Interviews, Publications

Interview: Vol. 1 Brooklyn

I was interviewed by Joanna Valente, along with Alexis Smithers, Lynn Melnick, Claudia Cortese, and Jason Phoebe Rusch, for Vol. 1 Brooklyn.

How were you able to write about your experience(s), and negotiate between empowering yourself and not exploiting your own experiences?

I don’t traffic in the details of my abuse. I find some way to communicate the feelings attached to them, the ghosts they leave behind, without sharing those details that are often demanded but are unnecessary to actually understanding what trauma is: a haunting. If we think of trauma this way, as a unique relationship between an entity and the building where the trauma occurred and still resides, then we understand that our bodies are the buildings and our traumas are the ghosts, and nobody else needs to know what the unfinished business is or help solve the mystery. There is no resolution to this kind of haunting. There is no exposition either. The ghost’s back story is fragmented and nobody else’s business. What is important is what is being communicated: the haunting. I am haunted and I want you to know, but also even ghosts still have boundaries.

Awards, Poetry

Award Nomination: Best of the Net 2017

I found out yesterday that my poem “Being Ready,” which appeared in Fuck Art, Let’s Dance #14, has been nominated by Nostrovia! Press for the 2017 Best of the Net anthology. Thanks so much to Christopher Morgan and Jeremiah Walton for believing in my work.

My dead child is genderless, like me. You paced outside the bathroom door 
saying something about not being ready, while I peed onto a stick and tuned
you out. No one is ever ready, I think. We are not batteries.  And what is pregnancy 
to me but being consumed by the dreams of some other machine?

Poetry, Publications

Publications: Maudlin House & Entropy

My poems “Ceridwen” and “Rhiannon” were recently published in Maudlin House and Entropy respectively.

I don’t write poems. I make poets of men

-from “Ceridwen”

long life spent slung with men

while stolen child named golden marvel

this is the hand, the hand that takes

slow, still, out of reach

-from “Rhiannon”

Thanks to Mallory Smart and Ben Roylance for choosing my pieces. These poems are part of a five-piece set on the Welsh goddesses. You can read “Blodeuwedd” at Public Pool, and “Branwen” will appear in the “Resistance” issue of Jam Tarts in August. “Arianrhod” still seeks a forever home.

Poetry, Publications

Publication: F.A.L.D. #14

Yesterday I had two poems published in issue 14 of Nostrovia Press’s Fuck Art Let’s Dance. The following are excerpts from each.

And what is pregnancy to me but being consumed by the dreams of some other machine?

-from “Being Ready”

Mostly I remember the swimming pool full of trash, the padlock on the refrigerator, and the shimmery pieces of paper stuck to the walls.

-from “Firsts”

Be sure to check out the rest of the issue. There are some stunning pieces of work from all contributors. F.A.L.D. is a treasure.

Memoir, Poetry, Publications

Until She is Needed

Isobel-OHare-The-Garden-Inside-HerGreetings, lovely citizens of the internet! It is with great pleasure that I announce the new ebook version of my chapbook The Garden Inside Her. I’ve spent some time editing the book and polishing it for your enjoyment, and if you click on the image of the (new! spiffy!) cover to the left there, you can snatch it up for $0.99! If you splurge for the paperback version, you can grab the Kindle copy for free.

This book is sort of my baby in that I wrote it while sick and bed-ridden for months, consumed by fantasies of virtual worlds and longing for the singularity. It is a special book for me, and I hope it will be for you, too.

Of course, if you prefer to caress the flesh of dead trees, there are still a few handbound copies available via the shop.

As always, I appreciate you taking the time to read my work. If you are interested in supporting me in other ways, you can become an ongoing patron by choosing a donation tier on my Patreon page.

 

Ireland

Home/Away from Home

Ten years ago this month, I returned to the United States after living in Ireland and England for six years. When I landed at the airport in Chicago and saw all the baseball caps and tapered blue jeans, I thought, “Why did I come back to this place?” And there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t asked myself that same question.

I had spent the waiting hours at my gate in Dublin crying while strangers sometimes glanced at me, the seven-hour flight to Chicago crying while my seatmates avoided me, and my first two weeks back on American soil crying until I accepted my fate and moved on.

After all, I had spent hours crying a year and a half before that, when I returned to Ireland after a six-month stint with my mother in Virginia. We sat next to the security line at Reagan National airport hugging each other with tears streaming down our cheeks because neither of us wanted to say goodbye.

Before we even got there, I had mistakenly informed my mother that my flight was going out of Dulles, and we had to race from one airport to the next to ensure I made it in time (all the while I sat in the car praying that we wouldn’t and feeling ashamed of myself, but I knew that I had to go back and make one last-ditch effort to salvage the relationship I was in at the time).

Such is the life of a person with dual citizenship. We’re never quite home in either place, never quite happy to be leaving or arriving, and nevertheless, here we are. Nevertheless, here I am.

Audio Diary

Littler Hands Sprang Up from the Grass

I keep a sporadic audio diary on a handheld Sony dictaphone. I sat down to transfer some files that I’ll be sending to Annelyse Gelman for a strange collaboration. In searching for the correct files, I listened to one of my older ones in which I share two passages from Joanna Russ’s The Female Man.

Listen to an excerpt from The Female Man

Audio transcript: “The following is a line from The Female Man by Joanna Russ:

‘I know it’s supposed to be virtuous to run healthily through fields of flowers, but I like bars, hotels, air conditioning, good restaurants, and air transport, and I told her so.’

This book has really beautiful descriptions of technology existing in a sort of wilderness. Actually, ‘wilderness’ is used in one of my favorite passages so far. It goes:

‘Within the dome was a wilderness of machines, dead on their sides, some turned inside out, their guts spilling onto the grass. From an extended framework under the roof swung hands as big as three men. One of these picked up a car and dropped it. The sides of the car fell off. Littler hands sprang up from the grass.'”