William Allegrezza

William Allegrezza edits the e-zine Moria and the press Cracked Slab Books. He has published five books, In the Weaver's Valley, Ladders in July, Fragile Replacements, Collective Instant, and Covering Over; one anthology, The City Visible: Chicago Poetry for the New Century; seven chapbooks, including Sonoluminescence (co-written with Simone Muench) and Filament Sense (Ypolita Press); and many poetry reviews, articles, and poems. He curates series A, a reading series in Chicago dedicated to experimental writing. In addition, he occasionally posts his thoughts at http://allegrezza.blogspot.com.

What is (or has been) your favorite editing project and why?

Hmmm . . . that’s difficult. I’ve been an editor for over ten years, and many of the projects I have worked on have been fascinating. That said, at this moment I’m the most excited by a dual editing project that I’m working on, but it is not for one of the presses that I edit. The project consists of two anthologies edited by Galo Ghigliotto, a Chilean poet, and me. One of the books is a collection of U.S. poets translated into Spanish for a Chilean press, and the other book is a collection of Chilean poets translated into English for a press in the U.S. The collections are still in the process of coming together, but the work in both, at least in the original languages, is incredible. Coincidentally, Ekleksographia published some of the first translations made by Galo and me of some of the Chilean poets in a recent issue.

Beyond that, I’ve enjoyed editing Moria for so many years. I’ve always liked reading the work for the new issues, and editing it has been a great way for me to encounter poets I’ve never heard of before. Usually in the issues I like to include both people I’ve heard of or know and people who are new to me. Sooner or later, I want to create an anthology of the best pieces in Moria. After publishing work for ten years, I think the anthology could be excellent.

Twenty 10

no one sees us in the sunset
or the mountaintops or the rain
or the twilight or the torch;
still, when we turn our faces,
pure always and fresh like
nothingness, we breathe through
what surrounds us and listen
to coins burning and questions
being asked, and i, at least,
laugh, knowing it’s that or
silence as the earth pulls hard
on our shared voice telling us
the cape is dropped and
night is coming to a close.

Twenty 11

i went through clouds to where
the storm smashed my feet into eyes
that then could see the road
and i cried the night through on
lost mountains and lilies made of
tombs open in broken light.
through the sliced hands of my
combat, you spoke as everything
that moves—the thunder rumbling,
the moon ringed, the metals burning.
and just then the forge fell among
the shadowy belts that whisper, and
i knew you were passing me
in smoke and wind in life.

Twenty 13

between the story and the shore,
the spider and the fire smoldering,
i come with fugitive nets cast
like dying seasons in flowers
crossed, loved, and then thrown
among the sea’s fragments at dawn,
always just a step behind catching
you at the point where your body
blends with air and we fade
among the timid harbor reeds.

i have said that to live we must
be ravenous with doing, not be stuck
with eyes locked on the burn, but now
overwhelmed the silence has me in dream.

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