YesYes

Danez’s new collection ‘[insert] boy’ is just ten days away.

That’s right. TEN DAYS.

Are you ready?

Danez’s new collection ‘[insert] boy’ is just ten days away.
That’s right. TEN DAYS.
Are you ready?

There are a lot of folks out there who want to get their hands on a copy of NO by Ocean Vuong. They’ve been emailing us. A lot. We understand! But we are entirely out and there will not be another individual printing of this amazing gorgeous powerhouse of a chap.

HOWEVER. There are some copies available at the San Diego Multicultural LGBT Literary Foundation. We sent them a bunch a few months back at a deep discount in order to support the work they do. I checked in with them this morning and they still have copies for sale.

Email info@sdliteraryfoundation.org for details on how to get one!

Results from this year’s YesYes Books Open Reading Period are in!

We are pretty much beside ourselves that we are going to be able to release Jay Deshpande’s debut collection LOVE THE STRANGER.

The submission pool was large and very strong and we want to give a loud shoutout in particular to the finalists that, while we won’t be able to pick them up this go round, deserve loud praise.


Finalists:
The Most Kissed Face in the World by Chuck Carlisle
how to get over by T’ai Freedom Ford
Vasilyssa by Gala Mukomolova
Things to Do While Living in a Landscape by Marc Paltrineri
The Devouring Species by Robert Whitehead
Crawl by Nikki Zielinski


Thank you to all who submitted to this year’s Open Reading Period. We truly appreciate your confidence and support.

Results from this year’s YesYes Books Open Reading Period are in!

We are pretty much beside ourselves that we are going to be able to release Jay Deshpande’s debut collection LOVE THE STRANGER.
The submission pool was large and very strong and we want to give a loud shoutout in particular to the finalists that, while we won’t be able to pick them up this go round, deserve loud praise.
Finalists:The Most Kissed Face in the World by Chuck Carlislehow to get over by T’ai Freedom FordVasilyssa by Gala MukomolovaThings to Do While Living in a Landscape by Marc PaltrineriThe Devouring Species by Robert WhiteheadCrawl by Nikki Zielinski
Thank you to all who submitted to this year’s Open Reading Period. We truly appreciate your confidence and support.

probablycryingreview:

I DON’T MIND IF YOU’RE FEELING ALONE - THOMAS PATRICK LEVY

THERE’S LOTS OF CORN MENTIONED IN THIS COLLECTION

the lovely people at yesyesbooks sent me a copy of thomas patrick levy’s I DON’T MIND IF YOU’RE FEELING ALONE and holy shit. reading it is like petting a dog for the first time.

i don’t usually underline things in books, especially poetry books, but i underlined at least one thing on each page of IDMIYFA. that means i would literally get each line i underlined tattooed on my person.

this book is relatable, heavy, and mentions corn at least 31 times. levy has such a unique way of writing descriptive poetry that feels conceptual and modern. there wasn’t one boring poem in this book, though i’m biased and usually dislike long poems, while most of levy’s are less that 16 lines each. though these poems are shorter, they can tell so much more about levy’s lonesomeness/passion/other raw feelings than most long poems do, which take forever to get to the fucking point.

levy gets to the point. levy gets the point.

there is awkwardness, uncertainty, anxiety, and every other horrible aspect of being unable to be a “social” person. levy writes,

"Please understand, I tried to find the perfect

place to sit.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I sat

on the floor, folded back the cover of a coloring

book.”

levy uses simple language but talks about difficult concepts and he does this very well. in some of these poems levy doesn’t give a fuck about punctuation and i totally dig that. this book is levy talking to you about his life and about how he is in love with scarlett johnasson who i’m not particularly a fan of (booooo zonists) but it’s easy to replace the name scarlett with the persons you have an extreme infatuation for.

levy’s imagery with waves and mountains and islands is also spot on.

"Sometimes I am lonely and he says INSIDE THERE

ARE WAVES BOLTED DOWN TO YOUR BRAIN.”

basically this collection of tiny, warm poems is really good at making me cry.

  

find thomas here: thomaspatricklevy.com

buy everything from yesyesbooks

review by: beyza ozer

probablycryingreview:

I DON’T MIND IF YOU’RE FEELING ALONE - THOMAS PATRICK LEVY
THERE’S LOTS OF CORN MENTIONED IN THIS COLLECTION
the lovely people at yesyesbooks sent me a copy of thomas patrick levy’s I DON’T MIND IF YOU’RE FEELING ALONE and holy shit. reading it is like petting a dog for the first time.
i don’t usually underline things in books, especially poetry books, but i underlined at least one thing on each page of IDMIYFA. that means i would literally get each line i underlined tattooed on my person.
this book is relatable, heavy, and mentions corn at least 31 times. levy has such a unique way of writing descriptive poetry that feels conceptual and modern. there wasn’t one boring poem in this book, though i’m biased and usually dislike long poems, while most of levy’s are less that 16 lines each. though these poems are shorter, they can tell so much more about levy’s lonesomeness/passion/other raw feelings than most long poems do, which take forever to get to the fucking point.
levy gets to the point. levy gets the point.
there is awkwardness, uncertainty, anxiety, and every other horrible aspect of being unable to be a “social” person. levy writes,

"Please understand, I tried to find the perfect
place to sit.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I sat
on the floor, folded back the cover of a coloring
book.”

levy uses simple language but talks about difficult concepts and he does this very well. in some of these poems levy doesn’t give a fuck about punctuation and i totally dig that. this book is levy talking to you about his life and about how he is in love with scarlett johnasson who i’m not particularly a fan of (booooo zonists) but it’s easy to replace the name scarlett with the persons you have an extreme infatuation for.
levy’s imagery with waves and mountains and islands is also spot on.

"Sometimes I am lonely and he says INSIDE THERE
ARE WAVES BOLTED DOWN TO YOUR BRAIN.”

basically this collection of tiny, warm poems is really good at making me cry.
  
find thomas here: thomaspatricklevy.com
buy everything from yesyesbooks
review by: beyza ozer

acehotel:

Portland, OR

INTERVIEW: DANNIEL SCHOONEBEEK

Danniel Schoonebeek’s poems take back roads and veins to an American place filled with secrets in your ear. Where the barn behind you is lit with the most eerie Gregory Crewdson-like light.  

Last Saturday Ace New York hosted Bound by Chance. Danniel wasn’t there, but his words were. People used them to make stories and bound those stories into pamphlets. Tonight, Danniel reads from his book in Portland at Crema Coffee + Bakery before he sails back home to Brooklyn. It’s going to be an after hours poetry party. 

You recently completed a poetry tour in support of your first book, American Barricade (YesYes Books). Independent musicians tour all the time to support themselves. What was the experience like as a poet?

When I was seventeen I left high school and toured in a van with four other guys. We were a band, I was the drummer, and we toured the country for a few months, living in the van with our instruments. What’s startling to me is that I did this again ten years later. This time I was alone, I was reading my poems and not hitting a snare, and I took the trains across America instead of riding in a van. The tours were alike in that they were both these depleting, chaotic bursts in which you learn more about yourself than you knew was possible. You aren’t working hard enough are the words I came away with when I was seventeen. Our last date on that tour was at CBGB’s, and there was this holy feeling like we’d arrived. But nobody gave a shit about our songs, not the bands, not the people. I think that experience taught me that you have to demand to be heard, like a list of demands is heard in a hostage situation, and that list of demands is work. 

The tour I just finished leaves me to this day with jubilee. In some ways it was like playing a chess match against my own life. I’d just been kicked out of my apartment, I’d just been laid off, the love life was in the gutter. I booked the tour myself, no agents, no help from my publisher. I needed to see if a poet could do it alone. Friends came out to read and see me off, let me sleep on their floors. Strangers opened their doors to me, handed me their keys, helped me hunt down venues. These people are part of my life now, and they handed me small tokens along the way, tchotchkes and mementos, a little scratch some nights. The trains are their own crash course in how much American disgust you can tolerate within yourself. If you don’t have the constitution within yourself to wash your hair in the sink on a moving train, or deal with drunks, or fall asleep hungry on a dinner of tic-tacs, don’t get on the trains. But there was something unbelievable about waking up on the train, feeling like shit, drinking a styrofoam cup of coffee, and watching the landscape of America peel away outside while you’re surrounded by all these families and drifters and bulleting your way to a poetry reading in a different city each night. It was like not being a citizen anymore. 

I’m finishing a book about this last tour and that’ll come out soon. I’m working with two editors who are challenging the work and pushing it in directions I’m thrilled about. I can’t say who yet, but it’s coming. It’s called C’est La Guerre

Read More

acehotel:

Portland, ORINTERVIEW: DANNIEL SCHOONEBEEK
Danniel Schoonebeek’s poems take back roads and veins to an American place filled with secrets in your ear. Where the barn behind you is lit with the most eerie Gregory Crewdson-like light.  
Last Saturday Ace New York hosted Bound by Chance. Danniel wasn’t there, but his words were. People used them to make stories and bound those stories into pamphlets. Tonight, Danniel reads from his book in Portland at Crema Coffee + Bakery before he sails back home to Brooklyn. It’s going to be an after hours poetry party. 
You recently completed a poetry tour in support of your first book, American Barricade (YesYes Books). Independent musicians tour all the time to support themselves. What was the experience like as a poet?
When I was seventeen I left high school and toured in a van with four other guys. We were a band, I was the drummer, and we toured the country for a few months, living in the van with our instruments. What’s startling to me is that I did this again ten years later. This time I was alone, I was reading my poems and not hitting a snare, and I took the trains across America instead of riding in a van. The tours were alike in that they were both these depleting, chaotic bursts in which you learn more about yourself than you knew was possible. You aren’t working hard enough are the words I came away with when I was seventeen. Our last date on that tour was at CBGB’s, and there was this holy feeling like we’d arrived. But nobody gave a shit about our songs, not the bands, not the people. I think that experience taught me that you have to demand to be heard, like a list of demands is heard in a hostage situation, and that list of demands is work. 
The tour I just finished leaves me to this day with jubilee. In some ways it was like playing a chess match against my own life. I’d just been kicked out of my apartment, I’d just been laid off, the love life was in the gutter. I booked the tour myself, no agents, no help from my publisher. I needed to see if a poet could do it alone. Friends came out to read and see me off, let me sleep on their floors. Strangers opened their doors to me, handed me their keys, helped me hunt down venues. These people are part of my life now, and they handed me small tokens along the way, tchotchkes and mementos, a little scratch some nights. The trains are their own crash course in how much American disgust you can tolerate within yourself. If you don’t have the constitution within yourself to wash your hair in the sink on a moving train, or deal with drunks, or fall asleep hungry on a dinner of tic-tacs, don’t get on the trains. But there was something unbelievable about waking up on the train, feeling like shit, drinking a styrofoam cup of coffee, and watching the landscape of America peel away outside while you’re surrounded by all these families and drifters and bulleting your way to a poetry reading in a different city each night. It was like not being a citizen anymore. 
I’m finishing a book about this last tour and that’ll come out soon. I’m working with two editors who are challenging the work and pushing it in directions I’m thrilled about. I can’t say who yet, but it’s coming. It’s called C’est La Guerre. 
Read More

leslumflower:

Danez Smith - “Genesissy”

"On the twelfth day, Jesus wept in the mirror, mourning how his sons would shame his sons for walking a daughter’s stride."

Dancing (in bed) with White men (with dreads) by Danez Smith

poemswap:

As published in MUZZLE Magazine.  Listen to the poem here.

Forgive me Audre Lorde, I have sinned
but we both could give a damn about that.

Forgive me Lorde, the master’s tools
brought my house down. I begged him with my own hands.

I’ve been floorboards, wing nuts
& slow blues at his pale hard feet, his full moon flesh

my new moon flesh, waxed nights
of bloodcandles, wince, grazing teeth & no history

until morning, ruined by his glued, yarned experiment
at our natural, his braided unwashed attack against our tentacled blaze

is pulled sugar to my mouth. Lorde, he doesn’t know
how long it takes to look the mirror in the eye, love what the world won’t.

Lorde, forgive me for not grabbing the shears,
forgive me the night I let him stay in my bed after

he said race wasn’t real, for harboring
him in our earth caked skin & not making him walk

to the store, around the store,
drive anywhere while he was covered in our brown bright hand-me-down.

Lorde, there are brown boys I never called back,
sweet as God, gorgeous sun descended men, perfect & plump

but none of them made me fail
as joyous, none of them so undid my spine’s subtle tension,

I don’t want to tell you none of them
went to college, but it’s true. Lorde, we just didn’t relate past our hued past

& isn’t that what uppity people say?
Is the new spelling of my name T-O-M? Does it matter anymore?

I want to tell you about the president,
but not what some say about him. I don’t want to tell you about being 4

& playing with white barbies,
about going to college in a small town, about rent

& the men who paid it for a while,
their wrinkling ghosting bodies, about who lives in Brooklyn,

about Chicago & how she bled,
and that Davis boy or how ain’t nothing changed & nothing hasn’t,

this half dream world, good enough utopia, & still,
his hair. Lorde, what is your word? He’s in my bed, dreads splayed,

taking up too much space.
Audre, gravity is pulling me everywhere. I sit on the edge,

if I fall, I not sure where I’ll go.

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