Night Orchestra

A word cloud of Penn Kemp's "Night Orchestra." Or at least a word cloud of the poem's last stanza. You'd need several clouds (storm system?) to fit the whole thing.

This probably wouldn't suit every poem, but this one, I think, works well.

Dear NBA

Just a quick reminder to all NBA teams that I will once again be declaring myself eligible for the entry draft.

While I may have gained ten pounds this year and shrunk (?) half an inch, I'm still confident in my ability to make other players seem tall and athletic in comparison.

I also feel as though my beard is an asset. I really can't see how it could possibly be anything else.

To sum up: if anyone needs a 34-year-old back up (back up) guard with knee-high socks, a sound understanding of grammar, and a go-get'em attitude, then I'm your man.

I'm thinking late first--no, early second round.

Read All Over

This past weekend got off to a great start when I spotted a story in The Western News on A Very Small Something.

It hadn't occurred to me that the book trailer itself might be a source of interest, but then a lot of things don't occur to me, so there you go.

Curious parties can read the article here. Just flip to page seven.

The first review!

A big thank you to Papertrails for taking the time to review A Very Small Something. 

I certainly wasn't reviewing books when I was seven years old, so I think this writer has a very bright future. 

Well done, Myles!

Gone Fishin'

Reading tonight with Amanda Jernigan, which is sure to be a re-match of last week's "who can deliver more of his or her poems without actually looking down at the page" contest, in which I placed a distant second.

6:00 pm at Toronto's Type books. Should be a hoot. 

Only Seven Months Till Summer!

Review of Open Air Bindery

Just came across this generous review of Open Air Bindery, courtesy of Kane X. Faucer at the Western News. 

~

"From the expansive awe of the constellations down to the delicate and recursive arms of snowflakes, Hickey’s poetic insights bracket an intimate view of the macro- and microcosmic world.

Here, the reader is presented with a variegation of episodic fragments that are bound luxuriously within well-inscribed themes. Hickey’s poetry is not only light on its feet, but rich in substance. Objects like shirts, shingles and porcelain are animated by a wash or just a dappling of light that lends them the appearance of a quiet dance.

Powered by a stargazer’s earnest curiousity, there is nothing magniloquent about these poems: they are a pithy reading of signs of that which exists as though they have been imbued with organic life."