“Passion lies deep inside, like a statue in a stone, waiting to be freed, imagining its creator chipping away at the layers covering it. It is the seed of a belief. A flame on the bottom of the sea. Blue and restless. It is a wave always moving through you and carrying you away and along.”
Jeffrey Cyphers Wright impressed N!‘s crew with his maze of interests & projects that he’s invested sweat & love into for the literary/arts community.
Wrapped up thru Jeffrey’s art is his work as a critic, eco-activist, and publisher. He currently writes criticism for American Book Review, ArtNexus, & White Hot Magazine. He is a long time resident of the East Village in New York City, & produces literary events at KGB Lit Bar and La Mama ETC in conjunction with his magazine, Live Mag!—that said, he’s best known for his lyricism, having published fourteen books of poetry, including “Triple Crown, Sonnets” from Spuyten Duyvil and “Radio Poems” (forthcoming from The Operating System).
“Writing is a struggle. The goal is to maintain what you feel is your own voice while keeping it fresh and vital. My girlfriend told me, ‘You should read 20 poems for every poem you write.’ That is good advice. I find that after I read something I have new ideas and insights about subjects and structures.
So, I’m still focusing on themes I’ve developed over a long time, like exploring and incorporating mythological characters and song lyrics. And at the same time I’m being true to my style, I’m trying to be innovative and react to work I’ve read or heard.
As a publisher, I seem to have my own quixotic way of selecting work that hasn’t really changed since I started. I took Ted’s advice. Live Mag! is still built around artists, poets and reviewers I interact with. And it expands beyond that to include work my restless antenna find and want to share.”
Our Featured Artist for Fuck Art, Let’s Dance Issue #013, he shot us both poetry & art that caught our eyes. Read Jeffrey’s feature interview here. We’re pumped to reshare some of his art + poetry below:
RECIPE FOR A PRECIPICE
Start with overbearing delight
Untenuous joy
A dash of unrectified éclat
Smoothbore lightning salvaged
from the haunted mirror district
Blot up a dram of spilled sun
Capture ruptured rapture
Stir in a cage
of moth-eaten shadows
Add blue snapdragons,
blood squeezed from a Swatch,
mix well and tie into a knot
In my log of useless beauty,
love has no room for pity.
You’re always going on
about how unfair things are,
how the deck is stacked for some.
Damn the dealer.
Every whine is one less win.
Let’s hear it for the kiss of hell.
Here’s to the drowning rat.
Here’s to the patrol that’s cut off.
Here’s to the crippled acrobat.
We’re all acting our parts;
I’m wind in a jug,
you’re a little off-key.
What could ever take your place?
A grain of salt? A wounded star?
