Project #76844 - Literature comments

I'm gonna post my friends essays and I need comments on each essay about 100-250 words for each essay..


please no crazy prices it's an essay job.

4 essays I'm gonna post but please good comments on the subject 



Being “offbeat” and “ahead of the curve”, the Mississippi Review Journal has been publishing a range of work (poetry, short stories, interviews), from authors who are emerging and trying to get their work published, to established writers, Noble, and Pulitzer Prize winners. Published at the University of Southern Mississippi, the Mississippi Review is filled with new and interesting works that question morals, picturizescenery, and effectively describe emotions. Founded in 1971, the MR has continued a tradition of dedicating one of their two issues to feature the writing of their MR writing contest winners, one who is an established writer, and the other, the works of a new author. With new portals to access the MR (social media), it is now easier to read the works of current and previous MR writers who have successfully been published in the magazine. With the goal of showing the works of writers, the Mississippi Review has a mixture of tradition alongside contemporary edge, catering to all types of readers. Although there are many issues of the magazine if one was to look into the previous archives of the magazine, there I would not be surprised if to find the works of now very famous writers, as well as poetry and short stories pertaining to the social, economic, and political issues of the 70’s and 80’s. With new breakthroughs in political and social movements (such as ‘Black Lives Matter’, the legalization of Gay Marriage in all 50 states, and Obamacare), readers would find that the issues of the MR published this years and the years to come will address and ask more questions about the future of the young Americans and education. The possibilities for questions and the answers that these talented writers have for them are endless, and I do believe there is less hesitation with direct and sharp language to paint as clear pictures as possible. 


Two talented and young writers I decided to research further were Samantha Deal and Wesley Rothman


Like a Prayer


by Welsey Rothman




Everyone must stand alone


with other loners. The black lace




veils from every other chapel-


goer, all the doves mourning




a boy-star petered out too soon.


Heaven help me slip through




the bars of this brick house


shattered by blue light, glum moon






fidgeting with shadow. The boy’s


black light vision. His sideways




ways of painting wings, crowns,


anointed words and words




backtracked. Track back


a beginning, what the cave muralists




meant. Not the death of the beast


but the brilliant red, the rigid white




of bones. Raise folded hands


and a fur-gilded skull. Crown yourself




with horns, most elegant weapons.


And with slowly going embers




listen to angels’ hushed sighing.


Martyr me with paint, boy. Make it last.




“The black lace -veils from every other chapel-goer, all the doves mourning-a boy-star petered out too soon.”(Roth ). Roth begins the poem with describing the dress of all in attendance at a church, wearing black (symbolizing a death). It only takes a stanza or two more to realize that a crowd of mourners are at a young boy’s funeral, his life taken too soon. Furthermore, the “black light vision” that Roth mentions is leads to the large “cave” of imagination that this young boy had, before his life was taken away. The speaker in the story, expressing his own panic of death, may be contemplating breaking the conventional roles of following the rules or being responsible, to use their imagination more in the life they have. This somber but inspiring short poem ends with a message of “making it last”, leaving a legacy or a thought, to be remembered. 







Archipelago is a magazine that was set up with small collections from a variety of different authors. The journal is found online with full access to its content. It is presented with a minimalist design, very simple fonts used without any images on the pages. There was very little information on the about page. The editor and publisher was listed as Katherine McNamara, who is also a contributor and I selected one of her poems as part of my post. There is a PDF that is the history of Archipelago that was based on a talk that was given at the University of Trier in the English and media studies department in 2005. Interestingly, the talk began with the question “in 1989. Did we realize that the 20th century ended?” (McNamara). She discusses the various ways in which certain aspects of publishing have changed, lamenting the idea that there was no more hierarchy and was a certain amount of democracy that was needed to the Internet. McNamara wanted to work directly with writers, cutting out the concepts of publishers and agents in order to get to the purity of the written word. She wanted to mimic the idea of literary colony where the purity of the form could be expressed through an onlineformat. She's extremely critical about the market for literature, and expresses that fact. Currently, however, Archipelago is no longer taking submissions. Five years from now this Journal will represent changes in technology at the turn-of-the-century between 20th and 21st.

The first poem that I chose from Journal is called “Scum Rises” by Kevin McFadden (Archipelago). This poem is full of imagery, beginning by saying “The cream always floats to the top./So, does this come. So this comparison, up/from what's mere muck, near metaphor/would flower out of and so on with/ the similes, and so on with the show…” (Archipelago). He creates a great deal of imagery regarding the idea that both the best and the worst seemed always be at the same level. He even indulges the idea of seeing someone and getting to know them, but he uses his cited as the arrogant for his reason for asking him up. He criticizes the way in which people use metaphor as a way to describe what they mean, but that metaphor doesn't really do it justice. The concept of the comparison between cream and scum is very interesting as he uses two very common metaphors in order to make his point that both the good and the bad and end up being very equal.

The second poem that I chose was written by Katherine McNamara titled “Red Vineyard, 1888: A Painting by Van Gogh” (Archipelago). She wrote “I remember his vermilion, color/with the grandest name.  It tasted of tree/trunks, a work blouse, tang of grapes harvesting/in the vineyards of Arles.  He captured the sun/and hung it, toasted gold like blini” (Archipelago). In contrast to McFadden’s poem, she fills hers with metaphors, mixing senses so that color and taste were related. She says “it tasted of tree trunks” and “he captured the sun and hung it, toasted gold like blini” (Archipelago). The color of vermilion is named with the brand name, and his works, referring to then go, are filled with sensation that go beyond just what is seen. Although the meaning of the poem refers to death, she fills her imagery with light and intensity of the sensations of living.

The imagery in both poems is built upon the idea that the reader can understand metaphors that are being used. McFadden uses common, colloquial sayings in order to express what he thinks to be ironic. McNamara chooses expressive concepts of sensation in order to become in contrast with the topic of death. In McFadden's poem it is very easy to clearly see both cream and scum sitting on the top of liquid, becoming equal because of the way in which they equally rise. The metaphor and imagery is strong, setting the tone for the rest of poem. McNamara indulges her reader with color, making them see it as well as experience it through taste as well as sight. As the purpose of the magazine is to fly against convention, McFadden represents the review by taking ideas that are completely opposite from one another and placing them together in order to challenge the reader. McNamara does something similar, creating a certain type of imagery and then indulging her beliefs in the way it relates to mortality. If the fact that they are no longer taking submissions suggests that the entity is no longer being published, that is a sad loss for literature.


Archipelago, 10th Anniversary Edition. 10.3-4, 2007. Web. 17 June 2015.

McNamara, Katherine. “And Archipelago of Readers: The Beginnings of Archipelago and International Publishing on the World Wide Web”, Archipelago, 24 May 2005. Web. 17. June 2015.


Scum Rises 


 Kevin McFadden

The cream always floats to the top.

So does the scum. So does comparison, up

from what’s mere muck, mire metaphor

would flower out of, and so on with

the similes, and so on with the show . . .

and so on. I’m ever looking down on you

and you are ever lying. My love is proof

of truth’s angle of refraction: you are lost in

slant-ration and I am fond of posing

postulations. A mendacity needn’t be truthless,

for example. You there, in the pond appearing

peered-at, come up and see me sometime.

Let’s delve for the above. When will we

(will we ever) get over ourselves?


Red Vineyard, 1888: A Painting by Van Gogh

Katherine E. Young 

I remember his vermilion, color

with the grandest name.  It tasted of tree

trunks, a work blouse, tang of grapes harvesting

in the vineyards of Arles.  He captured the sun 

and hung it, toasted gold like blini

hot and hot from the stove, to wester there

beyond the fields.  If I ever get back,

though the path may lie through the transit camps,

through Vtoraya rechka, misbegotten

little stream. . . .  Pity, instead, the man who

surveyed this spot, doggedly reducing

the great East to a chart, chilly fingers

inscribing, there, “First Little Stream” and, there,

“Third Little Stream” — equally prosaic

names for the places they send men to die. 

Understand this: there is no other road,

no roundabout crossing, no safer way. 

There is Death, too, in that sunset— but not

yet.  On the wet-black walk, chalk soil and rain

conspire to trace upon the pavement

the fragile antonym of a leaf.


I have selected the literary journal, “Rattle”, available both in print and online. Established in 1994, the journal publishes four times a year and attempts to make poetry simplistic, easy to understand and accessible to the common reader. Aside from projecting the voices of acclaimed writers like Philip Levine, Jane Hirshfield and Gregory Orr, it also features upcoming and positive contributors of all age and class, as long as their poetry excites passion and is based on reality that anyone can appreciate, not just literary experts. Even though Rattle has been featured in Best American Poetry, it cherishes its wide range of followers from all kinds of people who have come to appreciate their poetry and literature with ease. The journal prides itself on simplicity and admits authentic non-fiction and poetry along with works of translation. Though mostly dedicated to its print issues, the magazine’s website also has a variety of additional material, like audio archives and reviews of contemporary poetry. Interviews with contemporary poets are also a part of the quarterly publication. The journal has been devoted to offer literature that reflect the many different forms of poetry that talk about American life, seen through the eyes of passionate writers, both renowned and otherwise. 

                        The first piece, “People of the Megabus” by Justin Barisich, currently being featured on Rattle, is one of my natural choices for this forum because it depicts a familiar scene in a downtown city in America. As a New Yorker, I was particularly drawn to this poem by its imagery of the reality of the different characters one comes across in a megabus; each individual is as complex and varied as the other. The poet paints a clear picture of the common everyday experience of meeting strangers on the bus and the assumptions people make of each other. From the harmless old lady with a smart phone to an intimidating thug, the poet is able to remind me of all the different people I tend to come across during my regular commute. The poet as a result, paints a picture of the melting pot conception of Americans. He also shrewdly points out the rising situation of technology becoming more and more affordable while education is becoming more and more expensive. This is shown when the old lady and the writer have trouble spelling out a simple word on a smart phone. Moreover, the decline of formal education is emphasized by the ill-mannered appearance of the passenger who bullies the poet by flicking a burning cigarette butt at his shin. The writer’s fear of the bully prevents him from protesting against such behavior but again, this I believe is common, as the average, decent American shies away from conflict and confrontation with a stranger in a public setting. His hesitation to retaliate even after being harassed by a complete stranger also shows how he follows the motto, “live and let live” and goes on with life. He ends with a thought of wisdom when he refrains from passing judgment based on how he feels that the bus lets people go peacefully, without making presumptions about them because one never knows what someone else is going through and how it affects their behavior toward others. 

                        Another piece of poetry from Rattle’s journal called the “Orange Groves and Fairy Tales” by Diane Wakoski attracted my attention because of its unusual title. Expecting to find fancy and whimsy I was fairly surprised by the representation of an evil reality of the American way of life. The poet portrayed a girl in a grim household, scared and neglected, far from the ideals of the American Dream. Her situation is something that we tend to deny and turn a blind eye to. We like to let ourselves believe that a household with a drunk and abusive father who mistreats his little daughter, is not very common but poverty, lack of education and regular alcohol abuse are part of the reality of life in America. What happens behind closed doors to families and children isn’talways transparent. The writer shows this by depicting the loss of innocence of childhood for the girl, who, instead of ideally being “daddy’s little girl” is abused at the hands of her father. 

                        From all this it can be firmly asserted that American life is not as great as everybody believes it to be. There is crime publicly and domestically, within households, and no one wants to confront it. Therefore, hypothetically, if someone were to read this sort of poetry five hundred years from now, they would get the idea that no one wanted to stand up to injustice and misdemeanor. People in the future would probably think that a portion of Americans lived in fear and felt inferior to others. 


PEOPLE OF THE MEGABUS by Justin Barisich


The plump, elderly woman beside me

sleeps with chin to her distended chest.

She rouses from a road bump,

spots me reading a book of poems,

and assumes me to be educated.


She asks me to help her spell “shepherd”

for the bible verse she’s looking up on her smartphone.

After three tries, we finally get it right,

and with the fine letters of the good word

arranged properly once again,

she’s back to letting herself

be herded by the good lord.


We make a brief stop

to exchange westward passengers.

A man squatting on the bench

flicks his half-smoked cigarette at me,

the orange butt kicking my shoe

instead of searing my aimed-for shin.


I refrain from questioning,

having learned from hands both first and second

of the baggage we all carry—

that his might be loaded

with something I don’t know how to unpack.


The bus rarely undergoes a shortage of characters,

but if it can take almost any with reservation

and all without judgment,

then who am I to do any different.



For the Imagery discussion forum, I have chosen a journal entitled Blackbird. To start, the image that depicts this journal caught my eye right away; it is a picture of a blackbird, or, raven, grabbing at what seems to be a berry, in front of a full moon. This, along with the very title of the journal, immediately registered in my head that this journal would contain works relating to mystery and human creativity. A Raven in the moonlit sky, the word Blackbird in the title title; it makes me feel as if I'm about to divulge in a series of deep and mysterious works capitalizing on the vulnerabilities of the human psyche. Believe it or not, the first man who came to mind when I saw this was Edgar Allen Poe; he is what I vizualized upon finding this Journal. I was able to paint mental pictures of dark space, space that acted as a canvas for the many works that get into this journal. A dark space that is made brighter by the human mind and its creativity. Keep in mind, up to this point, I had not read any background information on the journal itself, which is a testament to how strong of an impact the initial image has. However, further continuation led me to realize that my inferences were correct; Blackbird is a collection of works that are adventurous and mysterious, yet aren't specifically geared towards a theme; it's mission is to express the creativity and adventurous mind of it's writers.


The first poem I chose was Raft, by Anders Carlson-Wee:



He baits the hook with an Indian paintbrush petal, 
lets out the line, reels, traps it with his thumb pad. October. Powder on the peaks. We float on a raft lashed together with a loose weave of duct tape and rope. I paddle us forward with a cottonwood branch, my leg in the water for a rudder, trying to hold us close to the darkness of the drop-off where the trout go to stay cool in the afternoons. Later we’ll make a fire and cook our catch with blueberries gathered frozen from the cirque above the tarn. We’ll blow on the coals. We’ll check for tenderness. We’ll add ash in place of salt. But for now I’m watching the sunlight bounce off the surface and shimmer in the shadow under my brother’s hat. The way he plays the line. The way he lets it troll behind us. The way the trout cloud our wake and flick their rainbowed sides. I’m torquing my leg underwater. I’m turning us back toward the darkness we have drifted away from.



This poem practically placed me on a river. The very first stanza drew me in by vividly describing a customized lure the man made to use while fishing. Carlson goes on to paint a picture of what seems to be a makeshift raft, made of duct tape and rope, having no rudder. This is the most important part of the poem, I feel, because it makes the reader vizualize what is actually going on; two individuals create this crude raft from the materials at hand. It shows us how the individuals in the poem are roughing it, utilizing only what they have; being adventurous, void from all technology and modern life (the darkness he winds up turning back to).


The second poem I chose was Planting, by Laura Kolbe:



I am bringing ferns to the knees of my mother’s house
thinking she wants to see a dream marsh,a draped wig, a long frilled sleep. Down at the pond I spoon them up, circles six inches from the plant and six inches deep, little coughs of shovel like a patient amusing herself with illness, rolling it behind her molars, working it to small pinballs of sound to pepper a mute TV.Whatever poisons I’ve thought up in that housewill be wiped clean by fern. Manuals say don’tlet the roots see sun, pack mud around the mudyou’ve brought to light. These maidenhairs are for the north side but I might claim to mishear, might try them onthe bright white blades of the house’s southwhere the white painted wood is the sun attempting Euclidand the grass drives up proof in green wires.I am one who talks down dreams at breakfastuntil they’re no more than the tacky smear around the jam,who points out airplanes on a night deep with stars.Some part of me would love to see a fernbrowning in the unaccustomed light, dry and sick with truth,misplanted, brittle facing unrelenting brightthen carry it back to bury its white hairs in the soft dark.



This poem utilizes a lot of imagery. However, on specific example that got to me was when the voice of the poem was describing how “Whatever poisons I've thought up in that house will be wiped clean by fern”. Upon reading this stanza, I immediately pictured a daughter (I'm not sure why exactly) planting ferns for her elderly mother, not out of the kindness of her heart, but because she had to. This angst is further emphasized when the voice states that “I am the one who talks down dreams at breakfast......who points out airplanes on a night deep with stars”. Here I pictured that this daughter has been living with her elderly mother and, as a result of having to care for her, has built up a thick hide and has become detatched from all emotion and love. I feel that overall, the imagery in this poem was used to creatively signify the tensions that occur when taking care of the elderly; it is yet another product exposing the creativity of poetic works in Blackbird.


Subject English
Due By (Pacific Time) 07/22/2015 12:00 am
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