishing credits (even a casual, random search of artist profiles uncovered several with MFAs and Ph.ds), and Pif seems to have plenty of connections with reputable arts organizations. Either way, I truly enjoyed perusing and exploring Pif. This is a top notch sight well worth bookmarking and visiting regularly.

The West Coast's answer to the New Yorker: Slake Magazine

Slake: Los Angeles

Besides the accomplished fester of strung-out screen writers, obscure, self-aggrandizing university auteurs, and below them the naive and wide-eyed wannabes itching for their shot at instant fame, Los Angeles has yet to produce an iconic literary journal that can successfully embody the city's diverse social and cultural demographic. There is, however, a new Mag in town, and one that is putting forth considerable effort to establish itself as the go-to source for all that concerns the city beyond the glitz, gloss, and glamor.

Slake, recently co-founded by former L.A. Weekly editors Laurie Ochoa and Joe Donnelly, is a quarterly journal whose stated aim is a devotion "to the endangered art of deeply reported narrative journalism and the kind of polished essay, memoir, fiction, poetry and portrait writing that is disappearing in a world of instant takes and unfiltered opinion." It is an ambitious agenda, and one that is being given wide acclaim by the LA Times, public radio (KPCC), and by an esteemed list of inaugural Slake contributors.

Although Slake's online presence is limited to excerpts and previews, they offer a satisfactory glimpse into the range of works featured in their main print publication. Certainly, it wouldn't take much for Slake to publish even a handful of exclusive selections online, as their general layout is clearly the work of seasoned web-developers.

Set against a blue gossamer background, Slake's homepage is designed for simplicity: across the top is a horizontally scrollable list of articles, each marked by a distinctive cover unique to the writer's content, followed by Slake's introductory statement positioned at the center while directly below a tiered promotional plea and a current list of contributors.

In terms of content, Slake casts a wide net. Take for example Anne Fishbein's "The Secret Lives of Stiffs," an article exploring Acme's eerie display of mannequins in its downtown Los Angeles showroom:

"At times we walk past these working stiffs without a second glance - their presence is so familiar that we don't question their odd existence. But sometimes a mannequin's outstretched hand, its fingertips seemingly reaching for some kind of connection, give us pause."

It's a fitting topic given the revolving veneer of trends that characterize LA fashion, and which subsume and homogenize the passions and interests of ogling downtown shoppers. Fishbein's series of pictures depicting mannequins in a variety of still poses forces the viewer to confront and question its own emotional and substantive depth, or lack thereof.

Arty Nelson's "Abstract L.A." surveys a revitalized movement in abstract art that is unique to Los Angeles. Nelson's review offers a convincing argument that despite risking the same mistakes of old - namely, total exhaustion of the genre's ability to maintain its inchoate energy - these new works of abstraction are indeed full of "intriguing techniques" that "[include] the deconstruction of the canvas, the use of stencils, [and] even the exposure of treated surfaces to heat." Of the abstract artists Nelson discusses and whose work he shows, I particularly enjoyed Dianna Molzan's ability to extend her medium beyond paint and canvas, and with a minimalist bent no less, and the fabric based artwork of Matthew Chambers, whose strips of colored cloth for canvas create a warm, spiraling effect of texture that is sure to appeal to the wealthy, Eco-friendly garbed L.A. earth mother.

There are also plenty of essays and poetry, although Ray DiPalma's poem, "33," does more to tell than show through an intangible and unnecessarily disjointed sequence of ambiguous imagery:

"Individual traits and external expedients, pauses and omissions-
the imaginary tracks of compulsive reality and fine detail,
an investment in contradictions
caught between layers of purple and scarlet light
amid the eerie scent of cold smoke"

In contrast, the consistency of quality demonstrated in Slake's essays addressing a myriad of issues affecting Los Angeles is impressive. C.R. Stecyk's "Fortress L.A." is a magnificent expose on the ever present military-industrial complex located throughout Los Angeles. Stecyk charts the industry's earliest experimentation in their attempts to break the sound barrier to the advanced surveillance technologies and remote controlled UAVs that comprise the industry's death machinations today. Stecyk's article shocks readers into acknowledging the hard realities of not only our world's obsession with perpetual war, but also our complicity in its maintenance.

Slake's enthusiasm to establish itself as the West Coast's answer to the New Yorker is both a bold and uncertain endeavor. Nevertheless, so long as Slake is able to sustain its inaugural depth and scope of content, as well as embracing the web in the near future, they are certain to garner considerable respect and attention.

A Journal in 80s Neon

Los; Contemporary Poesy & Art

In middle school, I was a fairly typical-looking child of twelve; a tangle of awkwardly sized limbs, large feet, and an oval-shaped head that bobbed shyly whenever eye contact was demanded. I was also very poor, the son of a visual artist still struggling to make a name for himself whose meager source of income subsisted mainly on selling paintings at various weekend mall shows, corner tucked municipal festivals, and makeshift beachfront carnivals. Of course, it was also our family's creativity that helped sustain us through difficult times.

I mention this because I often forget some of the more idiosyncratic events that shaped my young life, and it was not until this article's review of the online literary journal "Los; contemporary poesy & art" that I remembered one of the more humorous incidents that influenced - or shall I say, traumatized - my middle school years.

At one point during the eighties, anything neon was considered fashion forward. And how I envied my peers for their name brand fluorescent bright green and pink t-shirts against black shorts cut just above the knee...oh yeah. Of course, these suckers were expensive, but sensing my disappointment and not to be outdone, my jack-of-all-trades father discovered a solution. On a sunny late afternoon, while pedaling furiously on my bicycle, I saw him come home with a generic set of neon-colored t-shirts and shorts tucked under his arms.

"But Dad, these don't have a logo!" I yelled shamelessly.

In response, my father, applying his knowledge of the process of silk screening, drew up and copied two name brand logos which he then transferred onto the surfaces of his stock neon t-shirts. And voila! The next day I levitated into class as bright as a glow stick.

Now, before some company, 20 years later, seeks to bust my dad for this innocent offense, I must offer the disclaimer that this was a one-time deal and was never, at any point, sold to market. This was merely a poor father's attempt to help out a son.

Is this a review of an online journal?

Yes, because the moment you click on Los's website, you will be struck by an absurd display of the most reckless alternating neon colors ever to be graced since the 1980s. It only took three painful seconds before I was forced to turn away and close my eyes while screaming bloody murder.

After the throbbing, searing pain subsided, I again faced my computer screen, but this time, wearing the kind of darkly-colored shades that only post-operative Lasik eye surgery patients are given. Frankly, I can't even begin to fathom how the editors of Los arrived at the conclusion that eye-piercing neon makes for an attractive layout, let alone expecting a user-friendly reading experience. And it gets worse, its list of past contributors are all marked in fluorescent light green. Wow.

Although the site's organization is comprehensible, it is far from intuitive; the home page depicts a running textual excerpt written in what appears to be size 34 font. I had to scroll around a bit before realizing that a small partitioned box at the upper left hand corner of the home page is the table of contents, listing the following four categories: "texts," "art," "correspondence," and "sites."

Los's content is a witty mix of the historical, polemical, and political. As a collection the entries are adequately vetted for quality (still, a few disappointments do abound), and although sometimes abstruse, they are almost always intriguing. Here is a passage from Sean Brendan-Brown's dystopian poem, Benedictus:

On deck our freshly caulked clipper
Akiko (Japanese for "fall") we bid
the Twentieth Century farewell
with Safe&Sane brand fireworks;
ashore the condo cave-dwellers
tend the winter landscape with Adam's
Needle, dogwood, and Bright Edge;
may blooms and birds fill sieved skies
and sea-beasts flourish in scoured seas:
the consequence of cyberspace was once
the best selling dreamboat in Athens.

Los also features the works of visual artists who, for the most part, seem second fiddle to the site's published poets. Take for example Christopher Mulrooney's unimpressive photography of beach scenes whose stylistic perspective is no better than some laymen's passing snapshot of the same landscape. His Wilshire Blvd. street and building shots; however, do show some promise, although again, there's no unique angle to be discerned, other than the drab images of building facades that fill his collection.

Alright, now go ahead and dig out your old neon garb, put on Grandma's shades, and sift through some of Los's trove of brightly-colored PoMo; for the most part, it's worth the pain.

The internet as a virtual museum: The Central California Poetry Journal

The Central California Poetry Journal

I regret to admit that it was only after reading a news report describing how family members and friends of the Pacific Gas & Electric Co. explosion victim, Jessica Morales, are using Facebook to share their shock and dismay that I began to fully recognize the value of the internet as a permanent digital repository for preserving the legacy of one's life. In light of this tragic incident, I've also been forced to reassess my hitherto smug and dismissive attitude toward the thousands of online literary journals that for any number of reasons have been largely abandoned by editors, writers, and readers alike. It's no longer convenient for me to categorize them as merely the virtual remains of poor quality websites whose perpetual anonymity is deserved. Although many are indeed half-hearted attempts whose naive and immature content are rightly to be cast aside, if not deleted entirely (arrogance be gone!), some are in fact veritable virtual environments where the work, passion, and history of once thriving subcultures and modes of expression can and should be accessed for inspiration and reflection.

One such site I feel worthy of repeat visits is Scott Galloway's The Central California Poetry Journal, an electronic subsidiary of Solo Publications. Officially run and maintained from 1996 to 2003, Galloway's journal offers a vibrant collection of nature poems focused on the topics and themes exclusive to the geography of, and issues facing, central California.

In appearance The Central California Poetry Journal is nothing more than Times New Roman font and a running index column providing a straightforward annual publication list of previously featured poets. Click on the name of any poet and the reader will be directed to a brief author bio followed by his or her selected works.

Galloway's online journal (influenced in large part by the poetry of Robinson Jeffers) is by no means comprehensive; rather, it gives readers unfamiliar with the region an introductory, albeit meaningful, inkling into how California's diverse geography can give shape to the poetry of those who've either visited or resided within her borders.

I was therefore pleasantly surprised to chance upon the poetry of fifth generation California native Melisande Luna, whose work is featured in the online journal's 2003 edition:

To Reap

On restless nights I've hammered north,
hooked I-5 towards the valley,
came screaming down the Grapevine;
where August's breath blew
warm and pungent,

reeking of earth and onions:
the scent of Lily's last gasp.
I remember the night her cornflower
eyes set with the stars --
as dusty palms crushed her lips.

Naked, she knelt in furrows
amid mute foliage and chittering
witnesses, who scuttled and chewed,
indifferent to a fast meal's fate.

Alabaster skin encrusted with clay,
her iron tincture blossomed in gullies,
bloodied the vagabond river's loam.

I went to reap memories
of Lily, in the deeply plowed rows,
where breath quit her tiny lungs.
I'd let my footsteps kick up clouds of silt,
puffs as brief as my sister's quick life.

The copper-bite of loss ripened
bitter among the onions,
where I harvested bumper crops.

Luna's word choice and use of imagery to depict the literal and figurative loss of her sister is accomplished with great subtlety and skill. The poet not only succeeds to couch the implication of human loss within the context of personal experience, but also to highlight and embed the contiguous, interdependent and inseparable bond our species shares with nature.

If you're interested in poetry specific to the geography it seeks to represent, and from which it draws its inspiration, then definitely take a moment to peruse The Central California Poetry Journal.

The perfection of simplicity: Blackbird

Blackbird

Regrettable and heartbreaking the aesthetic frill and technological fancy of those websites whose editors are more eager to unwrap the latest version of Adobe Dreamweaver than sustaining upon the arduous task of pursuing and establishing industry relationships that are essential to attracting the best writers, artists, and intellectuals for online publication. Furthermore, the obstacles that nascent online literary journals face in their attempt to surface from the depths of obscurity, especially when they do so without the aid of grants or at least some form of support from an academic institution, are such that a significant portion of my time is spent scouring through a virtual graveyard of long defunct online literary start-ups. Although a few of these abandoned sites are clumsy visual throwbacks to an earlier era in which blocky HTML graphics prevailed, many of these sites are in fact expertly constructed; for all my advocacy of novel web design, the success of, and the quality to be found in, Blackbird: an online journal of literature and the arts clearly proves that good content can still thrive among flashier competitors.

Blackbird is principally the product of the Department of English at Virginia Commonwealth University and the non-profit organization New Virginia Review, Inc. Additional editorial contributions include undergraduate and graduate students, community volunteers, and former alumni. It is because of this seemingly exhaustive willingness to collaborate that Blackbird has managed to cull an impressive list of literary and artistic talent. And I'm not one to flatter.

Although Blackbird's layout does not seek to thrill and stun, its six button navigational toolbar and attendant sidebar menu will never leave readers either wanting or confused: genre categories are distinctly visible, author bios are easily accessible, and a list of works published, either from a current issue or from the archives, is conveniently located regardless of the page viewers may happen to stumble upon. Works featured ranges from poetry, fiction, non-fiction, essays, and streaming audio and video submissions.

Given the popularity of documentary films, the growing trend of video essays among online literary journals is an obvious extension; video essays as a relatively new sub genre offer a wonderful blend of narrative and imagery whose range of innovative possibilities remain largely unexplored.

Take for example one of Blackbird's Spring 2010 feature contributors, John Bresland, whose video essay Mangoes was shot and edited almost entirely using an iPhone. Although Bresland expresses regret in not having utilized advanced video and editing equipment, the transitions, sequences, and narrative dubbing are perfectly suited to the overall tone and mood of his essay: an understated comedic exploration of the unintended consequences of modern conveniences upon the modern family, in which Bresland discusses his initial distaste, reluctance, and eventual acceptance of using a papoose to carry around his infant son.

In closing, Blackbird's published content is consistently strong; also check out Hal Crowther's essay In Defense of Straight-Chuters, in which he emphasizes the importance of confronting life in all its gruesome peril and import, and Dilruba Ahmed's poem Qawwali, a free versed implication of an unrequited form of Sufi prayer on behalf of the world's afflicted and downtrodden.

The promise and pitfall of Postmodernism: The Argotist Online

The Argotist Online

Imagine the following disclaimer after accessing the online version of the New York Times: Some readers have pointed out that the text on the site is difficult to read. To remedy this, there is a freeware program called Readability that lets you change various aspects of a site's presentation and layout for easier reading.

Given the New York Times' reputation for journalistic excellence, most subscribers would, with mild annoyance, forgive and accommodate the inconvenience.

Unfortunately, this is not something novice websites should risk assuming; lazily asking users to download fix-it patch ware, which is exactly what I discovered upon first viewing The Argotist Online, successor to the now defunct The Argotist arts magazine.

It should come as no surprise to those intent on creating a successful website that first time visitors often predict and judge the quality of a site's content based on nothing more than a shallow, casual glance. If the site fails to attract readers based on an initial impression of ease, function, and accessibility, and regardless of how brilliant and insightful the site's content may be, viewer traffic will hardly extend beyond an immediate circle of friends, colleagues and contributors.

Added to The Argotist Online's garish fluorescent yellow disclaimer, is its use of muted white font against a black background, with bright green and blue highlights for works and titles featured; were I not obligated to appraise the entirety of The Argotist Online, I'd have missed indefinitely much that is good about the site's published content.

The Argotist Online is devoted exclusively to poetry and poetics, and what I appreciate most about Jeffrey Side's website is the studied care taken to explore and legitimate a set of philosophies particular to the style of postmodern poetry he's chosen to promote. Two such articles stand out; first is Jeffrey Side's 'Empirical and Non-Empirical Identifiers,' a superb discussion comparing the limitations and elements of conventional, signs based poetry (distinguished by its use of metaphors, similes, and grammatical syntax, to list just a few) to an experimental poetry utilizing inter-textuality, among various other techniques, as a means to invite reader participation in the generation and negotiation of meaning:

Aside from suggesting some further critical tools that may be of use to criticism there is also the possibility that this undertaking will have artistic value in that it may encourage the individual reader to ultimately decide upon the meaning of a poetic text, either unconsciously or by volition. By "volition" I mean the conscious determination of the reader to decide upon any one of a number of associations the words and phrases of any given sentence suggest, and to choose this particular association as the constituent of meaning despite its being the less obvious or appropriate choice (in comparison to the others) given the complete denotative meaning the sentence's lexis implies. This sort of practice is possible because the poetic text is arguably without intentionality: both in the sense of having no meaning inherently, and of the impossibility of its having an authorial intent conferred upon it.

The second article is Eric Denut's interview with Charles Bernstein, Regan Professor of English at the University of Pennsylvania, who offers a compelling defense against the critics of postmodern poetry:

Poetry's social function is to imagine how language works within its culture, while pursuing a critique of the culture; this suggests that poetry can be a countermeasure to the reinforcement of cultural values at the heart of both popular entertainment and consumer politics.

While The Argotist Online boasts an intriguing and distinguished collection of essays, interviews, and articles, exploring a wide array of topics on the philosophy, aesthetics, and cultural significance of poetry, the quality of the poems presented is mixed at best.

Postmodern poetry is immediately problematic; the line that separates effective and meticulously wrought grammatical and stylistic innovation from the slapdash practitioner who breaks rules for no other reason than their inability to first adhere to the rules of convention is fine indeed. Regrettably, there is simply too much mediocre poetry to sift through to warrant a prolonged search for the few jewels that do exist.

Why women should rule the world: Belladonna

Belladonna

Other than a vague and nondescript email address of the purported editor, located in small print at the bottom of Belladonna's main page, one can only assume a quiet, passive-aggressive ensemble of feminist agitators bent on surreptitiously initiating a matriarchal new world order, one word at a time. Of course, I'm being absurd, but Belladonna is indeed a literary online journal focused on the various issues concerning all things Woman. Now, before I delve into a review of Belladonna, I feel compelled to sincerely and emphatically state my wholesale support of anything having to do with feminism; the history of discrimination, oppression, and prejudice women have endured, and continue to endure, should always warrant serious discussion, address, and activism.

After reading Belladonna's description tag posted on an online directory, I expected a bold, incisive, and unabashed exploration of feminist leaning fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and criticism. So too was I under the immediate assumption that the site's appearance would, with equal gusto, challenge many of the accepted conventions of online literary layout and design.

Unfortunately, I was instantly disappointed in Belladonna's unappealing home page; a slapdash of two columns composed of headers inscribed in rectangular buttons against an unflattering, cut-and-paste, black marbled backdrop. Equally frustrating is the site's want of an organized and easily accessible table of contents; with most internet users accustomed to any number of readily convenient, intuitive, and immediately recognizable browsing features, Belladonna's dizzying arrangement is simply unacceptable (it only takes one second of first time user frustration to discourage further exploration).

After agonizing through various pages for at least fifteen minutes, it's clear that Belladonna is essentially a forum where writers congregate to test and practice their craft in a format based on the Japanese manga series, "From Eroica With Love," first popularized by Yasuko Aoike. Limited to a certain number of characters, and loosely structured around a particular set of themes, the writers of Belladonna take alternate turns to fashion, shape, and continue the story almost any which way they please. But then why should readers care, especially when such a format so easily lends itself to attracting an inconsistent collection of writers, many poor, some decent, and even fewer, great?

One of Belladonna's better writers is the anonymously named, "The Disreputable Duck," whose flash fiction contribution, "Moth Attack," offers a humorous and intriguing addition to the Eroica series:

Dorian Red Gloria, the Earl of Gloria, watched idly as his young nephew Philip puttered around the room. Being openly homosexual, Dorian wasn't planning on siring a child, and was thus considering other possibilities for an heir. Philip was his sister Elizabeth's oldest son, and a promising candidate. It was not often that he saw Philip, since the boy's mother was always suspicious that Dorian would be a bad influence. However, ten-year-old Philip was far more interested in his current hobby of pet bugs than in emulating his gay uncle. Dorian was hoping it was just a phase. He'd rather the next Earl of Gloria not be a bug geek.

Full of sexual innuendo, the Duck deftly juggles historical allusion and literary whim while subtly challenging some of the traditional roles assigned to gender identity.

Belladonna also includes several critiques and analyses; one of my favorites being the section entitled, "Gynotopias," which examines the competing perspectives and treatments in literature of both all-male worlds and all-female worlds.

I truly hope the persons responsible for maintaining Belladonna's web presence re-examine the nature of how the site is designed and organized. Although there is much good writing and analysis to be discovered, Belladonna's lack of focus and intuitive design severely hinders its intended goal of attracting and sustaining an audience.

The struggle to sustain and innovate, Arbutus

Arbutus: Reviews & Criticism

It would be inconsiderate and cruel not to admire, respect, and encourage any undergraduate's attempt to pursue and establish a serious literary publication. That then undergraduate students Jeremy Voigt and Jordan Hartt created a respectable online literary site, Arbutus, featuring fiction, non-fiction and poetry, is a wonderful testament not only to the enduring appeal of literature in all its forms, but also to the passion and commitment of its young practitioners. But that was back in 2000, and after ten years of being online Arbutus has neither matured into, nor carved out, a sophisticated and insightful literary presence. Yet this is not to suggest that Arbutus is entirely bereft of technical skill and analytical depth. In fact, most of its articles and samples of works featured do exhibit earnest literary care and endeavor. Take for example, Anselm Parlatore's review of poet Anita K. Boyle's "Bamboo equals Loon":

It is a robust and bracing read. Most of the poems won't let you go. They announce themselves with a sense of urgency and commitment that is at once not only reassuring but also, at times, alarming, yet healing.

Parlatore's analysis is well written and cogent, a playful mixture of literary criticism and artistic advocacy. Unfortunately, and after a studied discussion about the merits of the collection reviewed, I was a bit taken aback after reading an actual excerpt from Boyle's poetry. Notice the incongruity between Palatore's enthusiastic support of Boyle's work and the actual quality of the poem under review:

Don't get me wrong: despite a stunning dexterity in the book's orchestration, these poems are all clear and precise, declarative statements of discrete disclosure. That's where the grace, I mentioned, becomes evident. The poems: "Lure of the Loon" in its entirety;

I was unaware that this world
could become an anxious monstrosity.
But it does hold doubtful comforts
like unearthly calls I hear from the loon at night.
I did not know things out there
would urge me to lose my mind:
beasts and cries and barraging undercurrents
pushed me toward the edge of the world I knew.

Needless to say, I felt somewhat let down and cheated, and not because Boyle's poetry is average, at best, but because Palatore is suspect in her enticement of the reader into believing that "Bamboo equals Loon" is that piece of poetic craft that not only stands to revitalize the genre itself, but which also thoroughly expresses and represents all that ails us hapless denizens of the digital age. And don't get me wrong, Palatore is a fine writer and Boyle's poetry is acceptable; but what is at stake; however, is the founding and maintenance of an online institution reflective of a degree of literary credibility to which Arbutus aspires. Far too many sites exist that either pander to their own set of preferred writers, or seek advancement through the unwarranted praise and adulation of others.