The Far Field is curated by Kathleen Flenniken to showcase the depth and breadth and vibrancy of Washington State’s poetry.
SUBMISSIONS TO THE FAR FIELD
If you would like your work considered for publication in The Far Field, and if you are a current resident of Washington State, you may submit up to five poems in an email to email@example.com. Please attach all poems in a single WORD or PDF file along with your name and contact information (include your city). Also include a brief (less than 100 words) bio. I prefer previously published material as long as you hold the copyright. Your submission implies that you give permission to me and to Humanities Washington to publish. While I can’t guarantee publication, I do look forward to reading your work.
If you know of Washington State poetry-related links or events I have overlooked, please share them with me at firstname.lastname@example.org. I want this site to be current and helpful.
PHOTOS OF WASHINGTON POETS:
Row 1: Timothy Kelly, Theodore Roethke, Sam Green, Storme Webber, Susan Rich, Richard Hugo, Christopher Howell, Christine Deavel, Colleen McElroy, Daemond Arrindell, David Wagoner, Derek Sheffield, Dixie Partridge, Oliver de la Paz, Frances McCue, Heather McHugh, Belle Randall
Row 2: Peter Pereira, Nancy Pagh, Raymond Carver and Tess Gallagher, Sherman Alexie, Tod Marshall, Nelson Bentley, Laura Read
Row 3: Richard Kenney, Bruce Beasley, Katrina Roberts, Kelli Russell Agodon, Kim-An Lieberman, Koon Woon, Larry Matsuda, Lucia Perillo, Laura Jensen, Linda Bierds, Martha Silano, Holly Hughes, Michael Hickey, Elizabeth Austen, Marjorie Manwaring, Jeremy Halinen, Rebecca Hoogs
Row 4: Judith Roche, Molly Tenenbaum, Jourdan Imani Keith, Joseph Green, Allen Braden, Jana Harris, Nance Van Winckel, Kevin Miller, Karen Finneyfrock, John Marshall
“The Far Field” is taken from a Theodore Roethke poem by the same name. Part 1:
I dream of journeys repeatedly:
Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel
Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
Ending at last in a hopeless sand-rut,
Where the car stalls,
Churning in a snowdrift
Until the headlights darken.