Emily Carr

emily_carr Emily Carr is a poet whose recent work in the lyric concerns happiness, selfhood, & ecology & whose research explores Carol J. Adams’ theory of “the sexual politics of meat.” In both her creative & scholarly work, Emily investigates the intersection of issues of gender justice & animal rights in the environment that is language.

During her residency at the Jack Kerouac House, she is working on the dream of an audience, a natural history that investigates the connections amongst American literature, culture, & land by re-situating paradise in the Florida Keys & re-imagining the myth of original sin from Eve’s perspective as an unwed, single mother.

Emily’s book directions for flying won the 2009 Furniture Press Poetry Award & is currently available through SPD. Cole Swensen chose Emily’s manuscript 13 ways of happily: books 1 & 2 as the winner of the 2009 New Measures Poetry Prize. 13 ways will be published by Parlor Press later this year. Until then, you can read Emily’s work in recent issues of Hayden’s Ferry Review, Bombay Gin, Margie, Gargoye, Interim, Caketrain, 6 by 6, ISLE, Phoebe, Fourteen Hills, & Versal.

In April 2010, Emily was a Zoland Poetry Fellow at the Vermont Studio Center. She will defend her dissertation, to loot to hew & Eden, this July. She dreams of purchasing a motel in the Florida Keys & living out the rest of her days as a beach bum with a Doctor of Poetry.

Excerpts from Emily Carr

Friday, June 18th, 2010

eve/ in exile

the garden was rented: in other words, it did not know how to mourn & would change instead. the trees yes the trees would go on breathing, the poison oak would choke the telephone poles, immense white roses festooning the airstream in slaphappy wreathes, the sun slowly unwrapping the white of the verandah wicker, like bandages.

everything: flimsy lids & thin folds/ everything: gone amorously to seed: good soil, sprout here. in the mesh & vagrant shade of sunfat firs, sweet death of leafmold & mackintosh & the last stubborn floorboards ript, uninhibited from temporality & man’s passion for nomenclature.

just listen: I was there, I remember birdsong & the sun breaking, many-fingered in the firs. god …