Editor Interview: Prairie Home Magazine

Short poems that excite

It’s hard not to admire Veronica Bennett’s one-person, no-frills-but-also-lots-of-frills operation Bullshit Lit, which publishes seriously good poetry, complete with a set of engaging social media accounts and a beautifully crafted website. It’s proof that a sharp, creative individual can build a platform where great work can find its audience, and the poetry is both accessible and stylish. Beyond Bullshit Lit, I’ve always admired the legacy and reach of Poetry Magazine. Its long history as a cornerstone of the poetry world is inspiring, but what stands out most is its evolution—bringing diverse voices to its pages while staying rooted in its mission to elevate the art form. Similarly, Rattle is a standout publication that manages to combine approachability with incredible quality. Their interviews, themed issues, and dedication to spotlighting both established and emerging voices make poetry feel always alive and vibrant. Then of course there are the more mainstream magazines you might stumble upon at Barnes & Noble like The Paris Review or The New Yorker, which include poetry as part of their broader, wider literary offerings. They’re vital for bringing poetry into the hands of casual readers who might not seek it out otherwise. Seeing a poem in a glossy, widely circulated magazine adds a layer of legitimacy. Ultimately the goal with Prairie Home is to put poetry in the hands of more people, whether it be through clever social media campaigns or surprising them with a perfect poem. It's about finding the set of possible doorways into someone’s life and letting good poetry walk right through.

If you’re asking about favorite writers, it feels fitting to start with Brandon Shane—a poet whose work holds up a cracked mirror to life’s absurdities and heartbreaks. His style, which is rich in imagery and wit, turns the mundane into the mythic, the tragic into the laughable (and sometimes vice versa!)! Poems like "New Years Resolution" and "Town Crier" are quintessential Brandon: sprawling meditations that feel like confessions delivered through a smirk. They capture the weight of existence while daring to find humor in its most unexpected corners.
When curating and selecting poems for Prairie Home, I’m drawn to work that hits in a similar way—pieces that shift your perspective or make you feel something entirely new. Burt Edelman’s poem in the November 2024 issue "Hobo Train" was an instant yes because it made me smile in a way I didn’t see coming. It’s a brilliant embodiment of Americana, and the way the poem concludes with the names of trains is strikingly evocative—like whispers from another era, maybe the 1800s or early 1900s. Each name carries a sense of untold stories, each one worthy of being its own narrative, its own poem. That’s the essence we strive for—a harmony of light and shadow, depth and approachability.
Charles Simic had an unmatched ability to conjure entire worlds from the smallest, most unassuming moments—a crumpled napkin, a shadow on the wall, a whisper of laughter in an empty room. His poems often seemed to spring from the void, transforming the mundane into something extraordinary. That ability to generate magic from nothing is a central ethos for Prairie Home Magazine. At its core, Prairie Home is about celebrating the overlooked and the unexpected, finding beauty in the ordinary while never shying away from its complexity. Simic’s influence echoes in the magazine’s commitment to accessibility paired with depth. We aim to honor the balance he struck, creating a space where a plainspoken poem can reveal a universe and a quiet image can feel like a revelation. His work reminds us that poetry doesn’t need grandiosity or verboseness; it only needs the courage to look closely and the imagination to make meaning from what’s already there.

We’re still very much finding our footing in the world, but what makes us different is the focus on plain, straightforward language. There’s no special formatting, no barriers to entry—just poems that are easy to read and speak directly to people. We’re not about being flashy or overly experimental; instead, we’re about creating something accessible, where anyone can pick it up and feel at home. It’s about clarity, connection, and finding depth in simplicity.

The best advice we can give is to keep it simple but unexpected. Show us something familiar in a way we haven’t seen before. You don’t need flashy language or elaborate structures—just something honest that catches us off guard, whether it’s a surprising image, a turn of phrase, or an idea that lingers after we’ve read it. Simplicity with a twist is what stays with us.

Yes, we absolutely care. We’re here to build relationships, not just take in poetry like a machine. I often have conversations with submitters outside of the realm of poetry because it’s fun to connect on a personal level. Cover letters are nice to read and can be refreshing at times; they remind me that there’s a human behind the submission with stories and experiences of their own. While lists of previous publications can be helpful, they’re not the most important thing to us. We’re more interested in the person and what they’re bringing to the table in the moment, not just their resume.

Each poem or prose piece is afforded at least two full readings all the way through in fairness to both the submitter and myself; I often come back to poems on a different day to read it under new light. However, I generally know if something isn’t right for Prairie Home after the first read, especially if there’s difficult-to-follow formatting. Most acceptances happen on the first read-through, when I’m either smiling because something caught me off-guard or in total agreement with the poet. It’s a gut feeling that often doesn’t take long to recognize, but we always give it a second look just to make sure. Some poems have actually accepted even mid-way through the poem when I haven't even finished it yet--the ending is like a confirmation that yes, this is still really good poetry.

I wake up around 6:00am, usually before the sun, and head to my reading space, which is lit by a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Just kidding. No, I don't think there's a special process; I usually read through submissions in batches of 10 to 15 at a time, trying to keep it manageable and distraction-free. If I don't accept a piece right away, I try to revisit it later, unless I know for certain that it’s not a good fit for Prairie Home. I tend to sip on hibiscus tea while editing, but there’s no elaborate process—just a lot of focus and a teeny bit of caffeine. There is one concern that is beginning to nag at me I guess; as we're growing, it does seem like it's get harder to keep up with submissions, especially since I handle this alongside a full-time job. We reached over 100 submissions for the November 2024 issue, with a 60-day reading period, so it's about 2 full submissions a day, each with up to 5 poems, and most taking advantage of the full 5 poems. It is beginning to get to be a lot to manage and so I’ve been thinking about expanding our team of readers in the future.

No editing from my point of view unless it's literally doesn't fit on the website in the intended way, like as in if the poem doesn't fit on the line because the line isn't too long. Then we reach out to the poet to get that, pun intended, straightened out. All of the authors do get to see their poems on the site though in the days leading up to the issue being launched so I can fix any typos that may have occurred in the copy process.

We do nominate for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize.