Publishers

Ann Menebroker | Kell Robertson | Mailbox Boogie | Zerx Press

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This is an epistolary book, a mode of writing quite popular in the 19th century, a form Dostoyevsky used for his first novel POOR PEOPLE, the book he wrote before he went to Jail for a decade. But it wasn’t POOR PEOPLE that got Dostoyevsky sent to Siberia; it was “conspiracy.” Though I doubt Ann or Kell will get thrown in the slammer because of this tome, it is conceivable that with a few changes in politics, along Reaganistic lines, they might be indicted for this conspiracy, this honesty & openness, and life-long iconoclasm that necessarily personifies a poet in these days & times. It is a fine day when one receives a dispatch from either of these two. Both are consummate letter writers. Annie’s most often are typed out in long narrative prose lines, laying on the page like a poem. Kell’s are also typed, and go on for 2 pages and sometimes 4-. Both dip into memories and present thoughts freely, rambling with untarnished sincerity. Both do their writing in the mornings, before work, sometimes before the sun comes up. — Mark Weber Continue reading →

Mark Hartenbach | The Sound of Music | Hcolom Press

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Two poets stand out in my mind as carrying a tradition that took root in the Sixties through subsequent decades and into the new millennium. Some call it Meat, some Confessional, but those labels are not big enough to cover this breed of poetry, and so I’ll leave it nameless. It’s a poetry that connects more with the Beats than the Sixties, but stripped of the baggage of ideology and formalized spiritual quest that saddles much of Beat poetry; its language is lean and sharp and drills into everyday life, surfacing with nuggets of uncut truth that melt away if you try to incorporate them into something “bigger”. The Mimeo Revolution was the vehicle that carried this poetry through the Sixties and early Seventies; after that, it was pretty much on its own. The poets I’m talking about are Albert Huffstickler, who died in February of 2002, and Mark Hartenbach, who carries on. — John Bennett Continue reading →

John Bennett | The Birth of Road Rage | Hcolom Press

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The Shards in “The Birth of Road Rage” were written over a span of time ranging from the mid 1990s until late in 2004. Some of them that sound as if they were written post 9/11 were actually written years earlier. Which goes to show that if you’ve got your finger on the pulse, you can hear the beating heart of the future. Which goes to show that Time is an illusion. — John Bennett Continue reading →

Maia Penfold | The Red Buddha | Hcolom Press

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A FEW WORDS FROM THE EDITOR Maia Penfold, known at the time as Gerda Penfold, drifted into my life in 1974 via an envelope packed with poems. I read those poems in one setting, published them and others in a chapbook titled Done with Mirrors, and from that point on, over the next turbulent thirty-six years, Maia has been a spiritual and creative running mate who remains fiercely independent and disinclined to compromise. She is a force of nature, no less so at the age of 82 than when she was a young girl in Saskatchewan and a young woman in Los Angeles and San Francisco, and her poetry is charged with this force, an elixir of wonder and innocence, biting wit and easy sophistication, an intelligence that drills to the core. She may be the most overlooked poet of the second half of the 20th century, and it came to me (as these things tend to do) in a flash of inspiration that I needed to collect as many of her poems as I could locate and put them into book form—Maia’s life has been hard and nomadic, and many of her poems have been lost along the way. Not long after that I found myself on a ferry to Bainbridge Island off the coast of Washington where Maia then lived. Continue reading →