If I’d never heard of me would I read my book? #Poetry #Stories #Giveaway

By Donavan Hufnagle (Guest Blogger)

I tend to discover new books through word of mouth by my students, colleagues, wife, or other writers. The books I appreciate the most are by those “unknown” authors. I am one of those “unknown” authors with mostly unknown books. With that stated, I find that authors like me, take more risks with their writing, challenging readers in a positive way.

Poetry, of course, is automatically going to present a challenge to readers. In most cases I would argue that poetry requires more participation from the reader than fiction, for example, so without even describing my books, I am already at a disadvantage. Reader don’t like to work that hard. However, poetry could win over more people if they just give it a chance. From a practical stance, most poetry is short, and we can live in the poem longer and move away from the poem with more without having to read 300 pages or whatever. I never can understand that in a culture where our attention spans are constantly being reduced, how 700-page books keep showing up. Why not read poetry? In most cases, you can read one or two poems, allow those poems to puncture your senses and thoughts, close the book, and come back later to different poems for a different experience.

In my poetry, I want to challenge readers while, also, stimulating them with more experiences in a shorter frame. More importantly, I want the reader to take away multiple experiences from the same poem. In this way, I try to have poems that speak on many different levels. For one instance, in the poem “The Spirit of Deep Ellum,” I may be referring to the blues musician Blind Lemon Jefferson, but that aspect of the poem is only an additional layer and those unfamiliar with Blind Lemon Jefferson will still move away from the poem understanding the narrative about a person struggling to make it in life—a coming of age story in a way, which everyone can relate to. In other words, I want my poems to relate to a larger audience while pleasing those looking for more depth. You can read my current book These Are Not My Words (I Just Wrote Them) and appreciate the intricate layering of identity being showcased and resonate with the many pop cultural references and their connection to our culture and ourselves….

But I want you to, overall, enjoy the basic human stories that are being told.

Blurb

Echoing Chuck Palahniuk’s statement. “Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known,” this collection explores identity. These poems drift down rivers of old, using histories private and public and visit people that I love and loathe. Through heroes and villains, music and cartoons, literature and comics, science and wonder, and shadow and light, each poem canals the various channels of self and invention. As in the poem, “Credentials,” “I am a collage of memories and unicorn stickers…[by] those that have witnessed and been witnessed.”

Excerpt

Grandma, If Only These Walls…

 

Do you sleep naked beneath

a popcorn sky riddled with residue

of the past and clues to asbestos?

I remember

when I clawed the ceiling,

the putty knife scraped away

the yellowing kernels and it snowed

for the rest of the day. For the rest

of my life.

They popped. And from the ceiling,

down, eventually,

yellow falls asleep on the bed.

I am a child in a snow globe,

making snow angels the same

yellowish tint as her nubs, her alley-cat

eyes, these walls.

I know little of her:

her modeling days—her costume

jewelry displays throughout

the house, but where did she wear this

ruby ring? When did this

emerald rest around her neck?

An albatross?

I imagine her strut

on the runway, such

power. They stare at her, wait

for her everything. A look. A twist.

A wink. Was she always on

display?

Did the flash of cameras blind her

marriage—rumors of others,

into another?

How the hell could she let

the next in? He stole her

money, molested her

children and grands. He smoldered her

like the tip of her cigarette,

And from the tip, down,

eventually, the ash snow fell

gray to yellow.

 

About the Author

Donovan Hufnagle is a husband, a father of three, and a professor of English and Humanities. He moved from Southern California to Prescott, Arizona to Fort Worth, Texas. He has five poetry collections: These Are Not My Words (I Just Wrote Them), Raw Flesh Flash: The Incomplete, Unfinished Documenting Of, The Sunshine Special, Shoebox, and 30 Days of 19. Other recent writings have appeared in Tempered Runes Press, Solum Literary Press, Poetry Box, Beyond Words, Wingless Dreamer, Subprimal Poetry Art, Americana Popular Culture Magazine, Shufpoetry, Kitty Litter Press, Carbon Culture, Amarillo Bay, Borderlands, Tattoo Highway, The New York Quarterly, Rougarou, and others.

Website: http://www.donovanhufnagle.com

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/donovanhufnagle

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/dhufnaglepoetry

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/These-Are-Not-My-Words/dp/B0DBMN46M4/ref=sr_1_1

One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $25 Amazon/BN.com gift card.

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