Q&A With Editor Jeff Santosuosso

Five editors have generously agreed to help me with the Tupelo Press 30/30 Challenge, by providing, for a modest donation of $20, critiques of poetry. Jeff Santosuosso, the editor of Panoply, is the first to be presented here.

 

Jeff Santosuosso

Jeff Santosuosso


Which three words best describe your favorite poetry?
Language, imagery, and rhythm. Most good poetry does one of these well. Two makes it great. Three makes it unforgettable. (Poster child: Plath’s “Alicante Lullaby.”)

Would you mind sharing a bit about your background?
I grew up in the suburbs of Boston from immigrant families and still associate closely with that connection to the American Dream, which I firmly uphold. Majored in English in college because at that age, I had no idea what to pursue. I chose English because I liked it. Good idea for me, paying more qualitative dividends as I age. Got an MBA because after my parents’ divorce (when I was about 12), we lived on government aid for a while. No way I wanted to continue on that path. Long career in business, which has taken me all over the world. I love to travel and have 2 states left to achieve a bucket list item of visiting them all (MT and ND). Got “back” into poetry about a decade ago. Been married 26 years, with a son through college and doing fine on his own. He lives in Dallas, where he first attended middle school. The local arts scene in Pensacola is healthy, but a bit fractious. It’s a small city. There’s a biennial anthology published, which is fine, but way too infrequent for me. So with two friends, we launched Panoply in 2015. It’s a thrill to edit. Some of the work is so uplifting! I’ve made some good friends via poetry, many of whom I’ve never actually met. Reminds me of pen pals. Most poets I know are introverts. Not me. Extravert. I have learned to inquire and listen. It’s hugely important in business. But I think my natural inclination gives us an advantage as we market Panoply. We read blind so that we can concentrate on the poetry, not the poet (see below) and are just as proud to debut a new voice as we are to include a Pushcart nominee.

What sets apart the poems you accept from those you turn down?
See above. I like craft, even loose craft or meandering. I’d like to infer that there’s been some deliberation. I also am partial to the unusual. If a poem makes me think and/or feel differently, unusually, I’m ready. Take me somewhere I haven’t been, or via a new route. Not afraid of rhyme or formality. Those can be refreshing.

If you were a poetic form, which would you be?
Sestina. I’m a sucker for form, and I think repetition can be a very effective tool. I am fascinated by memory and association. These days, I am focused on when and how poetry approaches song.

Do you pay much attention to cover letters? What do you like/dislike about them?
No. Not to be rude or dismissive, but I dive right into the poetry. My own cover letters are quite lacking. I “get” personal context. It can be overwhelming. In our local workshops though, one of the catchphrases we use is, “Imagine that 60 years from now some teenager in Peoria is going to pick up your poem out of the blue…”

List three favorite poets, an admirable animal, and your go-to beverage.
Poets: Robinson Jeffers, Sylvia Plath, Carl Sandburg. Go figure. (This is a bit difficult for me, as I’m an aficionado, not a scholar. I don’t really process that way. Much more intuitive, and I generally prefer poems over poets. Likewise, I love both Dali and Hopper.)

Animal: elephant. I have a predisposition to the large, apparently peaceful slow ones, like elephants and cows. Elephants have 6-chamber brains and publicly grieve.

Go-to beverage: Uh….in order of consumption: water, coffee, milk, martinis (these days with jalapeno and something sweet to counterpoint), hefeweizen. Tea in the winter. It relaxes me, even the regular stuff.

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Please consider supporting poetry and literary publishers (specifically Tupelo Press). Perhaps one of these incentives will entice you?

 

 

 

 

 

Poem on Split This Rock’s Blog

ammo

My poem “In Response to Nadia’s Misdirected Email, I State Exactly What I’m Looking For” is up on Split This Rock’s Virtual Open Mic for Poems that Speak Against Violence and for Embrace

I posted the poem here a couple of weeks ago, but sent it on, with a few minor changes, to the Virtual Open Mic when I read their call for submissions.

 

Elegies for the Night (2002)

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Elegies for the Night (2002)
                                        for W

1
You might palm a small token, damp and misshapen as the words
you expel, never admitting the dark truth.

Or the plundered life, neither black nor white, invisible yet whole.

Someone prays, yet all around silence reigns and the snow melts.

Possibilities cleansed in the light of misplaced certainty.

2
The charred wind’s fruit bears little resemblance to its predecessor.

And later, within the garden’s stones, what remains
but an acrid taste on the tongues of the speechless?

And if the bones have dispersed where might their thoughts reside?

The wind takes nothing it does not want.

The wind wants nothing.

Nothing remains.

                    I am afraid, she said. Please tell me.

3
Though the moon returns in its diminished
state, I shall not listen. Words

turn back and eat
themselves, exposing intent

behind form, consonants beneath
vowels lying in wait. Abandonment.

And further senseless
debates: gain from loss, shock and awe,
the incessant demand for others to do

not what you would do but what you would have them do.
I claim no insight,

but even the light you reveal burns unclean.

4
Despair and its siblings fall to mind.
Scarcities: clean water, air, the simplest meal

when ashes swirl and fingers burn long after
the rain. My son, my son,

and other cries lost in the sand.
If he listened what sounds could he bear,

what sights, which odors? I tremble and lie still.

* * *

“Elegies for the Night” first appeared in Boston Poetry Magazine in April 2014.

 

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Kites

string

Kites

Will viewpoint shift with my spine’s slow
compression, or will this

window admit only true images
in the shortened days to come?

I pencil phrases on bone-shaped kites
and release them to the afternoon.

Call them prayers, name them moans.
Each string is a regret freed, a separate

skeleton, let go. My two selves shudder
in the attempt. I await the perfect breeze.

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3 Poems in Eclectica’s July/August Issue

scarycrow

I’m delighted that the July-August issue of Eclectica includes three of my Scarecrow poems. Last year I bought a book on corvids (crows, ravens, jays), thinking that I’d likely produce a few poems centered on these fascinating birds. But as I started writing the first one, the Scarecrow’s voice eased in and took control. Thus far we’ve collaborated on about a dozen pieces. Such is poetry…

Hummingbird (3)

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Hummingbird (3)

Arriving from nowhere,
its mouth opens

but what escapes
comes not from within

and is never complete.
Words, too, falter

in this space,
struggling to remain

aloft, challenged yet free,
an exchange

between air and wing,
of sound and thought,

occurring as it must
without design

or desire, simply
there, then gone,

a presence one notices
in its absence.

* * *

“Hummingbird (3) made its first appearance  on the blog in December 2014.

words

Hummingbird (2)

humming moon-2

Hummingbird (2)

It embraces what the mind cannot.
To touch, to be
acquired in the way that light

is drawn to the seed’s
core, one must imagine
silence in the purity of

space – that emptiness between
thought and utterance – filled
with what precedes

intent. The movement
has no end; it is

the breath inhaling us all.

glasshummer

Poem Featured on Imperfect Life

 

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My poem “If We Burn,” which has appeared on the blog twice, is featured on Imperfect Life, an Australian online magazine. It is, sadly, topical.

 

In Response to Nadia’s Misdirected Email, I State Exactly What I Am Looking For


tulip

 

In Response to Nadia’s Misdirected Email, I State Exactly What I Am Looking For

Balance. The ability to stand on one foot, on a tightrope, and juggle AR-15s,
ethics and dollar bills, while chanting the U.S. Constitution, in tongues.

Or good health.

Unweighted dreams.

A mechanism for disagreeing without needing to annihilate the opposition.

Doorways without doors, truth without fear.

A simple tulip.

One word to describe that instant between thought and pulled trigger,
intent and wish, the elevated pulse and sense of diminished space and time.

Sanctuary. Regret. Apology. Respect.

A tonic to the bitterness, a foil to the sweet.

Fitted sheets that fold. Uncommon sense.

Love in the abstract. More bacon. Smiles.

A closet that embraces everything you place in it. Everything.

The means of unfiring guns, of reversing wounds to undamaged flesh,
and rounds to their magazines, full and never used.

Self-organizing drawers. Due process.

Mothers who know only tears of joy.

One peaceful day.

Just one.

 

lights n sirens

 

 

Hummingbird

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Hummingbird

The thought makes
trembling so

incomplete, a consequence
of knowledge attained. I look out

and see leaves flitting in the dusk,
the air closing around them

like the mouth of an old well
swallowing light. Such

hunger we find difficult
to comprehend. The wind shivers

through our lives and repeats itself,
though differently each time.

Every departure is a return.

“Hummingbird” made it’s first appearance on the blog in December 2014. I wrote it in the 1980s, probably between 1987-1989.

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