August 5, 2014


The sun asks me what I want to do. I say I want to get out of here. Go anywhere. Day comes early. A woman shaped light descends. She picks up the glass shop where I work and carries it to her palace. This is where she never stops shining. My clothes burn off my body. But I feel safe without tanlines. I love the hot black fingerprints she leaves on everything she touches.

Carabella Sands in Hobart <3 (via tracydimond)

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See Post tags #Carabella Sands #Hobart

repeat from GRIND MY BONES INTO GLITTER

July 31, 2014


Hobart :: LDR/MTN: A Review Of Friendship

…in which a writer writes a letter to another writer who is also the editor of this essay, because, work is a breathing thing that exists in the context of a life or lives.

one of our editors’ fave genres (i.e.”pieces about her”) on the site today, by the wonderful Amanda Goldblatt!

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See Post tags #Hobart #elizabeth ellen #Mary Tyler Moore #Lana Del Ray

July 29, 2014


Self-Portrait With My Dead Sister


There is a girl and a boy sitting on a curb
next to the ocean somewhere in Oregon
where the rain, which has just stopped, has caused
a mud puddle to form in the foreground, just in front
of the boy’s white shoe: his pants
are blue, his jacket is red, and he is not
smiling at all, which I think
is what makes her faintly upturned lip
look so much like a smile.
Never mind that these people were real,
that one will grow up and keep on being real,
while the other will grow up and be dead.
Never mind the brusk presentation or presumptuous
implications the speaker in my poem employs:
he should be excused on account of his grief,
and frankly, it’s probably for the best
that we ignore him and just stick to the facts. For example,
the boy is nearly five years old, which makes the girl
nearly seven years old, which makes it nearly 15 years
before she drove past a stop sign and then,
didn’t do anything ever again.
Despite the fact that here, she has just
pulled her legs into her chest, has just set her chin
on her knees, turned up the corner
of her lip, and here it seems as if she could,
for a moment, break through the artifice of time,
the static nature of her disposition, and say something
utterly irrelevant, something
I won’t pretend
to understand.

Caleb Curtiss: Self Portrait With My Dead Sister (via swingingaxes)

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repeat from SWINGING AXES

Self-Portrait as a Photograph of my Father

Today, the seedpods on the Milkweed
growing along the road between the airport
and the place my grandparents will die
began to open themselves, imperceptibly,
as if each were the beak of a baby
crane at the first change in pressure that comes
with their mother’s circling descent. I saw them like this
from the window of my father’s Buick, saw each
one of them pass us by, their cracked
mouths and eyeless heads, and said
nothing. Soon, after watching my father stand
in unsteady synchrony with his father,
I will lift myself from the davenport in the lobby,
and head for the patio where I will stand at my father’s
left hand, his father’s right, and I will smile
for the camera, not noticing how the seeds on the silver
maple behind us have nearly matured. How some
have already detached themselves from its branches,
have begun their slow, spinning fall.
We smile these facsimile smiles, lips taut
over straight, white teeth, because we feel
a sort of pressure in the air: something that tells us
that we are mortal, that we will be here
forever.

Caleb Curtiss: Self Portrait as a Photograph of my Father (via swingingaxes)

Hobart Poetry Editor Caleb Curtiss is good.

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repeat from SWINGING AXES
booksofwrath:

Page 23 of Mary Miller’s “Big World.” From the story “Leak.”
These details are killer…

booksofwrath:

Page 23 of Mary Miller’s “Big World.” From the story “Leak.”

These details are killer…

55 notes
See Post tags #Big World #Mary Miller #sf/ld

repeat from The Books of Wrath
"We Walk A Line" | Hobart

amyebutcher:

I’ve been traveling these last few months and not especially writing, and I think sometimes it’s quite good to be quiet, but I did pen this short little thing that hobartpulp was kind enough to publish, so thanks, you guys.

"Still, it bothers me about the flowers.

It bothers me about the flowers because I think these people need them most. Celebration of a life or mourning, the flowers—which grow along the mortuary’s brick and are the first thing these people see, the last thing they witness after witnessing a body—are theirs, I think, not ours.

That my roommate would pick them to put on our table—for what, a day? or maybe two?—evidences, to me, a vast discrepancy from the life she lives and the one she claims to live.

So I won’t feel bad anymore about my spaghetti.”

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See Post tags #Hobart #nonfiction #personal essay #Amy Butcher

repeat from Amy Butcher
My Chelsea Martin review for HTMLGIANT

3 notes
See Post tags #SF/LD #chelsea martin #even though i don't miss you

repeat from Divided Selfie
tarawray:

Dear Photo People,
I’m the new photography editor for the awesome Hobart literary journal. Hobart has been around since 2001, which is like a billion in internet years, so you know it’s good.
If you’re interested in having your work showcased alongside some intensely readable fiction/nonfiction/poetry, give me a shout.
Sincerely, Tara

tarawray:

Dear Photo People,

I’m the new photography editor for the awesome Hobart literary journal. Hobart has been around since 2001, which is like a billion in internet years, so you know it’s good.

If you’re interested in having your work showcased alongside some intensely readable fiction/nonfiction/poetry, give me a shout.

Sincerely,
Tara

69 notes
See Post tags #Hobart #Tara Wray #photography

repeat from Tara Wray Photography

July 26, 2014


If you’re feeling weird, you might as well face this fact: we’re all weirder than the next, for sure. We’re all bouncing around in weird Jello, bumping up against other versions of weird, just hoping to be tapped out of a top hat like that, like snap.

Micah Ling, “Talking Heads: Stop Making Sense,” published in Hobart (via bostonpoetryslam)

39 notes
See Post tags #Hobart #poetry #Micah Ling #Talking Heads #Stop Making Sense

repeat from Boston Poetry Slam
Hobart :: Atop The Ferris

star-thistles:

I wrote a short comic published today, with art by the talented Allen Byrns, aka thenewestredranger.

You can read it now on hobartpulp here: http://www.hobartpulp.com/web_features/atop-the-ferris

4 notes
See Post tags #Hobart #comics #Allen Byrns #Ryan King

repeat from Star-Thistles