The OrphanAGE, Vol. 1.29
First Lines
To say the truth, it was not how I expected—stepping off toward America past a drowned horse. —Ivan Doig, Dancing at the Rascal Fair
Symbolic Art. How far back in time did our species begin to seek out resonance with the visible and implied of the natural world? Like something from Tolkien’s second age, our Golem-esque ancestors crawled into caves to scribe their graffiti onto walls and ceilings. Pushing the accepted dates an additional 40,000 years further back into pre-history, the bears and mammals of Chauvet Cave (sealed for 20,000 years) have given way to the recently discovered 67,000-year-old hand stencils of Muna Island.
It‘s been months since I encountered Nettie Zan’s solo show, ‘Decline Limitations’ at the Vulpes. Be it the handiwork of space aliens or our ancient antecedents, her images have lingered, and I remain unable to shake the caldron of Jungian archetypes they evoke. Resonant and fresh, these cabinet pieces reach across deep time to unsettle us.
A few issues back, we featured a snippet of thought & poetry from Missouri Poet Laureate, Justin Hamm. We weren’t the only ones struck by their traction. Spartan Press poet, Shawn Pavey, notes their impact in his recent review. They are joined in this issue by the deep, double-reeded music of Miki P and Rachel Lovelace, aka The Swallowtails, from their Prospero’s Bell Tower Sessions.
Peace,
Dante
In This Issue
- Book Review by Shawn Pavey
- Art by Nettie Zan
- Music from The Swallowtails
CHAPBOOK REVIEW: Justin Hamm, The Humble Apartment of My Chest. 2026, Dim Headlight Editions. 26 pages. Free download
In The Humble Apartment of My Chest, Missouri’s current Poet Laureate, Justin Hamm, released a short collection of prose poems as a thank you to family, friends, and the community who supported him after a recent and serious health scare. People could dismiss this collection on those grounds as a poetic work unworthy of close examination, more of a thank you card than a serious work. Those folks would be flat-out dead wrong.
The collection opens with one of its longer pieces, my father tells fat paul he can no longer visit our trailer in which Hamm relates a tale from his childhood, living in a trailer, about a family friend who everyone loved, but because of his size, was straining the structural design limits of the floor.
… he might be the last real biblical giant on earth i know now my father did not want to say this thing to hurt him to face the part of family that has nothing to do with wanting and everything to do with what cannot be helped i see him in my mind on the front patio he's smoking pacing raking his fingers through his dark beard as if he scratched deep enough he could dig up a better answer but he couldn't and he knew he couldn't i think about that now when i am the one who has to decide when it is me holding two impossible options in my hands and pretending i have a real choice i wonder what it felt like when he finally flicked away his cigarette and walked through the empty lots to run the awful blade of reality through the heart of a man he truly loved
This is such a strong poem to open this collection despite, or maybe because of, its vulnerability. The poem sets the scene and the tone for the entire collection; a sort of cartographic legend to guide us through these poems. These lines highlight a moment when need and want are diametrically opposed and, while Hamm lets his father’s difficult decision occur off camera, he lets the reader see the agony of that impossible and necessary choice, knowing that there will be more than one heart broken.
Hamm follows Gertrude Stein’s punctuation aesthetic in these poems (see her 1935 lecture entitled Poetry and Grammar). Read the passage above again. Periods, commas, and semicolons are unnecessary in those lines. Hamm allows the natural flow of language to punctuate itself. It requires the reader to pay close attention but also tunes us into his rhythms. Each of these poems sing—each and every one—despite their graphic, block justified presentation. Once the reader finds the rhythm of Hamm’s punctuation, the musicality of his writing emerges. It is in these sparse yet powerful sequences that Hamm’s poems become songs.
Hamm covers significant ground in these poems. From early childhood memories in my father tells fat paul he can no longer visit our trailer to the saint about to rearrange the humble apartment of my chest, these poems carry the trailer park with them, a recurring theme in Hamm’s work. This poem about surgery is a prayer to the surgeon, but also an inventory of things held in that heart from a childhood in poverty and a family who loved each other and took care of each other, those moments of hurt that make wonder and joy so very memorable.
The collection concludes with a moving piece entitled i want to tell you the story of my left eye. It is achingly beautiful in its honesty while dancing to Hamm’s poetics. To preserve one’s first experience with the poem, let us leave further description alone. Use the link above to download a digital copy while the deal lasts. Nobody will regret having done so.
*See Issue 1. 24 for Justin Hamm's On Shedding Punctuation
Paintings by Nettie Zan
(acrylic, fabric and posca marker on reclaimed canvases)
My current body of work arises from entering trance states of spiritual communion.
Find more of Nettie Zan's work at her website.
Music from The Swallowtails
(Prospero's Bell Tower Series)
The Swallowtails are Kansas City's Miki P and Rachel Lovelace