#nostrovia! press

[nostroviapress]

2018 Chapbook Contest: Week 14 Review

Presales

We’ve been truly humbled by your support this last week--we’ve already accounted for most of our entire first print run! While we still have copies left, we’ll be moving to a smaller 2nd print run soon to make sure you have access to these chaps in time for the holidays <3

Get a chapbook for pay-what-you-can rates here: http://nostroviapress.bigcartel.com/

Video Poem: Stephen Furlong

a poem by Stephen Furlong from his chapbook, What Loss Taught Me, available from Nostrovia! Press here: http://nostroviapress.bigcartel.com/product/what-loss-taught-me-by-stephen-furlong

"Introduction to Creative Writing"

The first time I read James Wright’s “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s…” the last line was cut off—a machine-made mistake. The chicken hawk looking for home instead of I have wasted my life. You requested amnesty, yet class called uproar. Sounded barbaric yawps.

Words change, worlds change, and         words change again. Still, two pines surrounded the poem’s frame, cornered by words tinged with nostalgia, carefree. A couple of years have passed and I’m thumbing through my notebook from that class. I’ve noticed my words reaching out, under influence of these same forces. Creating heaviness, bounded notebooks should have unbounded ideas. You taught me words could help me love —again, I had doubts. Like shadows, they crept, finding the corners of walls. Where two ends meet: Collisions. That’s what Ron Carlson calls ideas—collisions. Words combine, fuse, link—fences, not walls.

I’d rather see where I could go than trust where I might go. I’ll tell my secrets to the river,

reveal myself like a wound-up wrist, watch the colors of the bridge begin to blend into sky, and read these words to passersby. Explain to them before troubled lights and vanishing avenues, William Olsen wrote the past must have loved me though. I try to arrange those words to arrange my feelings. Though the past must have loved me. The past, though, must have loved me. The words ring, a refrain I refrain from hearing. I will let the call go to voicemail. I will hit save. I will hear those words over and over again. The past must have loved me though.

And one day when you and I go for a walk in this city along the river, next to the wall with the faces, we’ll be above the river at last.

Much love and see you next week! <3 -Christopher

*

We’ll have a new Tavern post each Wednesday, giving an inside look at the N! process, so stay tuned for more updates!

Week 1: Submissions Week 2: Reading Chaps Week 3: Bob’s Done Reading Week 4: Determining Top ~20 Week 5: Featured Finalists! Week 6: The Winners! Weeks 7-8: Editing Weeks 9-10: Editing Progress Week 11: Blurbs, Part 1 Week 12: Blurbs, Part 2 Week 13: Covers!

[lifeinpoetry]

I don’t know who I am anymore. The previous sentence is a lie. The previous sentence is a lie

Jackson Nieuwland, from “Compulsive Liar,” published as part of the 2016 Featured Finalists for Nostrovia! Press

[greedyreverence]

Loathe/Love/Lathe by Alain Ginsberg Nostrovia! Press — Free (PDF) or Pay What You Can ($1+) (Print) Poetry (Chapbook)

As a poet, Alain Ginsberg is resourceful with language and imagery, finding metaphor and anecdote where the reader had previously thought language had already dredged all it could out of that instance; as a vocally transgender poet, Alain Ginsberg is a poignantly necessary voice. There is often a lot of talk in literary communities about what makes a "trans poem" a "trans poem," and while the majority of Alain's poems mention they are trans somewhere within the text, there is never a sense of force or plea; rather, while Alain's gender is influential in all aspects of their work, it does not define their work. Alain's work is instead profoundly influenced by the daunting task of humanizing and unraveling trauma, from abusive relationships to harassment by customers at their food-service job, and throughout their narrative, Alain never lies to their audience or sugarcoats the circumstance. Instead, Alain presents their truth unflinchingly, letting the audience know they've got some heavy shit to talk about, but it's our choice if we want to listen. And goddamn, I am positive y'all will want to listen. (Linette Reeman)

[bostonpoetryslam]

Tonight’s feature for the Boston Poetry Slam: Extremely Online Edition is Boise poet and Nostrovia! Press author Lyd Havens! This is from their poem “Elegy Ending in My Grandmother Remembering,” as published in The Shallow Ends

[heartmagician]

O, what a clamorous lineage I was screamed into. The first time I actually yelled back, it wasn’t at my father. It was at a boy I had a crush on. He called it cute. Said I didn’t look like the bitchy type, but that was a good try. Lord, give me the strength and power of every man who believes himself to be the most scared knife-prayer. Just once, I want my throat to drip in garnet stones and spite without feeling the weight of guilt I should have never been cornered into. 

—from “Invocation for my Own Voice” by Lydia Havens, published by Nostrovia! Press

[gloves94]

NOSTROVIA |3| BUCKY BARNES

Warnings: None Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC Summary: A lost prophecy. A missing person’s case. A battle to dominate humanity. Only one person holds the key to the domination of our modern world. Problem is- she can’t remember where this key is… 

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

[1] * [2] * [HERE] * [?]

She could hear the murmuring of voices. Her head felt like an anvil. It weighted and throbbed in the back as if having been hit by a terribly heavy object. The voices continued. They reached into her consciousness. 'Wait. Voices..?' She thought. After all, she lived alone. Her mismatched eyes shot wide opened. They stung due to the bright lights in the room and all the smog that had gone into them. She winced due to her unaccustomed vision, she pulled on her arm but found unable to do so. Her head hurt. She felt as if a piano had fallen on her. Her legs ached. Both of her arms had been tied down to the sides of what appeared to be a hospital bed. There was an IV fluid attached to her arm. Her feet were also tied down. She struggled against the bindings. She gritted her teeth in rage as she let out a monstrous scream.

'Hide. Never let them get you,’ Her father had once said to her.  Several woman approached her as she rattled the bindings that kept her restrained and bind to a hospital mattress. One of the nurses pushed her chest back into the bed. The other injected a strange substance into the IV fluid. It was then that the Sage realized that there were other individuals in the room who spoke quietly to themselves. "Rowdy one, isn't she?" Steve Rogers said with his arms crossed over his wide chest. There was a hint of fear at the rage the woman held. Barnes sat by the window in the corner of the room. His cold eyes looked at the enraged woman with contempt. He noted the way her choppy brown hair tossed around her face and the frustration that her mismatching colored eyes held. "Uspokój się," Natasha suddenly stepped forward. She spoke in the little Polish she knew to ask the woman to calm down. It was now obvious that this individual did not speak English. "Who are you? What do you want with me?" the woman spoke back in Polish. Her voice had come back to her. It felt odd to speak. Especially to others. "Speak Russian?" Natasha asked again in Polish. The woman eyed her carefully. How long had it been since she had last seen another woman? Had it been four years? She couldn't narrow it down. She wondered if all American women were as beautiful as the one before her. "Yes." Responded the Sage in Russian. "We know you're the Sage" Natasha began. "I don't know anything about that," she denied looking away, a frown clear on her dirty face. "You're safe." The Black Widow continued. She did the best to conjure up a sincere expression. Maria Hill and Steve simply observed not knowing what the two women were discussing. Bucky looked away, yet his ears didn't fail him. "What do you want?" spat out the Polish woman. "Your name," Natasha demanded as she held a tablet close to her chest. "Barbara Bohm," she simply retorted quietly. Natasha quickly typed in the words on the tablet in her hands. The tablet was connected to SHIELD's entire database. A couple of moments later the screen let out some jingles. There were no results. The edge of her lips upturned at the perplexed expression on the red-headed woman's face. "You cleaned up nicely before going into hiding…" Natasha noted. "I learned from the best," she responded in a more relaxed tone. The fond memory of her father brought some comfort to her. "Hide. Don't let them find you. And if worse comes to happen. Hide your death."Those had been his last words to her. "Natasha Romanoff," the Black Widow introduced herself. Her tone was friendly despite her serious expression. "SHIELD has a proposition for you Ms. Bohm. You will remain under our custody for the time being and no harm will come to you. Later we will discuss the location of the artifact." "If the only reason I'm being held against my will is because of said artifact. You're wasting your time. It doesn't exist." The Sage responded, both of her eyebrows furrowed. "What are they saying?" Steve whispered to Bucky who simply rolled his eyes away from the scene and pretended to be more interested in New York's skyline. "Is that why you were in hiding?" Natasha retorted. Barbara's jaw tightened. She was silent for a moment. "How do I know I can trust you?" She asked. "That's for you to decide," Natasha said something in English to the nurses that stood next to the Polish woman's bed. With that, she turned to the men, explained the situation and left. The nurses slowly removed the IV from The Sage's arm. They then released her bindings and allowed the woman to sit up. The woman rubbed her tender wrists in her hands. She brought her knees close to her body. She was still wearing her military pants and her button up white cotton blouse, one which had once been white but now wore a yellow tint. The two men in the room watched her carefully as she stepped off the bed and approached them. She eyed them both of them slowly before making a run for it. However, Steve wrapped his arms around her before her fingers could even graze the doorknob. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Frustrated she huffed. Her chest rising in aggression. "Alright," Steve said. "If I let you down, you're going to have to promise you won't run away." Not understanding the language she struggled against his grip. "Don't fight him," Bucky suddenly spoke in Russian. His eyes didn't meet hers. She looked at the man who had just spoken and the wide window before him. How odd was it that the mysterious man with the metal arm understood fluent Russian? She couldn't help but be captivated by the astonishing view of the city. The skyscrapers reached the heavens and gleamed in contrast with the sunlight. Her breath caught, she stopped struggling. She was released from his mighty grip and allowed on her feet. "Steve Rogers," Steve said as clearly as he could as he signaled to himself with one palm pressed to his chest. She blinked twice and focused her attention on him The man was handsome. His hair was golden, his features were Aryan. He was terribly handsome and his eyes were a rare blue that held kindness to them. His built reminded her of a bull, he was a gigantic man! Steve turned to introduce his best friend. "Bucky." He said signaling to the man who sat in the corner simply gazing out the window, paying them no mind. It was a primitive method of communication, but it worked. Barbara observed that the other man appeared distant. His lifeless eyes simply gazed out into the light as he propped his chin upon his hand. His dark hair reached to his shoulders. She didn't pay him much mind besides noting his massive steel arm. It was then that she remembered he must've been the one to capture her. She could still feel the burning of the steel against her torso. "Basia," she introduced herself with an unsure look in her eyes. She still eyed both them warily. Steve nodded the odd way her name of preference was pronounced (Ba-shia) he repeated to himself in his head. Their clothes were so odd. So was their way of speaking. She had never encountered any Americans but they sure were odd. Steve was unsure of what else to say to her. "I sure hope you're not Nazi in disguise," the woman said more to herself in Russian with a slight hint of humor. "Nazi?" Bucky questioned.  She blinked twice confused by his response.  Steve looked at him just as perplexed. "The war isn't over yet," Basia shook her head shrugging and continued speaking in the Slav tongue. Bucky stood up and approached the woman. "What is it?" Steve asked. Bucky didn’t' remove his eyes from the woman's confused expression. "This woman thinks World War 2 hasn't ended," he said breathlessly. "The war ended almost seventy years ago," he responded. "что?" She responded slowly in disbelief. Her eyes shot wide open, mouth agape. "W-What year is it?" Steve understood what was happening. Without a second thought, he reached for a newspaper that was in a trashcan nearby. He offered the paper to her. The bold numbers starred back at her. She felt light headed. It had to be some sort of trickery. Cold sweat beads rolled down her temple. There was no way. There was no way that she sat in a haystack in a cave for seventy long-damn years. It wasn't possible. It was the only thought running through her mind. Seventy long years. Seventy long years. Seventy long years. Her breathing hitched. There was no way. She hadn't aged. Why wasn't she dead? Why hadn't she aged? She looked down at her hands, it had been years since she had seen her reflection. However, her hands wouldn't lie. They remained youthful and spotless, just as ageless as they had always been. "Buck, I have a feeling that she-" Steve began as he observed the woman's dazed look. "She's going into shock," Bucky stated. Just as he finished speaking her eyes rolled back and her body went limp. Bucky's arm moved in time to catch the collapsing woman. She remained limp in his arm with her head lolling to the side over his shoulder. Bucky was about to hand the Sage to his friend but before he could- "Nurse!" Steve was already out of the room and on the search for help. Bucky carried her to the medical bed with ease. He touched her face and her skin was clammy and cold. He laid her and put several pillows under her legs in order to get the blood flowing back to the brain. She mumbled Polish words and slightly stirred as she did. She mumbled something in incoherent Russian. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he leaned in closer to listen carefully. Her mismatched eyes slightly opened and met his with a blank stare. One of her eyes was an intriguing color, it was the blue of the ocean meeting an infinite sky. The other was hazel green, the colors of soil, nature and flourishing life. Her mind was racing. As she lay in a state of shock. Unsure if the grim were to greet here she thought of all of the advice her father had ever given her.

Snapping back to reality he listened. "Stranger." She breathed in Russian."Burn my body."

[yespoetry]

Christopher Morgan: #MeToo Series

Stop and Look In the Body

from “Suicide House”

 stop and look in the       body

he just wanted to look around.

 said that when he opened the door

 he told me

he was

aware of our family’s history.

as if he’d always known

 like he was

Reaching out,

 like he was in a trance.

 like

He’s       close to       his grave

 He’s still in there

looking up at me

 I wish I could help him.

 The Empty Room

from “The Riverview Hotel Phantom”

 children chased

screamed in changing voices,

weird echoes.                 an unlocked door,

the empty room

 try to scare

 this version of

the       hall

a bit more timid than       good

 the room       room

room       room

stopped       and clutched

in front of the       room       the figure of a man

standing

 his face was the color of

eyes       dead black

 Not       a real person at all.

Note: These poems are erasures from Nancy Robert’s novel, "Georgia Ghosts"

Christopher Morgan is a Lebanese American poet and editor who grew up in Detroit, the Bible Belt of Georgia, and the San Francisco Bay Area, where he currently lives and co-manages Nostrovia! Press. The Reviews Coordinator at Alien Mouth, and the author of four chapbooks, his work can be found at Gargoyle, A cappella Zoo, Voicemail Poems, Bennington Review, and concīs, among others. He loves the woods, designing games, and happy hour margaritas.

[forgottengenres]

Dude, You Can Summon Ancient Spirits Anywhere: An Interview with Elle Nash

BRIAN ALAN ELLIS

Elle Nash is rad as fuck—for real—and she publishes Witch Craft Magazine—rad dot com—and is the author of a poetry chapbook entitled i can remember the meaning of every tarot card but i can’t remember what i texted you last night (Nostrovia Press, 2016)—rad title—and she’s tight with Chelsea Laine Wells and Elizabeth Ellen, two of my favorite writers/people—rad company—and she loves professional wrestling—hella rad—and she also used to give people spray tans for a living—apparently not rad at all but whatevz—and she was rad enough to answer my rad questions—pretty damn rad, overall.  

BRIAN ALAN ELLIS: According to your website bio, you live in “the Ozarks” with your husband and some animals. I have no idea what that entails, though I picture you and your husband washing clothes in a creek while eating berries and meditating, perhaps summoning ancient spirits or whatever. Accurate, or no?

ELLE NASH: I’m eating berries right now, does that count?

BAE: Sure.

EN: We live in a town now—with a Walmart and everything!—but when we first moved here we stayed with some friends in a mostly off-grid home in the woods; they had electricity, but no plumbing. It was great. I had no cell service and felt kind of crazy about being so cut off, but damn it also made my mind rest easy

BAE: Hmm… I’m good.

EN: The Ozarks stretch from the upper east corner of Oklahoma, through northwest Arkansas and into southern Missouri.

BAE: *literally has no clue where those places even fall on a map*

EN: The whole area is absolutely magical to me and even in town we’re still pretty close to nature. We are currently debating if we want to buy land and build a place to live away from town or not, but also that means saving money, which is kind of a long process. Also, dude, you can summon ancient spirits anywhere. It don’t have to be in the middle of the woods.

CONTINUE READING ON CLASH

[nostroviapress]

2018 Chapbook Contest: Weeks 7-8 Review

These last two weeks have been crazy with activity (hence us missing the last review!), but we’re back with another update!

After talking a little with the three winners, we dove into the timeline for the next few months, making sure to lay out the challenges we’ll be facing. Bob and I asked for any extra poems the writers had considered (but not included) for their MSS--in all three instances, we found ~2 poems that really struck us as important additions. 

Otherwise, Bob and I did ~6 back-and-forth edits for each MS before passing it back to each writer for review :) We’ve confirmed the size of the chaps with Craig at @bottlecappress, picked out a typeface for each book, and are working now on the formatting and layout of pieces (shifting from 8.5x11 to 5x8). And we’re investigating cover art options!!

Stephen, Lyd, and Laura are all a pleasure to work with <3

Much love and see you next week! <3 -Christopher

*

We’ll have a new Tavern post each Wednesday, giving an inside look at the N! process, so stay tuned for more updates!

Week 1: Submissions Week 2: Reading Chaps Week 3: Bob’s Done Reading Week 4: Determining Top ~20 Week 5: Featured Finalists! Week 6: The Winners!

[lifeinpoetry]

when they see my body burning the world, they will only be able to call out my name open-mouthed and without breath.

Alain Ginsberg, from “On ‘Shim,’” published by Nostrovia! Press

[greedyreverence]

our own soft by katie clark Nostrovia! Press — Free (PDF) or Pay What You Can ($1+) (Print) Poetry (Chapbook)

​Katie Clark's collection is a fierce journey into gender and sexual identity. They say, "I wake up with your body my body" and "I was a boy until I wasn't a boy." These lines are absolutely what we need right now. The collection is self-conscious about its own body and explores what it means to fall deeply into the abyss of others' bodies when you are barely living in your own. (Joanna C. Valente)

[heartmagician]

i love a boy today, and his name is human flight. impossible. maybe because i didn’t think i would ever love a boy like this. nineteen years old and thinking about how to use my body for something other than bitter survival. but i do think i love this boy. this porch-light, hotel air conditioning-sweet boy. i’m afraid to find out if he loves me back, but i’m not afraid to tell my mother his name.

from bi-- by Lydia Havens 

read the full poem (+ one more!) in the latest issue of Nostrovia Press’s Fuck Art Let’s Dance

[nostroviapress]

2018 Chapbook Contest: Week 5 Review

We’ve got some huge news today!

Before I share the updates, let’s just dive in with the list of Finalists and Honorable Mentions!!!

Much love to all these tremendous writers <3 

This Last Week

So Bob and I got it down to ~20 chaps by Wednesday night. We reread again, and discussed a bit, and by Saturday afternoon we had our top 10.  

With that decided, we knew we had to reach out to everyone who'd submitted. Rejecting folks is always the worst part of the chapbook contest, so Bob and I spent several hours on Sunday, reviewing our comments, noting what we admired most from each chap. 

The writing was very good this year, and we wanted to send along as much love as we could. To this end, we made personal notes on 102 of the responses (81%). I spent most of Sunday and Monday sending along notes. 

Yesterday we reached out to the Finalists, letting them know! We'll be sharing a feature later this week, including an example of their work <3 

Next week we'll have the winners! Now Bob and I need to determine who those will be. Crazy stuff! 

Much love and see you next week! <3 -Christopher

*

We’ll have a new Tavern post each Wednesday, giving an inside look at the N! process, so stay tuned for more updates!

Week 1: Submissions Week 2: Reading Chaps Week 3: Bob’s Done Reading Week 4: Determining Top ~20

[nostroviapress]

2018 Chapbook Contest: Week 4 Review

Hi Everyone!

Quick update: I’ve finished reading all the chaps Sunday evening :) 

Talking with Bob, our goal now is to review all the chapbooks we both loved, getting a list of ~20 MSS. Then we’ll reread everything, trying to get that list down to 10 finalists for the next review! 

Much love and see you next week! <3 -Christopher

*

We’ll have a new Tavern post each Wednesday, giving an inside look at the N! process, so stay tuned for more updates!

Week 1: Submissions Week 2: Reading Chaps Week 3: Bob’s Done Reading

[nostroviapress]

2018 Chapbook Contest: Week 3 Review

Hi Everyone!

Bob and I have continued to read your work--as of now Bob has done the first read-through of all 135 chapbooks! I got a bit distracted (proposed to my lady this weekend), and have fallen a little behind. Please forgive me ;) But I’ve still completed a little over 100 chaps, and I’ll be reading the remaining 35 this week no problem!

Bob Thoughts!

Woohoo, it’s time for some new thoughts from Bob: 

It took 2 and a half weeks, but I’ve finished reading through all 135 chapbook submissions. The marathon of reading was both exhilarating and exhausting. And while it’s been a joy to see so many voices and styles, I’m really excited to spend time lingering with some of these chaps over the next week or so as we narrow down our finalists. Generally, I’ve been overwhelmed by the quality of work. These chaps cover such a range of topics, there are so many brave poems, so much formal innovation and play—I feel like we’ve read a little bit of everything that makes contemporary poetry so exciting to me. We’ve written notes about each chap to start the process of narrowing down our favorites, and there’s undoubtedly more than three deserving chapbooks here. Tough calls are ahead, but this first round of reading has been such a delight.

For this next week, I’m trying to finish reading all of the chaps. And then Bob and I can start work picking the finalists!! Crazy times!

Much love and see you next week! <3 -Christopher

*

We’ll have a new Tavern post each Wednesday, giving an inside look at the N! process, so stay tuned for more updates!

Week 1: Submissions Week 2: Reading Chaps

[nostroviapress]

2018 Chapbook Contest: Week 2 Review

Hi Everyone!

It’s been a busy week, but Bob and I are making our way through your chapbooks. We’re trying to do 8-10 a day, as we don’t want to burn out while reading your work <3 

So far we’ve read ~80 chapbooks! Even though I feel like I say this each year, I’m very impressed by these entries--many of these chaps have a clear purpose in mind and have been revised with care. Lots of strong writing. Lots of risks being taken. To honor the folks who submit early (which is always scary), we’re reading in chronological order. As of now we’ve done all the Day One and Day Two submissions <3 

Our goal is to try to have the first read-through done by the end of next week! From there, we’ll see what’s stuck out to us, and begin rereading and re-rereading ;) Hoping to have the finalists decided by the end of the month. I like keeping things FAST!

Much love and see you next week! <3 -Christopher

*

We’ll have a new Tavern post each Wednesday, giving an inside look at the N! process, so stay tuned for more updates!

Week 1: Submissions