Herbert Martin “Our Dearest Abandoned Sister” and 2 more poems
Southern Legitimacy Statement: I was born in Birmingham, Alabama and even though my family migrated in the forties looking for work, I remain a Southerner in manners and diplomacy. I am not sure but I think that this is a Southern Statement.
Paul Smith: Bye & Bye
I hereby certify I am a Yankee. Put down your guns. Having visited your website, I've come to the conclusion that once you figure out i'm not related to William Faulkner, you may still read what I have wrote written. By way of introduction, this is a preamble, a necessary and unfortunate assembly of words before The 'Southern Legitimacy Statement,' which is forthcoming.
'Southern Legitimacy Statement' by Paul Smith
Part 1 of the First Part 'I deplore the degradation of Gatlinburg, Tennessee into the tourist nightmare it has become because I remember when it was young and somewhat pure, and although I don't remember the actual event itself, I may have been conceived there, since mom and dad liked it and came there a lot (please don't snicker at any unintended double-meanings.
Part 2 of the First Part ' I know why there are so many Ogles in Gatlinburg. They are not descendants of James Oglethorpe. They are descendants of King Og, who was some kind of King in England. I realize Wikipedia says something else, but this was told to me by one of the Ogles, possibly Kates, who let me ride his horse.
Part 3 of the First Fart - 'I have been to Dollyville in Pigeon Forge and have eaten pancakes in one of the 26 'All You Can Eat' pancake houses between Gatlinburg & Pigeon Forge.'
Erin Cochran: Ferris Wheel’s End
Southern Legitimacy Statement: It's been said that my daddy's family is so southern that no one in it from the time brothers Chance, Gardner, and Claude set foot in the Carolinas in 1642 had ever lived north of the Mason-Dixon line until my first cousin moved to Michigan in 1997. That was a travesty in our family worthy of comment from our Uncle Claude, the man who could engage in an hour long conversation without uttering more than five words. He was almost as concerned with her move as he was in finding mamaw's peach cobbler recipe after she passed away that should have been among the good nighties stored away unopened for that inevitable trip to the hospital. I guess that makes us southern but if not, there's an entire county in Alabama that our children have been warned about finding a mate in, as we are related to the entire county in some form. That's probably an exaggeration but there were 1600 people at the last family reunion we attended all descended from one couple and most people came from less than an hour away. The table of "greens" was actually nine tables long and I'm pretty sure my dad ate some from each and every pot.
Art Heifetz: Three Poems
Southern Legitimacy Statement: Came to Richmond in 1977 as a damned Yankee, that is one who decided to stay. Gradually lost my New York accent and started saying “youse all.” Told my clients that my people were F.F.V. and they shook their heads earnestly. “Don’t believe I ever heard of Heifetz.” “Just kidding, ma’am,” I replied. “ We’re from North Carolina.”
Tobi Cogswell: Two Poems
SLS - Tobi Cogswell began kindergarten in Dallas. Even though it was many years ago, she still remembers her first dog was a "Heinz 57" named Sam Finkelstein the Third Rifkin. She remembers a family outing to the zoo where a lion peed on her best friend Betsy who lived down the street, and eating chicken fried steak at the Surrey, in a shopping center where a Wil Wrights was freestanding in a corner of the parking lot. Today she has good friends in Texas, and is pleased to see at least one of them in an earlier issue of this journal.
Danny Collier: Poems
Here is my SLS:
I grew up in Memphis. I am a direct descendant of the Georgia Tann scandal. Once, I rode through Weakley County in the passenger seat of a decrepit MG roadster, unaware that the passenger seat was not bolted to the car. My grandfather hunted deer from his mid-century modern breakfast table, stepping to the porch when it was time to take the shot. I know the location of the capital city of the kingdom of Skullbonia. I have almost finished a book-length manuscript of poems related to chickens.
Joyce Rushing: A Prose Poem
Southern Legitimacy Statement: Joyce is southern by virtue. A true friend of the Dead Mule who is finding her voice.
Six Short Works by Joyce Rushing “Dancing With Dementia”
Joyce has never published a darn thing in this world. Never thought she was a writer but knew she had some stories to tell. So she figured out how to submit with our Submittable process and we loved what we read. If you think this whole submission process is too complex, take heart. If she can do it -- so can you. You will hear more from Joyce in October in our True Stories from the South issue. These six works are Prose Poems but they are more because of the quiet dignity of their truth. They will be published in both the poetry and essay sections.
Southern Legitimacy Statement:
I've been married to a Mississippi boy for 54 years and lived in Mississippi for 50 years. I'm responsible for bringing 16 southern souls into the world... so far. That alone ought to be good enough for anybody.
John Lane – Three Poems
Southern Legitimacy Statement: Much of my genetic material has been circulating between the blue Southern sea and the Blue Ridge for over 200 years. (My sister, an obsessive genealogist, can certify this.) A few family names: Mary Caldonia Behealer, Christopher Columbus
Bradley (“Lum”), Walter Scott Lane, Aunt Lottie Belle. will send my mother’s pinto bean recipe upon request.
June Poets
Southern Legitimacy Statement:
Does being a vegetarian disqualify me from being “southern”? I have accepted grits, cornbread, okra, and ridiculously sweet iced tea, but I can’t abide collards and barbeque. I don’t have loquacious uncles spinning yarns at huge family reunions or eccentric aunties that out-butter Paula Deen. All I have is a developed love of the land as I have lived over half my life now in North Carolina. I have hiked in the Great Smokies and splashed off the Outer Banks. I have gardened in the Piedmont’s red clay and in the flat sand of the coastal plain. Elizabeth City is the fourth NC city for me, trending eastward from High Point. A remnant of the Great Dismal Swamp is in my back yard along with the Pasquotank River. They inspired these poems.
Joseph Bathanti – NC Poet Laureate
Mr. Bathanti is well known to many of us in NC. Bathanti is currently a professor of creative writing at Appalachian State University where he is also Director of Writing in the Field. He is the Writer-in-Residence for the Watauga Global Community.
He was installed as the seventh North Carolina Poet Laureate on September 20, 2012, at a ceremony in Raleigh, North Carolina. During his two-year term, he will be an "Ambassador of N.C. Literature" and will remain free to create his own long-term projects. The position requires the laureate to participate in various literary activities across the state, working with "with schools, community groups, and the press." We see the two extraordinary poems here in the Dead Mule as an extension of his poetic mandate.
Mr. Bathanti has received many honors including:
The Sam Ragan Fine Arts Award (1995)
Oscar Arnold Young Award – The North Carolina Poetry Council (1997)
Carolina Novel Award – Banks Channel Books (2001)
Sherwood Anderson Award (2002)
Linda Flowers Literary Award – NC Humanities Council (2002)
Novello Literary Award (2006)
The Spokane Prize – Eastern Washington University
North Carolina Poet Laureate (2012–2014)
Ragan-Rubin Award – North Carolina English Teachers Association (2012)
*Wikipedia entry re:Joseph Bathanti. For those of you unfamiliar with his work, check his Wikipedia page for more details and a list of his publications and access links.
Statement from the Editors:
Every year, in April, the Dead Mule publishes the poet laureate of a Southern state as the centerpiece of its Poetry Issue. Helen Losse established this tradition early in her career as Poetry Editor here a the Mule. In past years, we have featured such esteemed poets as: Kathryn Stripling Byer, Carolyn Kreiter-Foronda, Marjory Wentworth, Claudia Emerson, Sue Brannon Walker, and Cathy Smith Bowers.
This year we are fortunate to have two unique and wonderful poems from Joseph Bathanti, the Poet Laureate of North Carolina 2012-2014. He was appointed by Gov. Bev Purdue.
This April poetic tradition is a joy to create each year and we hope everyone enjoys reading all the incredible writing.
Later in the middle of the month -- don't forget -- Fiction! Essays! And now, read on -- on down the page -- there are 27 more poets here.
Janet Joyner : Six Poems
Southern Legitimacy Statement:
Number One: if you’re the one asking “Honey, who are your people?” let’s just say mine have been here long enough to understand the question; Number Two: there’s a reason my middle name is Lee; Number Three: I grew up in the Carolina low country where even the sweat sweats. That good enough?
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Jim “Jazzbo” Chandler: Five Poems
Southern Legitimacy Statement:
I heared tell of some moron passin' around the word that Jazzbo Chandler might not be pure bred Southern...ignernt sumbitch claimed he was born north of the Tennessee--Kentucky line and jest claimed to be a man of the True South.
Boy, 'at got my damn blood boilin'! I was hotter than Granny was when she caught Grandpa out in the barn commiseratin' with some of the livestock in a manner that was again the law, I reckon. Grandpa claimed both snaps on his Dee-Cee bibs failed at the same time and he was astandin' on the five-gallon bucket 'cause he didn't wanna get cow manure all over his new clod stompers.
I don't reckon Granny believe 'at too much, 'cause she went up aside his head with a single-tree and brained him. He got outta the hospital a couple days ago after about six month, but I reckon they's somethin' still wrong with him . . . he said he's some German scientist named Brownsher Bosch and he owned the Ford Company. Hell, Grandpa ain't got a bucket to piss in nor a winder to throw it out of, not since his boy, Uncle Claude, went to sleep with his crack pipe and burnt down the house.
As the poetry editor of this here profane and vulgar magerzine tole me, us Rank Stranger stick together. Hell yeah we do; I'm buyin' me one of them damn plastic squeeze bottle syrup thangs, hell with them Karo bottles! They always mess up on me and I look like a sight with them pieces of biscuit stuff all over my overalls.
I'm a good Southern boy, though. I always let them pore kids what ain't got no food lick off the stickins. They shore like me.
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Poetry
Essays
