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Born, raised, and educated in Idaho--which hasn't held him back
too much - James Brock now professes creative writing at Florida Gulf Coast University, after having been an academic Kelly girl in Indiana, Tennessee,
Idaho, Pennsylvania, and Miami. |
For his poetry, he has won fellowships from the National Endowment
for the Arts, the Alex Haley Foundation, the Tennessee Arts Commission,
and the Idaho Commission for the Arts. He has two books to his
credit, The Sunshine Mine Disaster (University of Idaho Press, 1995) and nearly Florida (Anhinga Press, 2000).
Jim now lives in Fort Myers, Florida, where he desperately is
trying to go native with his companion, Gerri. There, he enjoys
birding, nature walking, dance, and film. |
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 02.09.02: poetry
Killing the Exotics • y las estellas • Fountains on the Everglades |
you bougainvillea, frangipani,
banana, Hong Kong orchid tree, you
umbrella plant and Mexican heather, you Surinam
cherry and valencia orange, and you
weeping bottlebrush and you whatever,
all of you an Ohioed dream of Florida, so much backdrop
for The Creature from the Black Lagoon, I say
must go. |
The Jim Brock Poetry Contest: Guidelines
Announcing the Jim Brock Poetry Contest. Entry limit: one poem.
Your poem should be about your first feverish impulse to sing
a noun that remains in the continuous past. Your poem should be
about eggplants. Your poem should be about sumac leaves. Your
poem should be about the physics of loss and abandonment. Your
poem should be about the necessary locomotive that delivered you
here and about the fuse you light to incinerate the tracks. Your
poem should be heavy with oxygen. Your poem should praise your
lover's qualities, enough so that being male and female in any
form startles you. Your poem should alienate you from all weather.
Your poem should touch God in places only Emily Dickinson has
dared touch. Your poem should raise from the grave your still-born
twin. Your poem cannot save anyone. Your poem must be seven words
or less, or two thousand lines or more. Entry fee: all of your
boss's money. Type your poem neatly on 8 1/2" X 11" standard-bond,
white, non-erasable, 20# paper, recycled preferred. Destroy all
copies of drafts. Submit by burning the poem outside, stirring
the ash and the trace elements skyward, let them rise with the
wind, so that they coil around the other entries, until they are
one rise of smoke, indistinguishable from any distant cloud, perhaps
nothing more than the wisp of a small burning, not even a luminance
on the earth, just a softening in view. No matter. Everyone will
win. The deadline is now. |
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12.07.06: Scarlet Letters -- in case it isn't glaringly obvious -- is currently
on an extended hiatus. The web has changed, we've changed, and
we're trying to figure out how we both fit together now, which isn't a process we want to rush.
In the meantime, by all means, enjoy our years of past content,
all of which still remain in the public and subscription areas.
If you're looking for more current SL-related content, you can
have check out upcoming books from editor Heather Corinna and previous co-editor Hanne Blank, check out Heather's current sexuality sites, or explore sites through the femmerotic network. We hope to be back with you soon, as fresh, challenging and
unexpected as ever.
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