i started wtr in march of 2013 and i didn’t really know how wtr would do (or really what i was doing) but i’m so grateful that it’s grown so much and that we’re able to showcase really incredible work for all yall to read/see. :]
TONIGHT!! Get your submissions ready because we open for submissions in less than an hour!
Volume Three is WTR’s most explosive edition yet! This volume includes work from Jeanann Verlee, June Tang, J. Bradley, Kyle McCord, Liz Robbins, Joe Kapitan, Duarte Vitoria and so many more incredible poets, short story writers and artists.
Imagine V3 as a pistol pointed at you by someone you loved, as an exploration into humanity, into how we affect each other, how we love one another. In terms of poetry, Jackson Trice’s work revolves around love as tender as an open wound, while Jason Primm’s work describes childhood and family with incredible subtly, with incredible softness, like the tremors of an earthquake. In Gabriella Gonzales’ work , love is violent, it’s obsessive, parasitic, growing and manifesting, boiling over, but still so painfully red and raw.
The short stories in V3 delves into family, into the incredible bond between siblings, between mother and daughter, between what is foreign and what is home. In “On Pluto, Eating Starfish”, a young woman tries to make sense of a world which has given her a hospitalized mother, a distant step-father and a younger brother experimenting with blueberries, octopuses and the concept of regeneration. “Daily Bread” paints the unbearably poignant portrait of a desperate mother bearing the responsibility of two hungry children.
Finally the art in V3 completely blows our minds. From oil paintings, to art installments, to sculptures, to fantastically detailed drawings created of just pencil and paper, WTR has truly published exhilarating, emotionally puling pieces of contemporary art that exists not just in it’s own universe, but in the space before a line break, the moment before a character decides on divorce. In Volume Three, WTR has captured the essence of forgiveness, of regret, of whimsy desire, and guttural guilt. V3 explores the love that is supermarket heartbreak, the love that is following the ghosts of drowned brothers, the love that is sitting outside someone’s house waiting, just waiting for them to come out.
To pre-order your copy of Volume Three, click here!
(Cover art is “Surface” by Ericka Craig, as part of her Water Series, featured in V3 of WTR)
Harvey Dallas Publishing Company :] :] They are super super great, and super super flexible and I strongly encourage anyone (who can afford them) to use them for printing needs. :] :]
Come back… just come back..
~ Khaled Juma, a Palestinian poet from Gaza. (via castnuri)
omg i totally thought that you were asking what i thought of my writing from 2012 and i read my answer to my best friend and she was like “you’re a moron that’s not what the question was” so shout out to her from preventing me from not making sense.
i really thought about this and even tried reading some of my newer work thinking about who i was back then and i honestly think i wouldn’t get it. in like 2012 i wasn’t really reading poetry or lit mags or anything, i was just writing poetry for the heck of writing poetry while still maintaining that i was firmly a prose writer and that i was going to be a novelist one day. i think that choices i make with my poems today (the style, the voice, the narrative, where i end it, the themes i repeat, etc etc) would have really confused me back then. i would have known that this stuff was on a different level of what i was writing at the time (mostly simple stuff in terms of overarching plot, structure, theme, and the fact that my narrator were mostly me, like character poetry wasn’t a thing for me back then).\
i might’ve liked a few bits of imagery but i was more focused on making my poetry read like ~poetry~ with line breaks and ~real~ poetic language and ~poetic~ themes and stuff. like i was so against my poetry sounding anything like the prose i was writing at the time, so all my lines were very deliberate in sounding like the poetry i was reading in english class n shit. so i would’ve liked “After, clouds falling from the sky,” or something pretty like that, but I wouldn’t have tried to understand any sort of narrative in my work because I didn’t think narrative or character mattered in poetry.
Marie in church, tugging the spine of her Bible, threads fraying. Olive taps her thigh, light drifting through glittering windows, virgin Mary with her mouth wide open. They are like that too: crushed glass, pressed together, stained. Olive tucks clover between the pages, and Marie smears her honey-coated thumb across the bind. Marie before the paster, Olive’s hands on her back, pushing her forward. Her tongue dry before she even swallows the wafer, drops of wine like an split lip. She imagines Him inside of her, blood brought to the soft surface of her belly. His body swelling like watermelon seeds, teeth biting the meat of her shoulder. A cross, dragged across her neck, the pastor whispering absolution. Marie blinks and suddenly, Her face.
theme by: heloísa teixeira