Call for Work: "Words: By/In Hand"

This month, I'd like to explore work that connects the physical and the digital in a couple of possible ways:

I. Work of any form and on any topic that is presented in your own hand, typewritten, or that in some other manner shares of the physical production: drawn in sand, folded in origami alphabets, whatever.

AND/OR

II. Work that fuses words and visuals with some element done by hand: visual poems, blackout poems, erasures, vizpo that isn’t wholly digitally created.

AND/OR

III. Work that says “forget your stupid rules” and surprises me with something inventive in format or layout.

AND/OR

IV. Something of any form that addresses or invokes the theme itself: handwriting, correspondence, the physical making of word works. Here's your chance for poems about writing poetry, letters about letters, and other meta-works that break all those ridiculous workshop rules.

Questions and submissions (image files; I can handle just about any format) to: chris+truck@chrislott.org by DECEMBER 29.

If you want to send PHYSICAL WORK that I can scan/photo, let me know and I’ll tell you where to send it (I’ll need to receive the piece in Seattle by DECEMBER 21 at the latest).

Call for works November 2014 Issue

Dedicated to my Father and to Maxine, my niece

We study, work, spare, spend, walk around, talk a lot or not much, we keep on giving life for granted until our fixed appointment with destiny strikes the main chord of our selves, be it a disease or the death of someone we love. After the passing of my Father about four years ago, and my 10-year-old niece’s disease, I have been trying to find answers. How does / or can contemporary poetry, visual work, images reflect Goethe’s Der Erlkoening, what Edvard Munch in an hallucinatory way in his cold Norway depicted around the turn of last century, or re-project Robert Frost’s Acquainted with the Night:

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat

And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet

When far away an interrupted cry

Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;

And further still at an unearthly height,

One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one acquainted with the night.

Halvard Johnson has just appointed me to be the new Editor of Truck for the month of November, the month of the Dead. Do send over your work if you think it somehow answers some of our questions.

Link to Truck:

http://halvard-johnson.blogspot.it

© Anny Ballardini, Truck’s November Editor


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Call for Works

"There are thoughts we can only have while walking...our minds are motion-sensitive and they are site-specific. We think, shaped by the places through which we are moving, and the ways in which we are moving through them."
--Robert MacFarlane


CALL FOR WORKS: for the month of May I will be guest-editing TRUCK by leaving the keys at home and the vehicle parked by the side of the road. Taking to foot (to truck, to convey, exchange or guide), I am looking for:

1) Walking-based works from walking artists, psychogeographers, poets, photographers, scribblers, and sound artists.

2) Texts actually written or composed while walking, scrawled in longhand in a moleskin notebook or thumbed into a smartphone.

3) Found poetry from signage or graffiti witnessed in the landscape, remembrances of scents carried by the breeze, or reflections on the ever-changing soundscape encountered on the walk (what Steven Feld refers to as Acoustemology, knowing the world through sound).

4) Essays, manifestos, conversations, or reflections on the landscape, the walking experience, constrained walks, mapping, field recording, soundwalks or other interventions.

5) Responses (exquisite corpse, remix, starting point, negation, sampling) to the following prompt:


    We buy ugly houses. A nun in a rusty
    Cadillac blows past a stop sign. Sunday

    morning in the Richmond. My window
    is a watercolor, the ringing of blue bells. *




Work accepted for the month of May may be published under a Creative Commons license so that others can sample the work and feed the results back into the conversation.

Send text in the body of the e-mail, along with links to photographs, field recordings, or video clips to glenncbach at gmail dot com.


*Prompt includes texts sampled from Glenn Bach, Helen Frosi, John Kannenberg, and Marc Weidenbaum

photograph by John Kannenberg