BackStreet Review

Crave narrative? crave noir imagination? crave (mostly) unique prose transformed and christened “poetry”? —Hint: the truly good materials seem to be written in historic (narrative) present tense. Then, BackStreet Review is poss-ib-ly for you. But the highlight of this gritty, down-to-earth publication is, not, its lengthy life, almost two decades in one form or another; or its ongoing collection of accomplished writers; rather the pearl in the soup kitchen oyster stew is the writing of, editor, producer and publisher: Ray Foreman. Ray’s lived it…
Ray’s a cat person (Max happy.)

Never met Ray. Do you think? because the backstory of the guy is so convoluted, perhaps he is actually only the figment of someone’s imagination; the HanShan of the faded beat generation. But I know I like this guy. He comes across as street-tough, as blue-collar as they come. Apparently, used to own—as in own, operate, cook, clean and babysit all day—every day— a Chicago hash counter, a diner when a diner was King on Clark Street; was a Merchant Marine, a coffee shop entrepreneur near City Lights book store in the city by the bay. Ray’s been around and seen it all, a “poetry” hustler, street philosopher, story teller, professor of honest-to-Jake writing. Foreman doesn’t stand for pinky-flair poetry, he wants an honest sounding story with substance, true to life, to slam, punch and grind.

And if you hear what he is saying in his “editorials,” absorb what he shows (not tells—Ray doesn't sell this soap) in his “poems” you’ll be guaran-damn-teed to come out of the fire a better writer.

Contact “Ray” @:

BackStreet Quarterly Review

P.O. Box 1377

Berthoud, CO 80513

Can’t recall the meager cost for some of the best street-schooling in the trade: $10.00…perhaps $15.00 per year?

Oh. Go ahead, at least, send him three or four wrinkled Georgies for a sample copy. I’m certain he can use them (can’t we all) and you can’t afford not to spend ’em…

Trust the ticky-dot.

Best from, Max tdc

 cont'd...
Cheap Seats Ticket to Ride

It does, it truly does resemble a

“Ticket Book.” About 3-1/2 x 8-1/2

inches, end stapled with gitchy

board covers; we’re talking about,

Cheap Seats Ticket to Ride. (I did

promise “more, soon”…did I not?)

This conveniently sized print
slips neatly into a standard #10 envelope and is mailed using one-ounce postage. Suspiciously (auspiciously) sized much like another, ultra-nifty publication: 
bear creek haiku.

Here are just a few selections
and partials from the dozen
or so Cheap Seat writers…

“barking loud enough

to scare dogs

sandhill cranes arrive;

honking like traffic jams,

Canada geese

on the next flight”

                 Michael Conner

                 Tahoka, Tx

   …  …  …

“if I could design words

that would disappear and
  leave

your image on the page

I would have drained

the wells of ink by now…

…yet everything

is as should be

for if the words

the page

and time

could contain

and define you

I would be without pursuit”

                 steve croisant

                 Grand Junction, CO

   …  …  …

"pouring sauce

over spaghetti noodles

eating alone"

        …

"a little radio

falls to the floor—

a deep sigh"

      James D. Fuson

      New Haven, MI

  …  …  …

"acceptable losses—

to catch a moth

you have to break a few
   lamps"

            Candi Cooper-Towler

              Longmont, CO

     …  …  …

"Ninety-three degrees

Shadow of a butterfly

Sails into mesquite shade"

               Cynthia Sidrane

                Phoenix, AZ

     …  …  …

"homeow"

      ayaz daryl nielesen

      Boulder, CO

  …  …  …

Just a few.

The writers featured in this issue include some of small press’ heavy hitters: Rhodes, Catlin, Mayfield, Cooper-Towler, etc. ol’ Max hizzelf the ticky-dot-cat, highly recommends you have a look-see. (An SASE, an extra lst class postage stamp within and three bucks will get you guidelines and this first printing.) Worth checking out; a unique publication in which to be seen!
 (No, Virginia, they did not pay me with Taco Bell to say these things …although I can say more on Tuesday for a Taco today.)

Max tdc,

Taco Bell maniac

Sheesh! It’s been a while. Suppose

it’s either be a mountaineering cat,

climbing granite faces or sit here

pounding away with weary paws

writing for granite faces.

Oh, come on! Makes you squirm,

doesn’t it? Struth.

Yup, that be the situation: seems

that writing “poetry” brings out the stoic

in people, giving them the false-self

impression, the self-imposed sage,

believing they’re going to impress,

or change the world—either way,

probably won’t happen.

So, why not have fun with your writing?!

Shel certainly did—created an entire life

around having fun and being, irreverently

—just himself.

Speaking of having fun…

Cheap Seats Ticket to Ride

Another, “yup.” Yup, these guys are

having a goodly time of it with their new

publication for “poetry” writers, new & old,

who, really, want to write. Why not check it out?

Cheap Seats Ticket to Ride 
c/o Canyon Wren Press
P.O. Box 249
Empire, CO  80438-0249

For an SASE they will send you guidelines

(no e-techies here, they’re all old school

mechanical paste-up mavens from the age

of real ink, glue and pulp paper—

guaranteed, you’ll learn a thing or two

about the historic details of the

newspaper business.) A very unique,

unassuming print.

Just received the first issue,

“Ticket Book No. One”. Very impressed.

Of course I should be, I’m supposed to

be one of the “advisory editors”

(a very loosely applied term.)

More soon, Max tdc

dc, thank you for your comments.

(May 12, 2014, 6:23 p.m.)

Don Marquis did indeed posit: “Publishing a poem (volume of verse) is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon—and waiting for the echo.”

And though getting published in today’s electronic age is “easier,” there is very little in the way of oversight, honest presentation, accountability, reward or satisfaction. There just doesn’t seem to be a comprehensive even an interested audience beyond other writers of the same type of material—and that arena is akin to eating a bucket of KFC in a pit of starving hyenas. From Marquis’ observation (written in the 1920’s) there seemed to be little, then, in the way of reward—and he as an author was extremely well recognized, read, and successful.

Causes one to pause, doesn’t it?  

“What’s it all about, Alfie…?”  you query. Honestly cannot answer that, mi amigo. From this ticky-dot-cat’s perspective, with rare exception, there seems to be little desire in improving one’s self as a writer. And as “poetry” in general is only written to be exhibited free gratis, no hope of real recognition, one must assume any sort of general audience comprehension or appreciation is, likewise, minimal.

A usual response: “Written for one’s self…” Pul-ese! That is the saddest of sad-sack, loser cop-outs. For without accountability, there is no improvement.

I’ll rage on this subject again, one can count on it.  Be well, Max tdc