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The Note
Howie Good’s association with Right Hand Pointing is one of the oldest and certainly one of the best. Howie’s work has appeared in many issues and we've presented a number of digital chapbooks of his work here.. Along the way, Howie and I developed a friendship and we have collaborated on a number of projects. He and John Sharp and I founded Left Hand Waving. Howie and I started White Knuckle Press, our outlet for digital (and eventually, we hope) print chapbooks of prose poetry.
Howie Good’s association with Right Hand Pointing is one of the oldest and certainly one of the best. Howie’s work has appeared in many issues and we've presented a number of digital chapbooks of his work here.. Along the way, Howie and I developed a friendship and we have collaborated on a number of projects. He and John Sharp and I founded Left Hand Waving. Howie and I started White Knuckle Press, our outlet for digital (and eventually, we hope) print chapbooks of prose poetry.
And here you have Issue 44, guest-edited by Howie. It’s hard to imagine how Howie found time to do this, considering he’s got a full-time teaching gig and, as anyone who reads poetry on the www knows, he publishes a poem on the web every 13 minutes, according to a study recently completed by the U.S. General Accounting Office.
Thanks to Howie for putting together a fine issue.
Dale
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1Recently relocated from our old facility built into a dormant volcano on an island in the south Pacific, to our new floating office. (The old facility in the volcano is now a Target store.)
The Guest Note
The Guest Note
In my own poetry I try to stay just this side of the line between the strange and the incomprehensible. What I hope to achieve is a sensation of the uncanny, which Freud defined as the sudden sense of unease that arises when an object or circumstance feels simultaneously familiar and foreign. Most of the poems I selected for issue 44 of Right Hand Pointing are uncanny in some regard, in either their idiosyncratic turns of phrase or their skewed perception of experience or both.
Poetry, of course, is a vast continent (made even vaster of late by the growth of online publishing) that encompasses many different tribes. It’s probably to my discredit that I usually feel like a bewildered tourist when I go traveling among them. But I won’t apologize just yet for admiring poetry that displays subtle craft, avoids rhetoric, and arrives in a dark rain in a city that others have taken to calling hell.
Howie Good
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