Wear the Lenses of Your Writing (Michael Intro) (10/23/2021)

Wear the Lenses of Your Writing | The Weekly Atticus

October 23, 2021

A recap of the week's writing at Atticus Review. Intro by Michael Meyerhofer.

Without my glasses or contact lenses, the world is a very different place. Shapes blur; depth and detail get washed out. Edges appear soft and inviting – that is, until you run into them. But perch some round bits of plastic on the bridge of my nose and suddenly, the world shifts into focus – for better or worse. It occurred to me tonight that literature fulfills a similar role. I’ve often been asked (sometimes by students, sometimes by kind souls at readings) why I write – that is, how reading and writing enrich my life. Because I have a bad habit of forgetting all the lines of poetry and prose that I’ve committed to memory once I finally get an occasion to quote them, I usually answer with something safe: literature gives things meaning, allows me to live more deeply and honestly, etc. But of course, that’s only half the story. Writing – like good eyesight – also keeps you from accidentally blundering off the edge of a cliff. Perhaps that’s why I feel an almost parental mix of anguish and joy whenever I meet and have the privilege of encouraging an aspiring writer; after all, I know that for every exotic meal, hard-won victory, and moon-lit ocean awaiting them on the pages of some book, there are also heartaches, genocides, and disquieting critiques of privilege. That they are starting down a tangled, overgrown path that frankly has no final, lofty destination – as evidenced by all my friends who achieve some great publishing success, only to find themselves inexplicably depressed and discontent, as though success were a strange form of failure. But of course, the opposite is true, as well. Literature reveals complexity, but it also provides clarity. It reminds us that even if the kinetic can’t ever live up to potential, it’s still pretty darn amazing. Think about it: we exist. We breathe, we read and write, we break each other’s hearts then sacrifice when we don’t even have to. And best of all, we get to share our little stories for a while longer, warbling like songbirds in the middle of a crowded city.Thanks for reading. We're glad you're here.Michael MeyerhoferPoetry Editor

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THIS WEEK AT ATTICUS

FICTIONSMILE by Siamak Vossoughi"It was a heart-baring moment for him, and the seriousness on his face as he held his sign always looked to me like a commitment to the idea that heart-baring moments were the real need."READ ON

POETRYSPOTLIGHTS & SHADOWS by Cassandra Caverhill"...Back in the dim theatre,I couldn’t climb the scaffold when sent to tinkerwith the rosy lighting gels, my knees betraying me."READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONA LITANY OF THE WASHING MACHINES IN MY LIFE by Frankie McMillan "At night my son cries. His school shorts are never white. Not white like the other kids shorts are. He says the washing machine is dumb and living in the bush is dumb."READ ON

MIXED MEDIANEOLOG 2021.0by Dave Bonta @morningporch and Luisa A. Igloria @ThePoetsLizard"This dialogue in poetic neologisms was produced in part as a sort of New Year's card for the readers of Via Negativa, a daily poetry blog that we co-author. We originally planned to do a more standard linked-verse sequence modeled after Japanese renku, but a few days before Christmas, Dave posted a neologism to Twitter, infestive, and thought it might be fun to try to compose a whole series of such one-word poems."READ ON

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