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About this poet

Adrian Blevins received a BA from Virginia Intermont College in 1986, an MA in fiction from Hollins University in 1990, and an MFA in poetry from Warren Wilson College in 2002.

She is the author of Appalachians Run Amok (Two Sylvias Press), winner of the Wilder Series Book Prize and forthcoming in 2018; Live from the Homesick Jamboree (Wesleyan University Press, 2009); and The Brass Girl Brouhaha (Ausable Press, 2003), winner of the Kate Tufts Discovery Award. 

Of her work, Linda Gregerson writes, “Edgy, double-timing, favoring the feint and swerve, she plays the momentums of slang and syntax, run-on and compression for all they’re worth.”

With Karen McElmurray, Blevins edited Walk Till the Dogs Get Mean: Meditations on the Forbidden from Contemporary Appalachia (Ohio University Press, 2015). The recipient of a Rona Jaffe Writer’s Foundation Award, she teaches at Colby College in Waterville, Maine.


Bibliography 

Live from the Homesick Jamboree (Wesleyan University Press, 2009)
The Brass Girl Brouhaha (Ausable Press, 2003)

Status Report

            I love-love-loved the alphabet
back when I could use it to go OMG & WTF

vis-à-vis some shady late capitalist wrongdoing
such as the rich & famous floating off the continent

in the most flagrant of boats, leaving just
the youngsters & me here on the prairie

to keep everything intact with just this sugar on the mantle
in its charismatic tin.  But then the youngsters

got up from the knitting circle & put down their seedcakes
& other organic whatsits, saying OMG & WTF to me

as in in reference to me like what I had on was not just
the dress, the feeling unfortunately was, but also

a shawl as in a cloak as in a stole as in a shroud. 
That’s when I finally knew what animals

youngsters just naturally are.  What piles of tractor parts. 
What fishheads in a sink!  So now I’m using my Rosetta Stone

to examine the language of rhinos for the impenetrable skin
& the language of axes for the battle for when our foes return

to knock down our pretty little door. & here
I just wanted to sit out the rest of my days

with my sweeties by the hearth & talk the talk to hold at bay
whatever apocalyptic thing’s got our number as in our address

as in the extent to which we were born to fight moneyed reprobates
with just our lingo as in our candidness & cheeky verbal fluidity

if that’s what you want to call running out the clock on the ends of things
            in an old lonesome song like this. 

Originally published in Crazyhorse. Copyright © 2016 by Adrian Blevins. Used with the permission of the author.

Originally published in Crazyhorse. Copyright © 2016 by Adrian Blevins. Used with the permission of the author.

Adrian Blevins

Adrian Blevins

Adrian Blevins is the author of Live from the Homesick Jamboree (Wesleyan University Press, 2009). She lives in Maine.

by this poet

poem
Back when my head like an egg in a nest  
was vowel-keen and dawdling, I shed my slick beautiful 
and put it in a basket and laid it barefaced at the river 
among the taxing rocks. My beautiful was all hush 
and glitter. It was too moist to grasp. My beautiful 
had no tongue with which to lick—no discernable
poem

As for living to the side of yourself like a pile of rice
                        in the vicinity of the fish (as for being an eye-self
                                    hanging above a body-self

content with separating cowboy stuff

poem

Even the large babes were small.
They were like two empty toilet paper tubes you glue together into a bazooka to blow at the cosmos through. 
They were like hummingbirds on a spit. 
Hummingbirds, goldfinches, wrens—something that’s got its