Josiah Nelson

@josiahnelson.bsky.social

I'm what you call shy - William Steig/me Debut book forthcoming with @invisibooks.bsky.social Words in Brick, CV2, Fractured Lit, Grain, and the Literary Review of Canada

I have a short book involving demons, substituted identity and general corporate insanity coming out with PM Press next year. If you're interested, I'd encourage you to preorder. I love how it turned out. Plus, there's a picture of me walking the picket line for the Writer's Guild on the cover...

buy my book@nmamatas.bsky.social · 7mo ago

Pleased to tell you that my next @pmpress.bsky.social Outspoken Author series title, FLUME by @brianevenson.bsky.social is now up for pre-order! pmpress.org/index.php?l=...

This is Calling It Back to Me’s release day, though the book, stacks of them (or boxes? how are they housed?) have been sitting in a warehouse (where?) for a month, and they've been trickling into this world with me in tow, into this present, this March, this reluctant, catastrophed spring.

A row of book spines, dark in colour, the title Calling It Back to Me in yellow font.

Honored to have a new poem in The McNeese Review, a journal I absolutely love! Thanks to editor, Michael Robins, and poetry editor, Gwenyth Wheat, for giving “Copyist” such a kind home and for inviting me to speak about my process in crafting it (included in the replies)! Check it out, friends! 💙

Copyist

Susan L. Leary

After we give the animal a writing utensil, what 1s needed next: a mind or a piece of paper? This is not a question
or a riddle but an argument of practicality. The idea of a brother is not a brother. The idea of freedom is made tangible in the hands 
of arbitrarily good men. How to invent the after-life? How to absolve oneself of hierarchy while kissing another man's feet?
On the outside, my brother passes me the clippers. He passes the dog a coin & I hide the dog in my purse. If I must remember
for him, must I remember accurately? On the questionnaire, my sister gets shit done. I count the fan blades. I call the public
defender. I leave a message for the 29* time. No one gives a fuck, my brother says—& all I can do is listen. All I can do is thumb
through the pages & continue to learn his whereabouts. Bunk 22.
Bunk 32. Where against the false pretense of sunrise, he dreams from an unidentified bed & I dream in the bed of his language.
If you are someone who is likeable only in comparison to your captor, What are we doing? he says. If we hold the state accountable, do we do it through language or through love? On the outside, my brother
passes. I take his pen & invent the mouth of his archive. I am delegate.
I am yammerer. Of myself, my brother should get the credit.

Reading through Sourav Roy and Tuhin Bhowal’s fine anthology of contemporary Hindi poetry, PERENNIAL, I was stopped cold by Seth Michelson’s razor-sharp translation of Rati Saxena’s devastating “Refugee”—a poem for our time, for all times. “…like kites holding tight / to the ruins…”

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Leaving home as inherited condition. Displacement as engine of industrial ag. Whatever became of my great-grandmothers. What they became when they landed here. What they thought or believed, couldn’t say, couldn’t do. Our present chews holes in shared memory. This will be my fourth book.

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Tomorrow in Halifax I am hosting a poetry reading to celebrate two years of my micropress, Opaat Press. This reading will feature more than fifteen poets and is free and open to all. I'd love to see you there! Saturday, November 22, 2-4 pm, Halifax Central Library, Paul O'Regan Hall.

This photo shows a small pile of peach and pink cardstock fliers against a black background. The top flier is fully visible. It has black text that reads "Opaat Press SECOND ANNIVERSARY POETRY BASH / Free and open to all / Saturday, November 22, 2-4 pm, Halifax Central Library, Paul O'Regan Hall." At the bottom are four black and white logos for the League of Canadian Poets, The Writers' Union of Canada, Canada Council for the Arts, and Halifax Public Libraries.