ISSUE 01: STATE(D) VIOLENCE
ABOUT
TYLER BARTON
Tyler Barton is the author of Eternal Night at the Nature Museum (Sarabande) and The Quiet Part Loud (Split Lip Press). His visual poetry project, Gutters, was awarded a 2025 NYSCA Support for Artists Grant, and is featured in Fence (forthcoming), Adroit Journal, DIAGRAM, The Northwest Review, and elsewhere. Find him at tsbarton.com, @tylerbartonlol on IG, or in Rochester, NY where he is the Artistic Director of Writers & Books.
STATEMENT
In 2022, during a period of housing insecurity, I developed a specific constraint (the 'gutter', or a poem comprised of lines found spanning the gap between two adjacent columns of newsprint) for making cut-up poems from my local, daily newspaper. I began creating poems about housing, land use, borders, and property to illuminate the local and national housing crisis. As the most recent phase of the Nakba began after the Hamas attack on 10/7/23, it was impossible to source poems from the paper without encountering (albeit biased and Zionist-centered) narratives about Israel's actions in Gaza and the devastation visited upon the Palestinians population. The poems in this packet all address the violence and injustice of Gaza's collective punishment. In using the form of the gutter, I'm able to find connections between fragmented texts that illuminate truths otherwise hidden in reports from sources like the AP and Reuters. Each poem is made of multiple sources, which are available upon request. I think it is essential for poetry to challenge dominant narratives and to highlight the news media's role in both informing the public and obscuring the truth of America's imperialist, hyper-capitalistic aims.
CHOKING SONG
Miraculous, it was not—
Some would not come back—
In fact many people feel that—
They do not mean a thing—
Dip a donut in a good—
Strong day of mourning—
Helpless, well-attended meeting—
A photo of democracy—
Accomplished on a small canvas—
Grocers, break out the booze—
The impact of season blues—
Switch to a secret when you leave—
Sing, you are being listened to—
He says, holding the one newspaper—
With its dry list of religions—
Describes himself as “forced civility”—
We reappraise that declaration and—
He plays his guitar in disagreement—
One of many car accidents—
Flatland seethes as—
Spring melts the face of snow—
On their own land, painting—
The lack of local everything—
Years I could call brutal—
Choking songs—
Open-heart carrying—
PERSPECTIVE SHIFTS HELP MANAGE DRAMA
Through the rubble of a large governing
hundreds of thousands of smoke trails could be seen.
My family lives nearby and points—
Who killed-dren here? Hit houses with the war?
I’m so very touched by talk about taking
the high road. Everyone living there is
living outdoors. 2 million
people—almost people.
Where rescuers clawed them home,
hundreds of thousands of
smoke dwarfing a north-facing window
—I don’t want to do that.
We don’t want to do that.
We have nothing
but dust falling from the news
in leaflets.
Voice of the people, we
always seem to find it.
The war
could not be
formed, the plot’s
the modern cropped
politics, soft misin
-formation, apocalyptic
talking, a software, a breath.
The result has been, she said
war’s deaths, the shelling
the numbing, the flaunting
their tactical gear—
Citizens are people who feel
something, terminally
winter and raining
American flags,
deepfakes…
In the screenplay: extreme subtlety
—so why even take note? Why state
things? The white birch
squat proudly. The main intent:
truth that you cannot believe.
Cross-examination left a hole
in me—my soul is dead,
sound asleep.
The ceasefire in grief
But the briefness
My heart is broken
For my brothers
In leaflets
My heart was warned
Not to return
My heart was
Repaired with
Synthetic material
The missileers have no idea
How much of the hospital
The US plans to increase
Bombing with a prayer