TYGER QUARTERLY
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Issue 1: Spring 2022

  1. Serena Solin
  2. Toby Altman  
  3. S. Brook Corfman
  4. Katana Smith
  5. Natalee Cruz
  6. Emma Wilson
  7. Ashley Colley
  8. Colin Criss 
  9. Jack Chelgren
  10. Stefania Gomez 

Issue 2: Summer 2022
  1. Matthew Klane
  2. Ryan Nhu
  3. TR Brady
  4. Alana Solin
  5. K. Iver
  6. Emily Barton Altman
  7. William Youngblood
  8. Alex Wells Shapiro  
  9. Sasha Wiseman
  10. Yunkyo Moon-Kim


Issue 3: Fall 2022
  1. Sun Yung Shin
  2. Rosie Stockton
  3. Adele Elise Williams & Henry Goldkamp
  4. Noa Micaela Fields
  5. Miriam Moore-Keish
  6. Fred Schmalz
  7. Katy Hargett-Hsu
  8. Alicia Mountain
  9. Austin Miles
  10. Carlota Gamboa

  Birthday Presents
       for William Blake

    Five Words for William Blake
        on His 265th Birthday
            (after Jack Spicer)
 


Issue 4: Winter 2023

  1. MICHAEL CHANG 
  2. Daniel Borzutzky
  3. Alicia Wright
  4. Asha Futterman
  5. Ellen Boyette
  6. S Cearley
  7. Sebastián Páramo
  8. Abbey Frederick
  9. Caylin Capra-Thomas
  10. maryhope|whitehead|lee & Ryan Greene


Issue 5: Spring 2023

  1. Jose-Luis Moctezuma 
  2. Peter Leight
  3. Rachel Galvin
  4. Sophia Terazawa
  5. Katherine Gibbel
  6. Lloyd Wallace
  7. Timothy Ashley Leo
  8. Jessica Laser
  9. Kira Tucker
  10. Michael Martin Shea


Issue 6: Summer 2023

An Introduction to Tyger Quarterly’s The Neo-Surrealist Interview Series

1. Mary Jo Bang 
2. Marty Cain 
3. Dorothy Chan 
4. Aditi Machado 
5. Alicia Mountain
6. Serena Solin
7. Marty Riker 
8. Francesca Kritikos
9. Luther Hughes
10. Toby Altman

Bonus: William Blake Tells All


Issue 7: Fall 2023 


1. Dennis James Sweeney 
2. M. Cynthia Cheung
3. Nathaniel Rosenthalis
4. Reuben Gelley Newman
5. James Kelly Quigley 
6. Christine Kwon
7. Maxwell Rabb
8. Maura Pellettieri 
9. Patty Nash 
10. Alyssa Moore


Issue 8: Winter 2024
1. Julian Talamantez Brolaski
2. Elizabeth Marie Young
3. Michael Gardner 
4. Steffan Triplett 
5. Margaret Yapp
6. Chelsea Tadeyeske
7. June Wilson 
8. Dawn Angelicca Barcelona
9. Evan Williams 
10. Brendan Sherry 


Issue 9 + 10: Spring/Summer 2024
1. Emily Pittinos 
2. Lisa Low 
3. Binx Perino 
4. Kai Ihns
5. Alex Tretbar 
6. Joanie Cappetta 
7. Mike Bagwell
8. Kelly Clare
9. Antonio Vargas-Nieto 
10. Olivia Sio Tse 

//

11. Jackson Watson
12. Myka Kielbon
13. Henie Zhang
14. David Brennan
15. Ann Pedone
16. Maddy Chrisman-Miller
17. Ronnie Sirmans
18. Evan Goldstein
19. Anne Marie Rooney
20. Cameron Lovejoy


Issue 11: Fall 2024

Laocoön, at the top reads “Where any view of Money exists Art cannot be carried on but War only.” In this spirit of Blake, rather than putting out a new issue of poetry, the Tygers of Tyger Quarterly have put together links to writing, and other medias, that have figured as meaningful reading, writing, listening as we continue the fight to end Israel’s ongoing genocide in Palestine.

1. My Palestinian Poem that “The New Yorker” Wouldn’t Publish by Fady Joudah (from LARB)
2. No Human Being Can Exist + No Human Being Can Exist by Saree Makdisi (from N+1)
3. Under the Jumbotron + William Blake’s ‘Laocoön’: Why this poet’s engraving reads like a protest poster” by Anahid Nersessian (from LRB + The Yale Review) 
4. On Israel and Lebanon: A Response to Adrienne Rich from One Black Woman by June Jordan (from New York War Crimes)
5. Genocide Leaves No Illusions in Tact by Yasmeen Daher (from Verso)
6. Can You Tell Us Why This Is Happening: Testimonies from Gaza (from N+1)
7. Landing: Skateboarding in Palestine by Maen Hammad (Bonus Documentary: Epicly Palestined: The Birth of Skateboarding in the West Bank) (from N+1 + SkatePal)
8. Palestine is Everywhere, and It Is Making Us More Free: More Letters from The Apocalypse by George Abraham and Sarah Aziza (from The Nation)
9. Liberation Pedagogy at the People’s University for Gaza by Amir Marshi (from MQR)
10. “We,” A Poem for Palestine by Ghayath Almadhoun (from Outlook India) 
11. Resources Towards a Free Palestine (from Mizna)
12. Crimes Against Language: The Moral Truth of Israel’s War Against Gaza is not Difficult to Grasp by Sarah Aziza (from The Baffler)
13. Israelism: The Awakening of Young American Jews dir.  Erin Axelman and Sam Eilertsen
14. [excerpt from Palestine (+100)] Editor’s Introduction by Basma Ghalayini +  “The Curse of the Mud Ball Kid” by Mazen Maarouf (translated by Jonathan Wright)
15. If I Must Die by Refaat Alareer (from In These Times)



Email: tyger quarterly @ gmail dot com 



©2022 TQ



William Youngblood



 




THESE EPHEMERAL THEME PARKS 



In these ephemeral theme parks
A thought could be thought
Beautiful for its strangeness
Alone; the way it plunged

Vertiginously towards the hard
Surface of the world and then,
At the last possible moment,
Veered off, just grazing the edge

Of the observable, in the direction
Of where it would rather be, the recursive
Meadows of paradox; the way
When you looked in the mirrors

Of the fun house you saw reflected
Back, in place of yourself, first
Your mother as a child, then an egret,
And then someone whose face you

Had never seen, and stepping out
Into the cooling air you wondered
Who had made these places and why,
Filled them with these attractions—

The Magic Maze and the Wall
Of Death— and set them here so far
From our homes, so that we had to chance
Treacherous tracks and whistling passes,

Arriving only as they were beginning to pack;
And when you were barred entrance to
A ride whose loops and hills stretched far
Beyond our field of view and seemed

To corkscrew among the stars, barred because
“You must be this short to ride”— this simple
Inversion amusing you so that you thought this,
This was excitement enough for now.



A SERIES OF POINTED QUESTIONS



Let’s elide the precise moment of catastrophe for the time being—
screaming rails, twisted steel—and see the train cars neatly corrugated
on the grassy shoulder, the mingling of granulated safety glass and gravel,
the stream of passengers moving from the wreckage with the steady pace
and particular calmness of disaster, settling uneasily onto the hillside,

and looking around to see if they recognize anyone. Soon
there is a great relief. Nobody seems to be hurt much, just the usual
scrapes, bruises, and minor fractures. No one is really sure if this
is lucky or to be expected. One person, as is often the case, is dead
and hastily covered with a blue sheet from one of the sleeping cars,

for our sake or possibly that of the deceased though they are beyond
such concerns as modesty. Particulars of the incident are unclear.
Theories circulate as theories do, in fits and starts, growing ever more
refined and contrary. Something wrong with the rails, something
wrong with the train, a rupture of some mechanism or another.

All this falls away and soon this is something like a party
the end of which is certain, the duration of which is unknown.
Laughter can be heard in the nervous distance and relationships
are formed and ended, though the invitations have already been
sent out. Just beyond the trees the assignations of various

forest creatures go on unnoticed or remarked upon, though
the conductor passes searching for the driver. And this is all,
until the news crews arrive and everything collapses into
a single soundbite with a pleasing shape. Whatever we were
talking about, we must remember what has actually happened.



THINK OF THE CITY AT NIGHT





It’s the only time for it, really, when it's alive and the world,
rather than lived in and in the world, when the starry expanse
is paradoxically a dome, isolating its structures and drawing them
together into a body that breathes quietly, its great circulation
of various smaller bodies reaching, if not rest, then an ebb, its lights
moving like a logic in opposition to biology.
                                                                                        Everything
is amplified the closer you get to silence and the absence
of light, neither of which is possible to achieve anymore.
History expands into its strata and the grand facade
is revealed as a series of buildings built one after the other,
some with less thought and care than the rest. Traffic is oddly
elsewhere, sparse and around a corner, two streets over,
where that coffee shop used to be, or the bookstore.
This is the street as soundstage, the white mists billowing
from the grates are the sublimation of dry ice, and the rain
springs from spigots high above in unseen scaffolds.
The night is less ideal for people, though there are fewer
of them out, it makes them seem small, further away,
at a point where they can be made to seem pathetic or
enlarged to sinister proportions. Anyway, it’s probably best
to keep to yourself. That’s one way of understanding the city,
moving through it as a foreign particle in a body. Another way is
more like being the city, though not quite, moving in its secret spaces,
the ancient steam tunnels and pneumatic tubes.
                                                                                                    And then
there are times I feel I understand myself fairly well, not
as a self but as one understands another they are somewhat
close to, particularities of habit and likely reactions to situations,
lacking the grand self-knowledge so associated with the greatest
thinkers of the species whose internal reckonings seem suspiciously
to be judgements on the entirety of the race. Let’s leave it at:
I understand how I am in the city. I understand how I am out of it.





Biographical Statement:



William Youngblood is a poet based in St. Louis, MO. He works in a library, borrowing books they don't have from other libraries that do. His work has appeared in Passages North and Prolit Magazine.