Chloe Martinez
LightNews LightNews
banner
chloemartinez.bsky.social
Chloe Martinez
@chloemartinez.bsky.social
630 followers 580 following 35 posts
🪷Translator, Songs of Mirabai (New Directions, forth. 2026)
🌵Co-editor, Chaos, Creativity, Completion: Essays on Writing & ADHD (UChicago, forth. 2026)
🌿Ten Thousand Selves (The Word Works, 2021)
🌱Corner Shrine (Backbone, 2020)
Posts Replies Media Videos
chloemartinez.bsky.social
Got my contributor copy of REVEL in the mail. Nicely designed new mag from @unboundedition.bsky.social, many thanks to the editors for including two poems of mine. Snippets below, get the whole thing at revel-literary.com
July 7, 2025 at 9:33 PM
chloemartinez.bsky.social
Mirabai, translated by me, in a great new issue of @pshares.bsky.social with gratitude to the editors and guest ed Peggy Shumaker 💙
April 19, 2025 at 4:59 PM
chloemartinez.bsky.social
Starting soon: zoom launch reading for this beautiful new chapbook, hope you can join us! eventbrite.com/e/book-launch-for-pamela-alexanders-left-tickets-1156887083409
Image of the cover of Pamela Alexander’s Chad Walsh Prize-winning chapbook, LEFT, with an empty chair against a light gray background. Poem from the collection in the next image. EARLY WARNING Lazy, dangling from pink wings, they sailed in slow circles under the ten-foot ceilings. We bombed the nest on the porch, Faculty Housing said. Some crawled inside the walls. Nothing we can do. Not lazy. Damaged. Half- poisoned, they staggered, bombed, bombing. We found them thrashing on window sills, drowning in cups of coffee. Meanwhile, he was afraid of the stems on blueberries: he might choke. Afraid of other men: they might guess. Afraid of being alone. As I sat reading in bed, a wasp thwacked against my sternum, dropped inside my nightgown, stung. The marriage bed. We had fallen. We were falling.
February 1, 2025 at 5:45 PM
chloemartinez.bsky.social
"my old potato./ my yellow mother." I always need this poem. (today's Paris Review Daily Poem: mailchi.mp/theparisrevi...)
Lucille Clifton poem to my yellow coat today i mourn my coat. my old potato. my yellow mother. my horse with buttons. my rind. today she split her skin like a snake, refusing to excuse my back for being big for being old for reaching toward other cuffs and sleeves. she cracked like a whip and fell apart, my terrible teacher to the end; to hell with the arms you want she hissed, be glad when you’re cold for the arms you have. From issue no. 233 (Summer 2020)
January 26, 2025 at 3:11 PM
chloemartinez.bsky.social
Green Pilot V5 pen: leaking on/after flights since forever. I don’t care! I’ll never give them up!
Green ink-stained hand holding a green pen.
December 3, 2024 at 8:54 PM
chloemartinez.bsky.social
Yet another day on which I need this poem. Luckily it hangs on my office wall for easy reference.
Photo of Joy Harjo's poem, This Morning I Pray for My Enemies: "And whom do I call my enemy? An enemy must be worthy of engagement. I turn in the direction of the sun and keep walking. It’s the heart that asks the question, not my furious mind. The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun. It sees and knows everything. It hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing. The door to the mind should only open from the heart. An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend." https://poets.org/poem/morning-i-pray-my-enemies
November 14, 2024 at 5:39 PM