Sommer Browning’s favorite works republished at Everyday Genius this month.

1 Aug

That was an unnecessarily long title that explains pretty much everything, but I’ll also toss in this little note from Browning at EG:

When I wondered what I’d fill a literary journal with, I thought about the overwhelming emphasis on the new, the mind-spinning quickness of the publishing world & the relatively short shelf-life of the book. So, I decided to smack it up, flip it, rub it down, oh no, which is to say I decided upon some constraints. I would publish only previously published work. What you will find this month is what I’ve read, gazed at and fell in love with over the past few years.

Lack of Oxford comma aside, this note thrills me. I love this act of curation, and espcially given the evidence of her first day’s selections (a set of 3 poems by Arda Collins that strike immediate, hold on with quick-breathed wonderstruck, how they grab me and say, “FUCKING READ ME!”), I can place solid bets on thinking this month at Everyday Genius is not a month to be missed.

The News

At last, terror has arrived.
Next door, the house has gone up in flames.
A woman runs from the burning wreck, her face smeared
with blood and ashes. She screams that her children are kidnapped.
It’s truly exciting, and what more would anyone ask?
(…more at Everyday Genius)

Garden Apartments

(…)
I wondered what I would do the rest of the day.
People were running their lives from here.
They had a coffee table and mugs with writing on them.
They had the rest of their lives. It was just like the other day.
The weather was warm for the first time.
I was out walking.
A young couple came out of a house.
She had just taken a shower,
blow-dried her hair and put make up on,
and put on light-colored pants and a t-shirt.
I smelled her shampoo
when they passed, and I felt afraid of the day.
(…more at Everyday Genius)

Poem

If only we knew what our choices were,
something besides being flogged.
I can’t say I mind being flogged,
but I also don’t do much else.
Yesterday it was as though I was back with the old watering can,
watering the tree out the window,
thinking about the old church
where all my memories began and are stored.
(…more at Everyday Genius)

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