July 15, 2016
Jean Kennedy writes, “I just want a mushroom garden/In my waterlogged backyard,” stating they will eat the fungus until the mold no longer makes them sick. How pertinent and timely an explication of the human condition this is: us, on our knees, soaked in rainwater and mildew, eating fungus, mushrooms, mold. Notes Rachel Kass, “My fantasies are at work against me,” and indeed, in this world of poetry and macropoetry, our old bat mitzvah cups are filled with xanax, hikers have gone AWOL in the North Idaho winter wilderness, and women pray to goddesses to alleviate their suffering. Such fantasies are borne in the lives and writing of the twelve poets featured in Issue 4 of tiny poetry: macropoetics. Thus we live, as Kim Shuck notes, “Sand to/Foam to/Headstone.” We drift, then, through sick dreams, through fairy dust, aware, as perhaps artists truly are, of the condition of the strange, sad, beautiful world we inhabit. Jean Kennedy sums it up best when they write, “I want to cultivate my mushrooms/in the shade until my body knows/how to protect itself/in perfect darkness.” This sentence is not one of bleak resolve, but of power. Until our next issue, then, we wish our readers power, and dedicate this issue, as all issues, to the memory of Matthew Stewart, a macropoetry artist, comic, and lover of light and life.
- The Editors