Mudlark
Edited by William Slaughter Reviewed by Tom Hartman
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Mudlark Edited by William Slaughter mudlark@unf.edu
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Published out of the University of North Florida, Mudlark offers
a notable variation on the usual lit 'zine theme. Each issue of this "electronic
journal of poetry and poetics" takes the form of an electronic chapbook
devoted entirely to the work of a single poet or (less often) essayist.
It is a novel approach but also one that has its disadvantages. If readers
are not immediately struck by the style, voice or subject matter of the
current featured poet, there's the possibility that they'll click elsewhere
in search of something more to their liking. However, it must be said
that editor William Slaughter has done a nice job of curating thus far,
assembling over the magazine's 5 year history a solid collection of disparate
styles and voices. If the current Mudlark fails to strike your
fancy, you would be remiss not to surf through a couple of back issues.
The current issue (No. 13) showcases the work of Edward Harkness, whose
poems, presented here under the title "A NOTE TO MY SONS," are culled
from his forthcoming collection Saying the Necessary (Pleasure
Boat Studio).
Marked by short, tight lines, simple diction and a strong flair for narrative,
Harkness's poems frequently plum the often-bittersweet memories of his
childhood in the Pacific Northwest. Subjects include his father's WWII
stories ("Flying Fortress: My Father Survives the War"), the death of
a boxer during a live TV broadcast ("The Night Kid Paret was Killed on
TV"), a Little Leaguer's game-saving catch ("Right Field").
In "Right Field" especially, Harkness reveals his particular gift for
succinct but resonant portraiture, as in the following:
a ball began to rise toward deep right center.
No one knew about my appendicitis,
not my mother, and not my coach,
Mr. Glen Bitterbender,
the first grown man I heard utter,
"Jesus, have I got a hard-on."
Harkness's other subject is fatherhood – more specifically, the often
overlooked poignant moments one experiences in raising several boys. In
"His Night Light," for example, father and son "[rock] on the sea of ragged
sleep" where
far off, the beacon burns.
We are nearing land,
the gray country of dawn,
an island where we can
stay just as we are.
We never have to die here.
To his credit, despite the obvious dangers inherent in selecting such
highly personal moments as one's subject matter, Harkness mostly avoids
lapsing into sentimentality. When he does (and those moments are rare),
he quickly retreats to a suitable narrative distance, using careful description
and, again, precise portraiture to let the scene at hand speak for itself.
In between issues, Mudlark publishes what Slaughter calls "posters"
and "flash poems." Like the issues themselves, "posters" also feature
selections from a single poet, only they are much shorter (3 or 4 poems),
best described, perhaps, as the electronic equivalent of broadsheets.
Anyone who has surfed the Web in search of poetry will find some familiar
names among Mudlark's "poster" contributors: Robert Sward, Barry
Spacks and Ruth Daigon, to name a few. "Flash poems," on the other hand,
are poems that are slated to appear in an upcoming issue but which, according
to Slaughter "[feel] like a current event" and are therefore posted immediately.
If all of this takes a bit of getting used to – and first-timers will
likely have to surf around to get a feel for the unique format, not to
mention Slaughter's terminology – the quality readers will find inside
Mudlark more than justifies the effort.
Tell us what you think. Email talkback@pifmagazine.com
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A graduate of Columbia University and The University of
Pennsylvania, life-long New Jerseyan and New York Mets fan, Tom Hartman
now lives in Philadelphia where he's an Associate Poetry Editor at Painted
Bride Quarterly. Over the years his writing has appeared in numerous
publications, including The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Photo
Review, City Paper (Philadelphia), and Philadelphia Weekly.
When he's not writing he spends far too much time hating the Atlanta Braves.
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