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Heidi Lynn Staples

Heidi Lynn Staples

Heidi Lynn Staples was born in Dade county, Florida. Her poetry and reviews have appeared in Best American Poetry 2004, Castagraf, Denver Quarterly, Electronic Poetry Review, HOW2, La Petite Zine, LIT, 3rd bed, Skein, Slope, Tarpaulin Sky, The Georgia Review, Unpleasant Event Schedule, Verse and elsewhere. A founding and acting editor of the literary magazine Parakeet, she has served as an assistant editor on Salt Hill and Verse, and worked as an editorial assistant at The Georgia Review.

www.heidilynnstaples.com
mildredsumbrella.blogspot.com

Also by Heidi Lynn Staples

  • Dog Girl (2007)
  • a dew 2005-2013 (Ahsahta, 2013)
 

Guess Can Gallop

Guess Can GallopGuess Can Gallop

$14.00 paper | 66 pages
ISBN: 978-1-930974-44-9
Publication Date: Fall 2004
Buy: Amazon.com | spdbooks.org

A 2003 New Issues Poetry Prize Selection,
Brenda Hillman, Judge

"Heidi Lynn Staples is our Demosthenes: when she carries pebbles in her mouth, her words turn from stone to life. But we are delighted to keep the stone, too. Here’s how she does it: by comfortably embracing the wrong answers—‘She was a word unto myself’; ‘her air flowed / down past her ask, . . . and that drove him Why old?’; ‘The Hose that Jake Belt’; ‘coming up for err.’ We are constantly surprised. Please read this fine orator, whose poems include the world’s battiest job application, a melodious ghazal, pastiches on a nursery rhyme and on Plath, and a sonnet novel."
        —Caroline Knox

"Clinamen? Sinner man? Cinnamon? In her relentless pursuit of swerving meaning, Heidi Lynn Staples reinvents poetry word for word. Guess Can Gallop is a delight for ear and eye."
        —Charles Bernstein

"Given the fluid and particalized linguistic foundations which disrupt clear apprehension of any single extraction, Staples, considerately, does not posit language against the reader (this is the disposition of the propagandist and didact) but positions the reader before a language (of angst), to gain in reading(s) a better idea of how identity confronts and conforms to an environment saturated with politically stagnant vernacular."
        —Brad Flis, Octopus Magazine

Poem

Another Story with a Burning Yarn in It

I was on a fragmented seeming toward
like a little child with no documents inside.
We’d just fallen through place, the far one,

the way, the was. I’d never seen it so everything,
so firstling everlasting, so before and after.
They say getting started must be innumerable

or at once also, so I referred to my connection
guide, I waited in acute between the two.
Usually, I. If not, the house from zero.

The zero was where anyone is. None by none,
worlds grew off, and that should have told me
somebody. Letters are mad and broken. I

from what I understand. I guess this is all
I can remember. This is it for the time being.