SAMANTHA TERRELL - POET / EIC, SHINE Poetry Series
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A SHINE Special Book Feature: A Mob of Kangaroos (Ridge Books) by Kip Knott

9/9/2024

 
A Mob of Kangaroos, forthcoming from Ridge Books, is a poetic expose of the American political climate of recent years. From the first poem, “Tensile Strength,” I was completely drawn in to this new chapbook by Kip Knott. (As it happens, I have a poem by the very same name, but I think I much prefer Knott’s!) While many of the poems included in A Mob of Kangaroos are reflections on the January 6, 2021, insurrection, Knott touches on a variety of other social issues, as well – from school shootings to global unrest. Ultimately, there is a broad underlying message at work in this book – one of peace in the face of violence. Though it's hard to pick a favorite from Knott's poems, “Original Sin,” “Nightly News,” and “An American Prayer" were all stand-outs for me. Below, please take a moment to reflect on “Spring Constellations,” written for the tragic shooting in Uvalde, TX in 2022. To learn more about Knott’s writing, check out his Bio which follows. A Mob of Kangaroos (Ridge Books) will be available October 5, 2024.

Spring Constellations
Uvalde, Texas, May 24, 2022

I used to believe in the spirit animals and gods
that I found in constellations of stars.
But when I look at the sky tonight, I see
only bullet holes piercing the dark,

one for every child we’ve lost, two for all
the children we will keep on losing
until constellations bleed together and the night
sky becomes something other than night,

something horribly empty and horribly full.
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KIP KNOTT is a 7th generation Appalachian who was born and
raised in Ohio. Over the years, he has called England, Alaska,
Michigan, Iowa, and Oklahoma home. In 2001, he found his
way back to Ohio, where he has lived ever since. He is the
author of eight previous poetry chapbooks and three full-
length collections of poetry, the most recent being The Other
Side of Who I Am (Kelsay Books, 2023). His first full-length
collection of stories, Some Birds Nest in Broken Branches, was
published in 2021 by Alien Buddha Press. His writing and
photography have appeared in Barren, Beloit Fiction Journal,
Best Microfiction 2024, Gettysburg Review, The Greensboro
Review, ONE ART, Poet Lore, The Sun, Virginia Quarterly
Review, and Wigleaf Top 50. His writing has been nominated
for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, and he is the
recipient of grants from the Ohio Arts Council for both
poetry and playwriting. Currently, he is a teacher,
photographer, and part-time art dealer who spends his free
time traveling throughout Appalachia and the Midwest
taking photographs and searching for lost art treasures.

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    SHINE - International Poetry Series

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    Click here for submissions and more
    From the international poetry community, we have a "luxury of stars," as Sylvia Plath might say, and it is SHINE's honor to provide a home for their words with the online Spotlight series as well as SHINE Quarterly. Click on the logo above to learn more. And...keep writing, keep shining!
    In poetry,
    Samantha Terrell, EIC
    SYLVIA PLATH
    Stars Over the Dordogne

    Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy
    Picket of trees whose silhouette is darker
    Than the dark of the sky because it is quite starless.
    The woods are a well. The stars drop silently.
    They seem large, yet they drop, and no gap is visible.
    Nor do they send up fires where they fall
    Or any signal of distress or anxiousness.
    They are eaten immediately by the pines.

    Where I am at home, only the sparsest stars
    Arrive at twilight, and then after some effort.
    And they are wan, dulled by much travelling.
    The smaller and more timid never arrive at all
    But stay, sitting far out, in their own dust.
    They are orphans. I cannot see them. They are lost.
    But tonight they have discovered this river with no trouble,
    They are scrubbed and self-assured as the great planets.

    The Big Dipper is my only familiar.
    I miss Orion and Cassiopeia's Chair. Maybe they are
    Hanging shyly under the studded horizon
    Like a child's too-simple mathematical problem.
    Infinite number seems to be the issue up there.
    Or else they are present, and their disguise so bright
    I am overlooking them by looking too hard.
    Perhaps it is the season that is not right.

    And what if the sky here is no different,
    And it is my eyes that have been sharpening themselves?
    Such a luxury of stars would embarrass me.
    The few I am used to are plain and durable;
    I think they would not wish for this dressy backcloth
    Or much company, or the mildness of the south.
    They are too puritan and solitary for that--
    When one of them falls it leaves a space,

    A sense of absence in its old shining place.
    And where I lie now, back to my own dark star,
    I see those constellations in my head,
    Unwarmed by the sweet air of this peach orchard.
    There is too much ease here; these stars treat me too well.
    On this hill, with its view of lit castles, each swung bell
    Is accounting for its cow. I shut my eyes
    And drink the small night chill like news of home.

    ~~~

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