Unburial is out!

Egan quote

Six months passed from acceptance to publication of my first book. If you’d asked me last year how to go about organizing a manuscript of original poetry, I’d have looked at you with squirrel’s eyes. But I worked at it and, as with most things, hard work is like a flashlight in the fog – it gets you through thick and thin. I’ve learned a lot along the way about the small-press publishing industry as well – a few useful dos and don’ts, let’s say. Now it’s in the hands of its readers. 

If you’re interested in purchasing a copy, it’s available through your local Amazon distributor. If you like the book, please consider rating it or writing a short review of it at said-distributor’s website, as I have limited marketing resources. Or, if you don’t want to splurge, ask your local library or bookshop if they can order a copy for their poetry section. This, alas, is the flipside of the publishing coin – you have to find a way to get your hard-won words in front of other people’s eyes. And there, they might once have said, is the rub.

What Happened at the Baptism

Image result for catholic baptism ceremony painting

I have a new poem called “What Happened at the Baptism” up at Matador Review! Here is a taste:

WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BAPTISM

I.

The infant is held aloft, above the priest’s head
and shoulders. “Our trophy!” he cries, to
applause and tears from the congregation. The
baby’s penis looks like a tiny candy in its
wrapper, placed awkwardly between two fresh
human legs. It begins to cry uncontrollably, to
shake. It has been welcomed to the world in
which it will live until its body gives out. Like
all living things, it will die the worse for wear.

Please go to Matador Review to read the full poem, and of course all the other poems and stories in the issue. This wasn’t the kind of poem many journals would have taken, so kudos to editor John Lachausse for accepting it at MR.

Rome Reading with Francesca Bell and Alessandra Bava

Well, this is embarrassing. Under the influence of a highly tumultuous summer, I completely forgot to mention the reading I gave in Rome with Francesca Bell and Alessandra Bava. It was my first reading ever, unless you count the time I murmured a few poems under my breath at a bar in NYC just after my very first publication in 1999 or so.

It was a miracle this reading even happened – on June 29, which is Roman holiday. Francesca was in town on vacation, and – after a little fancy footwork – we organized this reading at Otherwise Bookshop with Alessandra, a poet and translator who has rendered some of Francesca’s poems in Italian.

It was an amazing experience to walk from my family’s home near St. Peter’s up Via del Governo Vecchio, to read a poem that takes place in that very stretch and which is the gravitational center (and title) of my book. So many important events in my life have happened in that little tangle of streets along the Tiber, and I’ve tried to get some of it into my poems.

Below you can listen to me read four poems from Unburial: “Runaway“, “Unburial” “The Skaters” and “To the Horned Moon” from the June 29th reading. (Warning: I sound like Carnegie Hall-era Lenny Bruce at times.) Somewhere, there is video…

Cover, blurbs, etc!

I’m excited to share the cover of Unburial, which is a monotype by Berlin-based artist and friend Beatriz Crespo. It was handpicked by me from hundreds of possibilities—this one struck me. I liked the colors—reminiscent of certain walls in Rome that I love—and the movement, as if some hidden force were pushing upwards to be released. It’s the same motion that drove the composition of the poems in the book, historical forces fighting to bob to the surface where they can finally be seen in clear light.

MarcAlanDiMartino_Unburial_cover

I’m also indebted to three of the finest poets and translators I know for the blurbs that grace the back cover. Please check out the work of Moira EganAaron Poochigian and Michael Palma. You’ll be glad you did.

*

                                  —Every so often, though,
he’d open one of those drawers in his desk
pull out a tray of vibrant minerals:

round geodes, spiky quartz and silky slate,
mica which turned to powder in my hands
flecked by a billion years of sediment,

weightless pumice, granite, obsidian,
the names alone enough to set me dreaming
of further atmospheres. These fragments he kept

kept secrets of their own, had fallen to Earth
from spacetime, or grew organically
in igneous niches of our planet’s skin.

– from “A User’s Guide to Rocks & Minerals” (Unburial)

The Way It Was

I’ve got some deep archives, and they’re a mess. I’ve been writing and submitting poetry since the late 1990s, and this submissions sheet is a reminder of just how much has changed since then. Now almost everything has been updated to online submissions forms – Submittable foremost among them – and only dinosaur journals like the Paris Review still require you to send them a SASE. (I remember knocking on the door of their offices on E. 72nd St. in order to drop off a package for George Plimpton, on assignment for the Gotham Book Mart.) These, anyway, were my first attempts at publishing, and you can see the titles of my very first published poems on the right. It’s funny how the passage of time gives value to the most banal artifacts of our lives. Glad I saved this one.

lit mags_90s

 

Epiphanies

St Peter’s Square – Rome

My poem “Epiphanies” is up in the August issue of Verse-Virtual. It’s about walking through Rome during summer, the light catching my eye, taking it all in. A lot has happened this summer, much of it very sad, and I suppose under such circumstances one is always on the lookout for a kind of epiphany. So here it is.

Epiphanies

So much beauty, so much misery
baked into these stones. I walk
and a sharp glint off travertine
gashes my eye, connects
solar lake to solar
plexus, my step as sure
as the silver crosses that shape
nuns’ breasts. How strange
to feel at home in this place –
a pigeon has fashioned its nest
on the brow of a saint!
If epiphany ever comes
it will look like this.

Requiem for an Ocean Burial

I have a new poem up at Palette Poetry. This is one of the most difficult poems I’ve ever written – actually, unburial is full of those – and one of the most personal. It’s about dementia, and the spiral that loved ones are thrown into when a parent is slowly torn asunder by the waters of Lethe.


Requiem for an Ocean Burial

You wanted a rocky shoreline off the coast of Maine
with barbarous waves, a few small fishing boats,
a lighthouse reaching out across the fog
like a tired hand, waving farewell forever.

What you got was a cramped room in a nursing home
which cost a fortune and drained your bank account…

read more

Runaway

runaway_image

I’m excited that my poem “Runaway” has gone up at Baltimore Review! As an ex-Baltimorean, it means something to have a poem – which is an excavation of my own parents’ motives for choosing one another – in a high-quality hometown journal. I don’t want to give too much away, but [spoiler alert] it’s the opener in my forthcoming book unburial. So if you want to know what the book will be about, let’s just say this poem sets the tone. If you like it, you may want to read the rest of the poems, too. (Hint hint.)

Self-promotion 101

I don’t know what it was like to publish a book of poems in the past, though I do know that these days self-promotion is the reigning business model. And this seems true – to a greater or lesser degree – whether your publisher is big or small. Poets – perhaps all writers – are expected to do their fair share of promotion (in addition to, well, creating the work in the first place.)

A lot of people I talk to on social media think this is unfair, or at least that the publisher should bear the brunt of it. And at first glance I’d agree. What poet wouldn’t want to have all their precious time to themselves to write more poetry, instead of writing emails to bookshops and elbowing for space among social media followers and friends? This last takes arguably as much time as the writing itself, so it’s like piling a part-time job on top of a part-time job. I, for one, also have a full-time job. There just isn’t enough time in the day to do it all!

But, as Rilke said, for the sake of a single poem… You might spend your life searching for the perfect publisher who will take care of everything – and then stiff you in some other way. Or roll with it. I’ve begun creating bite-size images with lines from my poems to share on social media. It’s actually a lot of fun! Anyway, I’ll be sharing these on the blog as well. I hope they pique your interest so that when the book comes out you’ll want to read it. It’s really good – I promise!

Unburial_true roots
Background image from Sacred Trash – Schocken Books, 2011.