Episode 122: Concrete Poetry & Champagne

Dearest Slushies, we’re so happy to be back in the saddle! We took a mini-hiatus and return with this episode devoted to the poems of Jodi Balas. You’ll hear us mull over her artful use of concrete poetry and dive deep into her thinking about poetry, the body, and NFTs. How does a poem’s form entwine with its image system in order to serve its sense? How is taste also (always) about power? All of these questions are wrapped in a glittering cascade of editorial acumen and quirky dishing: Listen as Dagne explains the difference between NFTs and Cryptocurrency, reminding us of Rattle’s prescient issue dedicated to NFT poets. Or let us know what you think: should “mini cocktails” ever be a thing for happy hours? Is “drinkable” ever a compliment? Can we make a meme of Jason’s seductive eyebrow skills? In addition to the following links you might dig–  NFTs explained in 5 Minutes & Brit Bennett’s “Ain't That Good News”-- we invite you to contemplate the ritual of champagne sabering (if you try this in your backyard, shout “Poetry!”) With best wishes for a happy new year from the Slush Pile Crew.

 

At the table: Kathleen Volk Miller, Marion Wrenn, Jason Schneiderman, Dagne Forrest, Samanatha Neugebauer

 

Jodi Balas is a neurodivergent poet from Northeast Pennsylvania. A lover of words (salacious, being a favorite – it just rolls off the tongue), her poetry has been accepted in Hole in the Head Review, Wild Roof Journal, Humana Obscura, Pinch Journal, and elsewhere. Jodi’s poem, “His mouth, mine” was selected as a finalist for the 2023 River Heron Review poetry prize and her poem, “Bone Density” won the 2023 Comstock Review Muriel Craft Bailey Award judged by Danusha Lameris. Jodi is in the process of developing her first chapbook to market to the poetry world. You could follow her musings on Instagram @jodibalas_

WALKING TO SURRENDER

 

The ghost at my side,
  the knife in my coat pocket
      hanging on the coat rack. I
        yield to morning in apprehension
            almost every morning. I’m
              hardening, becoming the
                  weight of two dead trees. A
                    spool of thread wound so tight,
                        it’s hard to find the starting
                          point - the dull tip of a needle is
                        useless. I try and unknot the
                    shoelace from yesterday, the
                  muscle of memory below the ribs
              and figure out which direction I’m
            headed or which route is correct for
        my mental state I’ve been trying
      to correct but cannot correct
  until I surrender entirely to the
blinding wave of fear.

MY BODY AS AN NFT

Allow me to unshackle
your wrists, bring you
up off your knees & up to
speed. Call me a good
investment, the original
copy. Non-refundable,
metallic over bone, wire
over skin – untethered,
the virtual sin. You cannot
use me in some side hustle,
sleight of hand deal. I am
my own creator. Watch
how I catapult through
your veins and rush you
faster than a thief with a
shank. Electric/cryptic
#mytongueisdigitalweight
Begging for a bit of action
you’re not sure how to
obtain. Tell me, is there
mutual interest? I can
tell you that I’m priceless.
Watch closely before I
become a liability, before
your pockets explode,
before the scales begin
to re-balance themselves.