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Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Ghosts, Models, Visions by Ginger Ko




New & now available for preorder!









GHOSTS, MODELS, VISIONS by Ginger Ko

$8.00
PREORDER, ships in mid August

4.25 x 5.5
36 pages
laser-printed on cream stock
kraft brown cardstock covers with metallic linocut illustration & colored pencil
hand sewn in natural twine
LIMITED EDITION, numbered 1-150*

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A long-awaited new chapbook in our handmade series! New poems by Ginger Ko.

We're still working out the details and cover design, but this limited-edition book will be laser-printed on cream stock and hand sewn with natural twine into kraft brown cardstock covers, stamped with metallic gold, etc.

If you have a current Bloof subscription (2016 or 2017), this chapbook is already included.

*We will make between 100 and 200 of these, TBD based on orders and materials, and they tend to go quickly.

See the images for some cover mockups. Final design TK soon!

THE ROTTED WATER OF MY URBANITY

I can’t make
anything from me,
anything not
already dead. I look
to my family
but none of them
are like me. They
have led up to me.
What do we do
when they no longer
need the mannequin
casings for their
clever matrices?
I asked a keeper
and they became
so angry that they
led me to the edge
of the dolphin tank,
pointed at the warders
who must masturbate
the males, massaging
pink extensions
as the dolphins float
belly up against
the poolside. When
your own body
is meaningless, when
you sit at home
on soft furniture
because your
automaton sits
at work every hour
of the day, suddenly
you begin to love
all the bodies.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR



GINGER KO is the author of Motherlover (Bloof, 2016), Inherit (Sidebrow, 2017), and Comorbid (Lark, 2016). Ginger is a Ph.D. student at the University of Georgia’s creative writing program, where she teaches writing and Women’s Studies. She is a contributing editor for The Wanderer and an editor at smoking glue gun. You can find her online at www.gingerko.com.






Sunday, July 9, 2017

A decade of Bloof! $10 sale to celebrate our 10th year!


Greer Garson in Adventure

Tomorrow the Bloof Books newsletter will feature an exclusive $10 sale to celebrate our 10th year. Yeah, we're turning ten this fall!

We're gonna do a series of these—among other party favors—featuring backlist books in the order we released them.

If you're not on the email list (we send 1 a month, max), you can sign up here: http://bit.ly/2uYeiF5 (or in the the top right sidebar of this blog, unless your viewing on a mobile device).

Our first two releases debuted simultaneously in October 2007, and are by the same author. Guess who?

Thursday, May 11, 2017

NEW! Crawlspace by Nikki Wallschlaeger



$15.00 + $3.00 shipping

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CRAWLSPACE by Nikki Wallschlaeger
Publication date: May 2017
ISBN: 978-0-9965868-5-6
6 x 9 / 80 pages
Trade paper original
$15

*Domestic shipping for US and Canada only. For international shipping, contact us at sales at bloof books dot com.

Bloof is thrilled to announce the first book in our 2017 lineup: CRAWLSPACE by Nikki Wallschlaeger. We have already had the pleasure of working with Nikki on her graphic chapbook, I Hate Telling You How I Really Feel, and we can't wait to bring this new book.

The second book by the author of Houses, CRAWLSPACE collects thirty-six pieces built on the foundation of the sonnet, ranging in length from fourteen lines to longer works stacking multiple sonnets into linked sequences. CRAWLSPACE deepens and extends the house metaphor from Wallschlaeger's first book, while opening up more initmate and sometimes darker intellectual territory. Where Houses explored the mental/emotional/physical sheltered spaces in which we live out and construct our lives, Crawlspace explores the the more constricted spaces, the tighter concealed passages running above and below. These sonnets aim to be "very very fraught with you." 

Publication is scheduled for May 2017. To reserve a review copy or invite Nikki to do a reading, contact Shanna Compton: info at bloof books dot com.


"Form is everywhere & it’s useless to deny it, so I like to play with the illusion of having control. This is from a series of sonnets that I’ve placed into small buildings, but since the bank owns the buildings that I move in, I am only paying mortgage. We have an understanding. The sonnet has agreed to the task of my subversions, that the security guard is on a permanent lunch break so we can get inside. A window that is open on the top floor? A claw in the painting? These are my micro-victories against hegemony."

Nikki Wallschlaeger is the author of Houses (Horse Less, 2015), and the chapbooks I Hate Telling You How I Really Feel (Bloof, 2016) and I Would Be the Happiest Bird (Horse Less, 2014). She is currently at work on a book of sonnets called Crawlspace, some of which can be found in the Brooklyn RailFanzineElective Affinities, the Account, the Inquisitive Eater, and elsewhere. www.nikkiwallschlaeger.com

Excerpts & Media

Poems from Crawlspace have appeared in the Brooklyn Rail, P-Queue, TheThe Poetry Blog, the Account, Fanzine, Elective Affinities, Dusie, the Philadelphia Review, Quaint Magazine, the Enemy, the Inquisitive Eater, the Poetry Project Newsletter & elsewhere.


Sonnet (36)

Face me in your sonnets so I can permanently grieve
is really what the roses say to the antebellum purling 
dogtags of myself. It’s one of our common flowers
along with the gardenia, violet, & heady geranium
leaning into a postcard advertising vintage weedkiller.
It makes it difficult to approach the crowd with love,
I turn an unnatural whip of red like a baboon’s crypt.
Whether or not they like it depends on their versions
of paternalistic stylecraft, the jetskis they rode in on
red and black girls grown for their gutted waterpetals.
Afterwards I hear their toasts while I pour champagne
to health and happiness. I trip on a slab of calf muscle,
the grooms giving the essential lists of panting warning
It is the big gulp of seaworld sacraments I have sampled


when they asked me to be a bridesmaid in topos red tulle,
the families who have grown me out of hysterical divide.
I have been their servant. I’ve listened to their decimations
of languor, that slow cookin is always the best way to unite.
I’ve been pregnant before and I will be wrecked pregnant 
again: heavier with the tree slits of Mary Turner’s baby
who sings of rapturous hexes oiled by the truly innocent.
These Dostoyevskian friends, what can you say to them
who choose the inconsequential as their primary crime.
Like the good shigella drugged citizens that they are,
they handwax the long calvacade of cars with Jackie O
fibroids, the journeymen specializing in overseeing
plant lacuna switches & steel workboots that massacre
babies not ready to be born w/ tinted glass is my belly


all the babies covered in secret eyes blinking for our nights
running with their infant infareds, flashing through the paths.
We are in hiding. We make pot roast sandwiches for senators
as I trace my eyes down to the documents being fabricated
over their lunch hours I know I will have to wipe down this
table when they finish. A newspaper asks,” How many words
can you make out of the word arrogate?” next to a crossword
puzzle about cinema noir. How much of it can be destroyed
if it’s designed to kill you cuz Baldwin says here it comes again
when you’ve already been walking for miles, talkin back to cops
and your voice gets auto-tuned swelled with dripping generations
of statesmen. By the glow of mycelium lakes who are connecting
the old growth trees for shelter: We, as marked women transform
ourselves. We are the wood violets and roses stretching in the rain. 






Sunday, April 30, 2017

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Don't say you love if that love will then try to exit the gates when I was unexpectedly released from the underworld I couldn't imagine an orpheus I couldn't float I could only cling to my home

Don't say you love if that love will then try to exit the gates when I was unexpectedly released from the underworld I couldn't imagine an orpheus I couldn't float I could only cling to my home

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Survey the demolishing current, then in response feed the muscular fabric of love hand over hand far reach skeins that silk the terrain and therein we don't get anxious to own each other any longer I just want to drive and talk all night and feel this landscape breathe in my overswell

Survey the demolishing current, then in response feed the muscular fabric of love hand over hand far reach skeins that silk the terrain and therein we don't get anxious to own each other any longer I just want to drive and talk all night and feel this landscape breathe in my overswell

Monday, April 24, 2017

Where sound forms a bowl in the green my beloveds congregate and tho a drone scripts threat overhead we reap balm, ash, damp clover it's true time has 80 feet of handwoven rope in its satchel

Where sound forms a bowl in the green my beloveds congregate and tho a drone scripts threat overhead we reap balm, ash, damp clover it's true time has 80 feet of handwoven rope in its satchel

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Monday, April 17, 2017

Sunday, April 16, 2017

A hot breeze comes up from the desert and blows my bull-faced tender friend back down the road to the sea, I put my arms out I get the breeze like wings and my fluted heart goes sirens

A hot breeze comes up from the desert and blows my bull-faced tender friend back down the road to the sea, I put my arms out I get the breeze like wings and my fluted heart goes sirens