Editor Interview: Yalobusha Review

Words for dead people!!!!

Obviously, we love the 'Busha. Also: Dreginald, Birdfeast, jubilat, TYPO, Big Lucks, The Atlas Review, The Destroyer, Tenderloin, Colorado Review, Ghost Proposal, Caketrain, Highlights for Children, Christian Science Monitor, The Economist, etc. Some presses we like include Action Books, Black Ocean, Ugly Duckling, Fence, The Song Cave, Horse Less Press, YesYes Books, Octopus, Omnidawn, The New York Times.

Poetry People: Anne Carson, Frank Stanford, Maggie Nelson, Jenny Zhang, Sasha Steenson, Aimé Césaire, Catherine Wagner, Nikky Finney, Lucas de Lima, Tim Earley, Joyelle McSweeney, Nikki Wallschlaeger, Natalie Eilbert, Kina Viola, Jack Spicer, Carrie Lorig, C.D. Wright, Hiromi Ito, Shel Silverstein.
Fiction Writers: Denis Johnson, Daniel Woodrell, Kate Braverman, Toni Morrison, Flannery O'Connor, Junot Diaz, John Edgar Wideman, Borges, R.L. Stine.

We're one of the few MFA-run journals that actively publishes experimental writing. We're also sexy as hell. We're also based out of a small town in Mississippi, and Faulkner lived here, so that's cool, if you're into dead people. (Which we are!)

Be nice to your mother. Wash your dishes. Don't bite your nails. Tell your friends you love them (as much as possible). Read widely. Be the weirdest possible version of yourself. Call your grandparents. Don't read Twilight. (Or do.) Don't send us racist, sexist, or otherwise intolerant poems. Everyone says this, but seriously--read the journal before you submit. Not only will it help you, it's just a really freakin' good journal. Tell your friends. #DeadPeople

Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while, heaven can wait we're only watching the skies. Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, are you gonna drop the bomb or not? Let us die young or let us live forever, we don't have the power, but we never say never. Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip, the music's for the sad man. Can you imagine when this race is won? Turn our golden faces into the sun, praising our leaders, we're getting in tune, the music's played by the madman. Forever young. I want to be forever young. Do you really want to live forever? Yes, we want your atemporal, no-future, anti-capitalist progress poetry--but we also like to read work by writers who are familiar with the plentitude of interesting experimental and innovative work that's being written today.

Too many white dudes traveling the world and writing down their asinine experiences. Too many poems about dads. Too many sestinas--being perfectly honest, folks, there is a 1% chance we will ever publish a sestina. (But you never know.)

We do prefer to read a cover letter, and if you've been published elsewhere, we'd like to know where. We don't need to know *every* prior publication (please no walls of text), but just maybe the five journals you're most proud of. Otherwise, keep it brief. We'll give your work serious consideration no matter what.

We have a very particular aesthetic, and if a piece isn't a good fit, we're usually able to tell right away. However, we give every submission thorough consideration, and we have at least two staff members read each story or poem.

Marty: I wake up. I thaw out my lunch. I feed my two cats (who are alive). I check my Submittable. I watch Beavis and Butthead. I pick up my briefcase, kiss my loving fiancée goodbye, and head to my moldy graduate TA office. I print off some lesson plans. I try and explain to my students why poetry is relevant. (LOL.) I give up. I head home. I write a poem. I worry that the poem is unoriginal. I consider submitting it to a publication, and then decide it's too preemptive. I check my MySpace. I read the submissions that YR has received for that day. I feel self-actualized. ¯\_(?)_/¯

Maggie: I wake up. I eat a Toaster Strudel or a donut or maybe some leftover pizza. I feed my dog (who is alive). I check the YR submittable. I watch Daria. I pick up my Jansport, kiss my dog goodbye, & head to my very sleek, chic graduate TA office, where I am admired & complimented all day long. I meet with the meandering line of students queued outside my office & change the world a little bit. I go home. I eat leftover pizza or a donut or maybe some Taco Bell. I feed my living dog again. I write a poem & read YR submissions & talk to Marty about them from my own home because I am allergic to his cats.