"Dear Friends, Fans, Sycophants, and True Believers!
You may be asking yrself where the fuck has Transmission Press been? And to that I answer: Where the fuck have YOU been? And to that you should answer: Touche. We could go on like this, but what's the point? I mean, yes, duh, it's been something like 8 months or so since the last Transmission Press publication. And that sure does seem like a real long time, don't it? But, I figure, given the poetry world has a whole different sense of "time" then I must be doing alright here. I mean, have you ever been to a poetry reading? Yeah? So you know when a poet is given 15 minutes that that poet ALWAYS takes 45. So, considering that kind of time signature, I actually feel like Transmission is WAY ahead of the curve. Anyway...
Where were we? Hello, how are you? I'm fine. The Giants suck again, but I'm fine. Really, it's not a big deal.
Anyway, I hope yr doing well because we here at the Transmission Press have a brand new book for you that you NEED. If yr not already familiar with Sarah Menefee's poetry, then that's a shame. But if you are, you arleady know that Sarah Menefee is a remarkable poet of intimacy, insight, empathy, image, and music. IN YOUR FISH HELMET is no exception, and if you haven't read her previous books, this would be a fine start. Of course, after reading IN YOUR FISH HELMET, you should find everything else by Menefee that you can get yr hands on and DEVOUR it.
Go to transmissionpress.blogspot.com for more amusing facts and to PURCHASE the book!
Here's the first poem from IN YOUR FISH HELMET:
__________________
CHROME
someone who came to me the other night
was the one whose tall truck cab
I climbed into: picked me up somewhere
when I was a teenage girl
we kissed and made out: then we talked: I was afraid to go all the way
I completed it the other night: he took out his fine cock
and we fucked: forty-odd years later
the same emotional time
I married one
a truck driver become a gambler
too illiterate and proud to work
how bright with chrome it was
how big!
how did he find me again?
there was no bully in him: so fucked-up
something human was said: and kind
I’m a girl of eleven: the one
of fifteen or seventeen
in a constant fever: sex and romance
a wild and mysterious thing
forbidden: my secret
and there he comes again
and I’m not afraid
running downtown
under the day moon: round mother-of-pearl
I am fourteen"
