Help us fund our 2015 catalogue. Preorder copies of Dandelion Farm & thrown through our IndieGogo: igg.me/at/sggchapbooks2015.
“Dandelion Farm unfolds at once in the darkened jewel-box theater of the skull and on an expanse of lawn as full of green promise as the vowels in the name Mahalia. This series of cycling sketches recalls at once a score, a play, a novelette, a collage, a net for remembering, a spell for calling back. Like a dandelion or a player piano, it plays its delicate song on the points of its golden teeth.”
“thrown is many things: ’round offering itself / as round;’ ‘a kind of milky flight.’ it is irreducible above all, and open at the end, despite its evocation of the act of ‘speaking into a jar’s / closed end.’ …in thrown, time is transformed: word and color and form, all bodies pushing against one another to make a multitude of others. thrown: a pun to sit regally upon. thrown: the sensation of reading and looking—here, in this place.”
“j/j hastain and Marthe Reed depict a visual and auditory change in personal reality and definition. Their stunning reflection upon gender, through combined visual and auditory art, offers a geometric and social music that spares neither cacophony nor pain… The very gender renewal, the ‘urgency in hir,’ affords a blatant beauty in the remarkable rendering of a unified personal and political transformation.”
-Sheila E. Murphy
“With a voice that is plaintive, deft & deceptively straightforward, it is as if Colleen Louise Barry has made an atom bomb out of a pencil, a rubber band & a bandaid. This delightful little book is full of intimacies of dream & sometimes the devastating surprise of waking up.”
“This is the kind of poetry that could keep someone from killing themselves. This is the real deal. Read it out loud from front to back in one sitting and maybe you’ll remember yourself.”
“The night after I first read Pattern Exhaustion, I gave birth to a baby riddled with cancer in a dream. This can’t be right I said to the doctor, this baby is too new, there has been no time for a malignancy to grow. “Ahh,” said the doctor, “There’s nothing new under the sun anymore. And there’s no sun either.” And then I awoke with these lines from “The Darkling Thrush” repeating, in the doctor’s voice, in my head: “And every spirit upon earth / Seemed fervourless as I.” …So you see, this is not a normal Nate Pritts book of frenetic exuberance. But its bleakness offers exactly the kind of catharsis I really, really need right now and maybe you do too.”