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rob mclennan :: from the book of smaller


My family’s all in bed

Translating: five full years. Perhaps we may wake, we may sleep; invent a new set of words. I can remember this life; a deep breath. A notebook, misplaced. Scratch a line down. Wonder: how can one describe, the making of art? Tell me what you need. Engage newspaper, coffee, the kettle. The eastern face, shines. House: a stitch of black cloth. The impossibility of experiment. Troubleshoot. Based on a true story, incorrectly transcribed. Five minutes of silence.


Jennifer Kronovet, translated

Each language we wish to release. I drag the letter. Counted. Syntax is important. Not all sentences can be evaluated. Everything depends upon. Autumn in New York; springtime in Berlin. It does not equal. They say beauty contains the root of space. Can you hear me, now? The Chinese chamber, echoes. Leaving voice to silence. Made of words, this passage. Puncture. Soars across great distances. I call you. Leap. A single, bound.


Twenty-first century literature

Today, I am not writing. A book opens, is closed. Unwinds. I should read more. Old habits won’t save us. We have to build new ones. Orpheus, turns toward Lot. They turn on each other. All my ideas, outdated. We can make space. Such motivating force. If there is a sky I can’t place it.




The author of more than thirty trade books of poetry, fiction and non-fiction, rob mclennan’s most recent titles include the poetry collection A perimeter (New Star Books, 2016) and the chapbooks Cervantes’ bones (words(on)pages, 2017), Household items (Apostrophe Press, 2017) and It’s still winter (above/ground press, 2017). This fall, he has two further chapbooks forthcoming— Imaginary stories (fiction, DevilHousePress) and Sex at Forty-Five (poetry, The Blasted Tree)—with two other full-length poetry titles forthcoming as well: Life Sentence (Flat Singles Press, 2018) and Household items (Salmon Poetry, 2018). He spent the 2007-8 academic year in Edmonton as writer-in-residence at the University of Alberta, and regularly posts reviews, essays, interviews and other notices at robmclennan.blogspot.com


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submissions :: where is the river

Up to six poems in a single .doc file with author biography and photo to kieferjdlogan@gmail.com

All rights revert to the author/s upon publication.

Klara du Plessis :: Three poems

Seeing is forgetting the name of the thing seen
The flower has been dying
silently beside me for days now.
Softly unburdening itself.
If I were to touch it ever so lightly
all the petals would be upset
and topple like the last bit of drink
in my mug all over the papers
on my desk. This slightly generic
image happens to me
on a Sunday morning, gently,
a homage to days taken off
in the past, the cotton shirt stuck
over my head in the act of pealing
it from my skin. Fetching
is a synonym for beauty.
Driving over to the pick-up point
to fetch an instant of attraction.
Becoming is also a synonym
for beauty. To burgeon,
to longingly cling to the act
of a future self. As syntax erodes
around you


East Plateau, Montreal
December 31, 2016

When last was cornucopia
a sign of decadence?
Domesticated horny,
baskets brimming, divers
reclining legumes
lisping along that rattan lip,
the most lethargic still
lifes in existence. I walk
across the Christmas cake
ganache pedestrian walkway
whittling at a po…

issue three :: January/February 2018