Author: erinmbee

Something that struck me while reading the manuscript is how much space is mentioned as if it’s here on Earth, but I actually found some images that really prove that’s the case in Iceland. A lot of it has that intense, sharp and globe foreboding feel we were talking about to, so I wanted to share some of my finds.

As far as book design goes, I found a few things that give me a sense of survival or detachment with a minimalist look. Of course, not all of these fit exactly what I think the book should look like, but it sparked a few ideas.

In CC1, I criticized myself for being unable to make my accordion book — as I called it — aesthetically ugly. Turns out I’m not the only one who has this idea of an appealing form of ugly.

Ugly Duckling Presse uses the idea of aesthetically ugly in both their content and their visuals.

“The eclecticism and oddness makes it easy to make mistakes that don’t look like mistakes,” says Matvei Yankelevich, a founder of the press (Schlesinger, 302).

“Happens all the time,” adds Anna Moschovakis, worker at the press. “But I should clarify and say that Ugly Duckling is not committed to making ugly books, but we do want to mae books that are different. Isn’t that the supposed moral of the story?” (Schlesinger, 302).

One way they do this may seem like an obvious avenue to take: forming how a book looks through the content of the book. Of course, this is very much a mainstream way of producing commercial books, but if one were to see a book from Ugly Duckling, they’ll see trademarks only the press would produce.

While I’ve only seen two or three of their books, they make it clear that it all started with the letterpress and printmaking. On the cover of A Poetics of the Press, one will see layered designs, possibly linocuts or simply blocks of ink that would only appear from a letterpress. They also have a line dedicated to a’s and o’s, the former written in a solid black sans serif font while the latter is printed red in a serif font.

In their other book I have on me, I Remember Nightfall, it once again has that reminder of where commercial books came from. With a grey, silkscreen-inspired cover and shapes drawn in a maroon and white ink with what seems like a calligraphy pen. Of course, it wasn’t actually put through this process, but it really looks like a section of a mixed modernist and impressionist painting that is based off nightfall.

Another way the press focuses on being ugly is through writing. By this, they basically mean they’re looking for works that would be traditionally rejected by other publications, as they’re more include to reject big-time writers.

As Moschovakis put it: “We want people who aren’t very accomplished” (Schlesinger, 304).

Reading a few pages from Marosa di Giorgio’s I Remember Nightfall is a prime example. Being that it’s translated from its original language is Spanish, it’s already not accomplished, but the content of the writing is even more intriguing.

I should mention, too, that one thing Ugly Duckling does that’s not often seen in other books is that they include translations in the original language and the translation next to it.

The poems in this book, I feel, would be greatly criticized by the general public as well. Readers seemed to have gotten used to wanting the answer right in front of them rather than look for subtle connections; in other words, put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Di Giorgio uses repeated images and the narrator’s imagination to bring the reader on a journey with her through these distractions she’s seeing that help show the reality of the world around her.

As Moschovakis said in the interview, “Now that’s ugly!” (Schlesinger, 306).

As it’s part of the creative response, here’s a poem I wrote in, hopefully, the spirit of Ugly Duckling:

Mom laughed at me when I said I want my relationship to be like a goose’s.

Two were standing near the pond, tearing grass from the earth with black razored beaks,

And when one waddled too far away from the other, it would honk, panicked,

Then run back to the other, wings flapping–

Out of fear of being forgotten, or simply to cover more ground?

The other helped shorten the distance by meeting the panicked one,

Reaching its neck out to form a cartoonish hug.

Now, I hear them flap against creamsicle skies, honking directions at each other,

But I fall back asleep, wondering how my mother couldn’t see how

These odd birds understand what it means to be a flock.

I personally love it when people use images that are fake or delusional or even memories to get a message across. While mine is probably more directly than that of di Giorgio’s, I wanted a good portion of it to be image based, like her’s. One thing I have incorporated into other works of mine that she does is stating fiction as reality, even if there’s hints of it not actually being the case.

Poem four in the section “Magnolia,” it begins with, “When it rains a lot, the angels line up in the garden like tiny druids…” (di Giorgio, 87).

Perhaps these angels are stone ones people set in gardens, and the narrator is imagining them lining up. She ends the poem with her chasing the angels when they fly into the house and presenting her captive to her teacher.

While I haven’t’ had a chance to read the whole book, angels and gardens are two of the recurring themes in her book. I didn’t state it in my poem, but, if this makes any sense, geese are a recurring feature in my life, which is probably why I chose them. My high school was frequented by a nearby flock, every vacation spot had geese, and they recently came back into my life as I hear them in the morning and evenings on campus.

I don’t plan on it presently, but perhaps I’ll make a collection of ugly poems that surround geese, which many agree are some of the less desirable birds in the world. Though Ugly Duckling Presse is named after the bird that nobody wanted, and that habit or that want to be embroiled in the seemingly ugly things of society is what’s needed.

Works Cited:

di Giorgio, Marosa. I Remember Nightfall. Translated by Jeannine Marie Pitas, Ugly Duckling Presse, 2017.

Schlesinger, Kyle, et al. “Anna Moschovakis & Matvei Yankelevich.” A Poetics of the Press: Interviews with Poets, Printers, & Publishers, Cuneiform Press, Austin, TX, 2021, pp. 290-309.

Aaron Cohick is the founder of NewLights Press, which publishes his own and the work of other artists. If one were to meander to his website, they’d see one of the mediums they use for publications is “the obselete (letterpress),” which Cohick prides himself in.

In fact, many consider the letterpress to be a thing of the past, even with these quirky small presses using them. On the other hand, because quirky small presses are seeming to slowly get the credit they’ve been yearning for, one could argue that print is, in fact, alive.

“I don’t think that as a culture we are going to come to any conclusions for a good many years, but what we need to do now is ask some meaningful, productive questions,” said Cohick in A Poetics of the Press.

Compared to their other broadsides, this is probably NewLights’ most traditional object. It’s clean and clear cut while a majority of the work they publish is rather risky; words on top of words on top of backgrounds on top of designs on top of streaks on top of etc. on top of ect.

Because of this war between the traditional way and new way of doing things, many will side with one or the other, simultaneously showing how broad the definitions of those words are. Some may think one form is old while another says how it’s used more in contemporary works. Meanwhile, Cohick acknowledges the talent of both traditional and modern artists and their contribution to the small press industry.

Cohick himself looks to early art of the Modernist movement and the Minimalism that appeared in the 60’s and 70’s; however, he admires the Renaissance, simply because it encapsulates what he wants to portray in his work: “the exploration of sometimes radically new and/or completely deranged territory.”

He also views the relationship between old and new as a mentor and student rather than enemies.

“The new is always an extension of the old, its basic tropes and conventions being derived from the earlier technology,” he said.

As for the letterpress, Cohick calls for those with the supplies to put them to good use.

“We are beginning to see [print] clearly for the first time, and now we can get it to ask questions about its own structures, internally and externally,” said Cohick. “This is a time to be making work, not objects — objects that are a fortress of ossified tradition — but work that does work, that sees that everything that we love and cherist about print and books is part of a living culture, subject to and dependent upon change for its vitality.”

Works cited:

Schlesinger, Kyle, et al. “Aaron Cohick.” A Poetics of the Press: Interviews with Poets, Printers, & Publishers, Cuneiform Press, Austin, TX, 2021, pp. 310-321.

I knew typesetting was the hardest part about working with a letterpress, but it couldn’t be that bad. Well, it was, though it was worth it to get our final result.

Towards someone who’s never worked with letterpress, they may not exactly see how much work went into pressing a few stars onto the paper, but those surrounding me and my letterpress partner in the shop were quite amazed at this. I won’t take the credit since I had trouble keeping the tiniest stars up and in place. We essentially had the whole class help typeset, but I don’t regret having this as a final result.

As you can see here, we had quite the interesting time with finding piecing small or large enough to make sure nothing falls out of place. We got to the point where we took pieces of normal type and turned it on its side as we ran out of spacers.

Honestly, I thought of some simple designs to use (a rotary phone being struck by lightning or tiny Santa), but I’m proud of the stars we created. One thing is for sure: it’s that I have a whole new level of respect for typesetters. I have no problem with inking a design and pulling a lever to print the design, but those who take the time to set and space out the type and furniture are the real magicians with the letterpress.

Another thing people have to think about is how the type will transfer to the paper. With that being said, one has to set their design backwards, which can be daunting with multiple lines of text. Then there’s the task of placing it in the machine correctly out of fear of having text that’s backwards and upside down. Thankfully, stars were quite easy in that sense.

My English teacher and I recently had a conversation about why she’s choosing to make the midterm a handmade poster rather than a test or electronic project. With students using electronics as a means to get assignments done, she wants to encourage them to take a break from the screen and create a poster; even if it’s something as simple as gluing pictures to poster-board and talking about it, she’ll accept it as long as it’s not a Powerpoint presentation.

While watching the film Pressing On, I couldn’t help but notice the same conversations occurring among small press publishers. Many of them even argued that if more people from my generation were introduced to a letterpress, they would take the opportunity to learn how it works for the exact same reasons.

We had a letterpress in high school, but I never got the chance to really use it. I did once, but all I really did was pull a lever and “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost suddenly appeared on cardstock. All’s that to say is my biggest regret in high school is not taking more chances with learning about the letterpress. I do, however, have some designs from my school’s letterpress hanging in my dorm: one of a rat playing the violin with the caption “Literary Rat” written on the bottom, a poem from a friend’s manuscript, a pink poster with the words “LAVA: IT WILL MELT YOUR FACE OFF” on it (inside joke), and — while I nor the friend who gave it to me are Jewish — a blue dreidel. (Sadly, I was unable to get the poster of a pin-up girl on it that said “Your just my wood type,” which, of course, was made with wood type letters.)

You know how people say no two snowflakes are the same? That also goes for products of the letterpress. It was briefly mentioned in the interview with one of the “letterpressers” that they received positive reviews for the lack of ink on some letters and other imperfections. Their customers quickly stopped them to say they love it because it makes it more real.

The letterpressed I have in my room also have these imperfections, but I find it special because I know the hands that made them. It’s like having a little bit of them with me, even though we’ve all moved on, and if I were to buy from a seller I didn’t personally know, I’d have an equal amount of appreciation because of the time, effort, and planning put into it.

I’d say my book is a mix between a visual and structure book as it’s in an accordion style–and a rather sad one at that. I’m good friends with the term “no qualifiers,” but I have a hard time making things look pretty when it comes to crafts, which is probably why I’ve resorted to creating a book’s content over creating the object the content comes in. Nonetheless, I’d love the chance to redo my book in a cleaner way.

One half of the accordion is painted watercolors with warm colors and is accompanied with Robert Frost’s poem “Nothing Gold Can Stay” (let’s just say my affinity for S. E. Hinton’s The Outsiders has never faded). That was the half I impulsively placed things as I went along, lacking a great bit of planning.

The opposite, however, are polaroids of the cemetery on campus, specifically of graves that were desecrated or have been long abandoned. I wanted to focus on how we go through a great deal of embellishments when it comes to death, yet it doesn’t matter in a few decades, leaving vandalized headstones grown over with weeds. The poem still goes along with that idea, but with a lack of materials and the lab portion, it was a little difficult to properly execute.

Originally, I planned on having a stained glass look on the opposite side, which is why I cut out the back of one of the polaroids and have pink shards of film scattered on the pages. The flowers were ones I picked off of campus in hopes of making it look prettier and to focus on that idea on the temporary.

As for future readers, I think I anticipate someone who has low standards (I joke), but really, someone who doesn’t want a full story or any sort of narrative. Maybe it’s because I’m presently listening to “Nothing Else Matters,” but honestly, if they can get that idea along with a sense of comfort, I’d be happy because that was my message.

As for the language/text parts of my book, I wish I steered clear of it. I wish I took more photos instead to tell my story, though I plan on doing something that’ll hopefully better illustrate that. The whole poem didn’t fully capture what I wanted–and I may have a copyright lawsuit on my hands–and quite honestly, I want to leave room for the reader to interpret my intent. Even in poetry anymore, we’re told what we’re supposed to take away to an extent. The series of polaroids and where they were placed can do just as well–and probably better, in this case–job to narrate something to someone.

But after hearing people from class have a better appreciation for it than I did really stuck with me, especially since they liked the part I hated with the watercolors. They wanted the more messy side of it, which I found a little odd. Perhaps I should “practice” my impulsiveness a little bit more than I want to. Even with all my complaining about the book, I’m glad I was able to get my message across to people who saw beauty in the ugly parts–almost like how I see beauty in the cemetery despite its connotations.

Mei-Ling Hom’s In the morning looks nothing like the books we’re used to seeing, which is what’s so eye-catching about it.

Women’s Studio Workshop describes it as a “three dimensional, semi-circular book with pie shaped pages that has text printed on the exploded fore edge.” If one were to wedge their fingers in between two pieces of pie, they’re greeted with a white pop-up that represents something the author experienced in Paris.

I think what’s so appealing to me about this book is that it’s very much something a publisher would consider for a children’s book because of the interactive element and the fact that it’s a pop-up book. In fact, Women’s Studio Workshop lists this under “Toy and movable books.”

While the book speaks personally about the author’s experience in Paris, I rather like the lack of words — or paragraphs, rather. Some may not like this approach, I think it’s a rather bold and creative of Hom because it forces us to take something out of it from our own interpretation rather than being told what we should see. We only see words on the outside of the book, and it seems to be only one scene out of what I assume would be many, considering we have multiple images inside the pie. The filling is the pop-up portion, but it reminds me a lot of the vignette writing technique. We’re given images, but they’re not exactly clear. They’re rather abstract, especially since the pop-ups are white against a white background; very minimalist and clean-cut use of silkscreen, letterpress, and die cuts.

Another thing that interests me is the binding. It’s listed as, “Folded pages connected together at spine.” As we were creating accordion books in class, I wondered if this is a complicated accordion technique Hom created or was inspired by. Like an accordion book, there’s no exact starting or ending point. The reader could start at either end or even in the middle and would still understand the gist of the story, if there even is a story in it.

Sources:

Hom, Mei-Ling. (1990.) In the morning. Women’s Studio Workshop. Retrieved September 28, 2021, from https://wsworkshop.org/collection/in-the-morning/.

I’m not sure what drew me to pick up Quinn Rennerfeldt’s book over the other chapbooks sprawled across the table, but upon thinking about it, I think its simplicity drew me closer.

The most striking thing about the cover is the title with its screen-printed and metallic look. The letters are also on top on the cover, which makes the reader trace each letter.

Another thing that’s interesting about the front and back cover is how thin the paper is. The whole book appears to be made from version of thin construction paper, but the cover is even slimmer than the actual pages. As for books that are published by places such as Harper Collins or Penguin/Random House, we typically see books with covers that are made to last, as if the cover is the only thing protecting the paper from damage. Though Rennerfeldt’s book is in good condition while the opposite is occurring.

If one were to flip through, they’d immediately notice how simple the poems are formatted here. Prose poetry would be a more appropriate term as each piece is written in a paragraph or two with a serif font. The titles are traditional as they’re written at the top and center, although, unlike the content of the poem itself, the title is in a sans serif font.

The most eye-catching thing about Sea Glass Catastrophe is probably the color of the pages. Some are white while others are mint green. Both are ridden with specs and lines that aren’t distracting to the reader. In fact, it adds to the element of beach sand, and the colors reflect off each other, truly giving that feeling of sea glass.

Adding to its simplicity is how the book lacks most publishing information one may expect. There’s no “About The Press” page or anything of the sort. Instead, on the inside of the front cover, it says, “https://francis.house” and “009/100.” (Personally, I like the numbering of copies in books like these.) On the inside of the back cover is the author’s acknowledgements, then on the other side, it states the publisher again: “Francis House.”

I think the lack of publisher information is my favorite part about Sea Glass Catastrophe. It’s closed off in a good sense, and it beckons me to find out more on my own, especially since this is a small press and not a big-time publisher. Though their website seems to keep that mystery going, and while good in some places, it doesn’t give the complete picture and leaves one to fill in the blanks about the place.

Typically, crafts of any sort make me want to stab whatever I’m making out of the lack of patience I have in seeing my artistic abilities being put to the test.

Luckily, it seems that bookbinding satisfies my want of creating and my urge to stab my creation.

I actually already have a small experience with bookbinding from my high school, where I studied in the Writing and Publishing department. The publishing side of things included the chance to volunteer at BatCat Press, the only high school student-run press in the United States.

I, of course, did not take the chance to volunteer there. Instead, I worked for The SIREN, which is the school newspaper there, so while my friends were making beautiful coptic notebooks and chapbooks and becoming fluent in the ways of the letterpress, I would look across the room and witness their success instead of listening to the rather important lecture on libel law (which I do understand, by the way).

My sophomore year of high school was my first year on the newspaper staff, so I wasn’t too interested in joining. Junior year, I would’ve participated in both the small press and newspaper, but I was learning the in’s and out’s of what it takes to be an editor. Senior year was COVID, so that threw any chance of learning how to do complicated bookbinding techniques out the window.

All that is to say that I was thankful that I was finally getting that chance to learn about bookbinding from scratch with my meager experience. I’m also proud to say that I didn’t draw blood as many do while using the awl to stab the paper.

I was quite excited upon the finished product, especially since I made up the binding design. Then I saw how I lacked a criss-cross design on the bottom rectangle of the binding… and the holes where a little too far from the top and bottom… and then one of the main problems from my high school experience came back: making the binding too tight to properly open the book.

Soon enough, I snapped out of my nitpicking and became proud once more, and let’s just say I’m looking forward to the next project I get to do while simultaneously keeping my record of a bloodless book up.

Saint Augustine, merely a disciple back then, was disturbed to a degree when he saw Ambrose, the Bishop of Milan. The Bishop’s eyes were moving along the page and across the words scattered upon it, yet his mouth remained shut.

Over a decade after witnessing the sight, Augustine was still as confused as ever.

Saint Ambrose’s actions would’ve possibly horrified Clement of Alexandria, as he firmly believed spoken-word and verbal communication was superior over that of words written to a page.

Of course, after living in today’s world — where there’s words sent through texts, emails, posters, and so many other forms of media — one could only wonder why Clement felt this way. Why would he be against the sharing of ideas through pen and paper if it meant carrying his ideas further along? If it meant writing sentiments to a loved one? If it meant advancing education through textbooks and passing history to the next generation?

Perhaps Clement’s fears and dislike are rooted in the accurate prediction that using one’s mind to concentrate will do one of two things: 1) a writer’s idea(s) will get lost as a reader attempts to make it their own, or 2) there’s a lack of connection and understanding between the reader and the writing.

When one opens a text message they have difficulty understanding, they will often mumble it to themselves, trying to crack a code that’s hidden. Oftentimes, students will complain they had difficulty understanding a problem or a block of text until they hear it read aloud for the first time.

As time wore on and people began writing things for the sake of entertainment and not a guide on how to live better, Clement’s predictions became true with people taking the time to read on their own schedule.

However, it became very popular — especially among small presses with the space for it — to hold readings of almost any genre. We still have plays because even if it were performed on a bare stage, it’s more enjoyable for a play to be read than it is to sit and attempting to imagine all these things at once.

Perhaps Clement had the right to fear for what oral reading has become, or the lack thereof. But there could have been an even bigger greivance aired if it weren’t for silent reading: the lack of classic literature and poems that would’ve been tossed aside simply because we began reading and writing in our heads too late.

Plus, Saint Ambrose seemed to have made a fine name for himself, despite these shortcomings.

Works cited:

Borges, Jorge Luis. “On the Cult of Books.” Selected Non-Fictions. Translated by Eliot Weinberger, Penguin, 2000, 358-363.