Suzanne Frischkorn
@suzfrischkorn.bsky.social
2.3K followers 1.2K following 640 posts
Poet | Writer | Editor | She/her | Author of WHIPSAW (Anhinga Press, 2024) | FIXED STAR (JackLeg Press) | + 2 more & five chapbooks | assistant poetry editor at Terrain.org | editor at $ Poetry is Currency | https://linktr.ee/SuzanneFrischkorn
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suzfrischkorn.bsky.social
My new book WHIPSAW (Anhinga Press) would make a great holiday gift, or an addition to your library right about now - “…what it means to be human in a world so often wrought with destruction, calamity, and bad news coming through our screens at every turn.” -RHINO
shorturl.at/t0vLx
suzfrischkorn.bsky.social
Thank you! You’re the best! xoxo
suzfrischkorn.bsky.social
Happy to have a new poem in the gorgeous fall issue of North American Review! Many thanks to J.D Schraffenberger and the NAR team. This is a poem from a new manuscript I’ve been working on.
@northamerreview.bsky.social
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
davidnaimon.bsky.social
who for his greed. who for his hunger
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
rebliv.bsky.social
Cascade Artist Book #artbook #artistbook #art #monoprinting
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
elizabethniarchosneukirch.com
Wait for it... 🔥
merriam-webster.com
We are thrilled to announce that our NEW Large Language Model will be released on 11.18.25.
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
j-tkelly.bsky.social
Here's the poem and the link to it in Poetry Is Currency. Thanks so much for the nomination!
poetrycurrency.com/poem/j-t-kel...
Vocation
The lost things. I went out weeping.
Men holding their hats lose
their words to the wind.
Paper drifts against the curbs. I am
dressed badly. My children are the children
of poor parents. Books are insulation
against the cold news. I am late.

I was invited, but my invitation
went stale. The crumbs itch inside
my collar. Constant risk corrodes
the stomach lining and only fresh milk
will help. I am in a constant search
for milk. I miss appointments. My wife
is always making excuses.

My car has broken down and out here
to be in need is to be suspect. In a fit
of patriotism I consider taking myself
over to that tree by the side of the road
to be shot. Haunted by the guilt of my own
execution, I look even more untrustworthy.
I scurry down an embankment.

Where else but the city? What else
but poverty? I drink from cupped hands
and see in the stream faces rushing
to the falls. I follow the rails downtown.
In line with so many others, waiting, singing,
I feel a sense of resolve. Hunger and resolve.
And an eagerness for the work.
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
poetrycurrency.bsky.social
Congratulations to our nominees for the Best of the Net Awards!
$ Nominees for Best of the Net

Christy Lee Barnes – If I describe in detail the girl who flew away with the cranes, do you think we could find her?
Ava Chen – Pre-Apocalyptic
Rivka Clifton – Consult
J-T Kelly – Vocation
Larissa Martins – Brazilian Gringa
Lizzy Ke Polishan – Novena for the Year of the Bumblebee 
	on the Spaceship at the End of the World
suzfrischkorn.bsky.social
Wonderful!! And well deserved!
suzfrischkorn.bsky.social
and emptied. And now, how will I ever fix

this mess? This tentacled blue. The sun

broke through the east windows and the hue,

violet. Ventricle blue. Look at all the words

I didn’t write. Not even my hands, splayed

wide, not both of them, could hide this stain.

—Jennifer Martelli 💙
'This tentacled blue' — poetry by Jennifer Martelli
In memorium. Rest in beauty, poetry, & power, dear Jennifer Martelli. These poems, she said, were part of a manuscript inspired by Luca Guadagnino's Suspiria. Stain The blue ink bled onto m...
www.lunalunamagazine.com
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
swwim.bsky.social
It is with great sadness that we mourn the loss of Jenn Martelli. She was a wonderful poet, colleague, collaborator, and friend to all. Her light will be dearly missed.
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
joeynicoletti.bsky.social
I am heartbroken to hear of the passing of Jennifer Martelli. Jenn wasn't just a light: she was a singular galaxy of talent and benevolence. All condolences to her family and her many other friends: RIP, my wonderful poetry sister.

www.swwim.org/swwimeveryda...
SWWIM Every Day — SWWIM
by Jennifer Martelli —after Lucie Brock-Broido I have the boniest backhands, thick veins, too, that can take a needle, fill tubes of blood. I could make your lip bleed and swell wit...
www.swwim.org
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
hanvanderhart.bsky.social
ev-
eryone prefers being alarmed about politics
to poetry and that's a mistake
But it's a crisis of course.

Alice Notley
That Kind of Poem
It's lovely no more radiation treatments though everyone prefers being alarmed about politics to poetry and that's a mistake But it's a crisis of course. I'm so happy not to go to l'Institut Curie at least for months I dreamed of an empty body last night a decision as to what necklace should be
put inside it. Last June you knew all this was coming yes and every day writing poetry creating the real Real World. I answered the phone to a telemarketer on Thursday and a voice says in French T'm calling on behalf of Monsieur Lorenzo the Medium' I hung up laughing and thought of Lorenzo Thomas
after he died 2005 I dreamed he burst out of his coffin in Chicago the Diversey St house where we first bonded '72
he was wearing a shower cap but seemed to be exhorting me to ... what? and dust there was dust on him it was a long time of agos
Vietnam
my brother's just back I said to him
who would have thought the poem says I'd be still alive and in Paris, France for the health care this dusty form is my beauty crystal necklace you're smashing Lorenzo great poet who we were I can't figure what lasts on a tiny planet of phantasmagoria except one's love
sees
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
maureenthorson.bsky.social
“We hardly ever see the moon any more” A poem by Frank O’Hara.
AVENUE A

We hardly ever see the moon any more
so no wonder
it's so beautiful when we look up suddenly
and there it is gliding broken-faced over the bridges
brilliantly coursing, soft, and a cool wind fans
your hair over your forehead and your memories
of Red Grooms' locomotive landscape
I want some bourbon/you want some oranges/I love the leather
jacket Norman gave me
and the corduroy coat David
gave you. it is more mysterious than Spring, the El Greco
heavens breaking open and then reassembling like lions
in a vast tragic veldt
that is far from our small selves and our temporally united
passions in the cathedral of Januaries

everything is too comprehensible
these are my delicate and caressing poems
I suppose there will be more of those others to come, as in the past so many!
but for now the moon is revealing itself like a pearl
to my equally naked heart
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
thedaybooks.bsky.social
This post is why, when people say “am I really a writer when I’m not writing?! I haven’t written in weeks?!!” I’m like, chill. You’re always a writer, if you’re a writer, even when you haven’t written in years.
A tweet:

Brianna Wiest @briannawiest
In order to create art, you must be very alive.
Alive with grief or love or anything else—it doesn't matter. Art is an imprint of aliveness.
Artists think that process is what you do when you sit down at the table, but it's actually everything you do before that.
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
seanthomasd.bsky.social
"To answer you–finches, wrens,
robins & sparrows, and crows join,
rustling their wings, arguing
on a telephone line. A blue house
cacophonous with a cook-out
and all that is
summer music. "

from my poem "Curfew" in Boomer Lit. Link in the comments.
Reposted by Suzanne Frischkorn
magpiedays.bsky.social
"—in poetry, a landscape is never only outer, it is also a portrait of a state of soul." - Jane Hirshfield, "Poetry and the Mind of Concentration"