Andrew Hemmert

@andrewhemmert.bsky.social

Florida poet living in Denver. No Longer at This Address and Blessing the Exoskeleton from the University of Pittsburgh Press. Sawgrass Sky from Texas Review Press. https://andrewhemmertpoetry.com

💝 DEADLINE EXTENSION! 💝 Did you miss out on submitting your manuscript to Sarabande's Fall Chapbook Prize? Never fear! We have extended the deadline! All manuscript submissions for Sarabande's Fall Chapbook Prize are due by 11:59p ET on November 9. ✨ Submit via link in bio! ✨

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October's ending sooner than I hoped & bills have stacked up badly. TL;DR: gotta make $300 to avoid overdraft in ~33hrs. It's fundraising time. Two albums almost done. That's what I'll be working on today. One chaotic, one peaceful. You'll love 'em. Starts now, live all day. twitch.tv/VektroidLive

VektroidLive - Twitch

pop culture taxidermist. if i am lucky they will make a t-shirt of me when i die — VektroidLive streams live on Twitch! Check out their videos, sign up to chat, and join their community.

twitch.tv

Hi! I design books (covers, interiors, even promotional materials) and would love to design your book(s). I like working with authors and editors to make sure everyone is happy with the final product. You can check out my work here: www.davidwojo.com. You can also message me to chat about rates.

Image of the davidwojo.com homepage featuring tons of amazing book covers designed by David. Probably the best book covers ever.

COVER REVEAL TIME! Introducing our Spring 2027 titles: -At the Bottom of the Sea with One Light by Alejandro Lucero -Quintessential Earthly Activities by Chen Chen -Disaster Porn by B.K. Fischer -The Wonder-World by Albert Goldbarth -Often You Light a Fuse to Prove You Won't Explode by Corey Zeller

Man I love this debut from Stephanie Horvath. Brigit Pegeen Kelly and Jill Osier come to mind. There's a jarring surreality in this book, and some of it comes from dreams. But mostly it comes from the delightfully weird images that Horvath selects from her snapshots of the actual world.

The cover of Field of Vision by Stephanie Horvath. A painting of a seagull carrying a coral snake over a beach with grasses and mountains in the distance behind the water.deSERT SoNNET WitH dROPPED LINE

What you thought was sand but revealed itself to be rock and coarse
shrubbery. You missed Ohio's understated hills. Someone's pores
that made the face feel more accessible by their plain visibility.
A breathing house. Whatever person lives inside of it now

eats and sleeps with or without ease. Unclaimed bicycles sawed
from iron stands at the season's last snowmelt. Again you find yourself lost
in a cream-white nightgown walking the unpaved driveway, sky agate blue
Most ghosts are female and vaguely resemble you. Bare but for the chia

and piñon pine. You think on the inchworm's maneuvering, to find
yourself in a place unlike the place you started, just by expanding
and contracting in turn against the bark of a tree. You expand.
You contract. The chia. The piñon pine. Her one lax hand

turning the steering wheel on a road of snow. I miss what I almost had

Man I love this debut from Stephanie Horvath. Brigit Pegeen Kelly and Jill Osier come to mind. There's a jarring surreality in this book, and some of it comes from dreams. But mostly it comes from the delightfully weird images that Horvath selects from her snapshots of the actual world.

The cover of Field of Vision by Stephanie Horvath. A painting of a seagull carrying a coral snake over a beach with grasses and mountains in the distance behind the water.deSERT SoNNET WitH dROPPED LINE

What you thought was sand but revealed itself to be rock and coarse
shrubbery. You missed Ohio's understated hills. Someone's pores
that made the face feel more accessible by their plain visibility.
A breathing house. Whatever person lives inside of it now

eats and sleeps with or without ease. Unclaimed bicycles sawed
from iron stands at the season's last snowmelt. Again you find yourself lost
in a cream-white nightgown walking the unpaved driveway, sky agate blue
Most ghosts are female and vaguely resemble you. Bare but for the chia

and piñon pine. You think on the inchworm's maneuvering, to find
yourself in a place unlike the place you started, just by expanding
and contracting in turn against the bark of a tree. You expand.
You contract. The chia. The piñon pine. Her one lax hand

turning the steering wheel on a road of snow. I miss what I almost had

APR is grateful to have read so many excellent poems in this year’s entries for the Stanley Kunitz Memorial Prize for Younger Poets. Our winner this year is Claire Wahmanholm, the author of Wilder (Milkweed Editions 2018), Redmouth (Tinderbox Editions 2019), and Meltwater (Milkweed Editions 2023).

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