Showing posts with label Trish Salah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trish Salah. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

Touch the Donkey supplement: new interviews with Cavuto, Sikkema, Tate, Nielsen, Higdon + Salah

Anticipating the release next week of the twenty-second issue of Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal], why not check out the interviews that have appeared over the past few weeks with contributors to the twenty-first issue: Michael Cavuto, Michael Sikkema, Bronwen Tate, Emilia Nielsen, Hailey Higdon and Trish Salah.

Interviews with contributors to the first twenty issues (over one hundred interviews to date) remain online, including: Adam Strauss, Katy Lederer, Taryn Hubbard, Michael Boughn, David Dowker, Marie Larson, Lauren Haldeman, Kate Siklosi, robert majzels, Michael Robins, Rae Armantrout, Stephanie Strickland, Ken Hunt, Rob Manery, Ryan Eckes, Stephen Cain, Dani Spinosa, Samuel Ace, Howie Good, Rusty Morrison, Allison Cardon, Jon Boisvert, Laura Theobald, Suzanne Wise, Sean Braune, Dale Smith, Valerie Coulton, Phil Hall, Sarah MacDonell, Janet Kaplan, Kyle Flemmer, Julia Polyck-O’Neill, A.M. O’Malley, Catriona Strang, Anthony Etherin, Claire Lacey ,Sacha Archer, Michael e. Casteels, Harold Abramowitz, Cindy Savett, Tessy Ward, Christine Stewart, David James Miller, Jonathan Ball, Cody-Rose Clevidence, mwpm, Andrew McEwan, Brynne Rebele-Henry, Joseph Mosconi, Douglas Barbour and Sheila Murphy, Oliver Cusimano, Sue Landers, Marthe Reed, Colin Smith, Nathaniel G. Moore, David Buuck, Kate Greenstreet, Kate Hargreaves, Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Erín Moure, Sarah Swan, Buck Downs, Kemeny Babineau, Ryan Murphy, Norma Cole, Lea Graham, kevin mcpherson eckhoff, Oana Avasilichioaei, Meredith Quartermain, Amanda Earl, Luke Kennard, Shane Rhodes, Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Sarah Cook, François Turcot, Gregory Betts, Eric Schmaltz, Paul Zits, Laura Sims, Stephen Collis, Mary Kasimor, Billy Mavreas, damian lopes, Pete Smith, Sonnet L’Abbé, Katie L. Price, a rawlings, Suzanne Zelazo, Helen Hajnoczky, Kathryn MacLeod, Shannon Maguire, Sarah Mangold, Amish Trivedi, Lola Lemire Tostevin, Aaron Tucker, Kayla Czaga, Jason Christie, Jennifer Kronovet, Jordan Abel, Deborah Poe, Edward Smallfield, ryan fitzpatrick, Elizabeth Robinson, nathan dueck, Paige Taggart, Christine McNair, Stan Rogal, Jessica Smith, Nikki Sheppy, Kirsten Kaschock, Lise Downe, Lisa Jarnot, Chris Turnbull, Gary Barwin, Susan Briante, derek beaulieu, Megan Kaminski, Roland Prevost, Emily Ursuliak, j/j hastain, Catherine Wagner, Susanne Dyckman, Susan Holbrook, Julie Carr, David Peter Clark, Pearl Pirie, Eric Baus, Pattie McCarthy, Camille Martin and Gil McElroy.

The forthcoming twenty-second issue features new writing by: Julia Drescher, Biswamit Dwibedy, Aja Couchois Duncan, José Felipe Alvergue, Roxanna Bennett, Conyer Clayton and Emily Izsak.

And of course, copies of the first twenty-one issues are still very much available. Why not subscribe?

We even have our own Facebook group. It’s remarkably easy.


Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Ongoing notes: early June, 2019: THIRTEEN, ed. Ali Blythe + Marty Cain


Are you coming by to the ottawa small press fair on June 22nd? And/or the pre-fair reading the night prior? I mean: we’ve only been doing this twice a year since 1994. Why haven’t you made your way over to this? I mean, really. Honestly. What gives.

Toronto ON: Edited by Ali Blythe and produced by The League of Canadian Poets is THIRTEEN: New Collected Poems from LGBTQI2S Writers in Canada (April, 2019). Given the plethora of publishing ventures through the League over the years (I discovered the work of Jane Eaton Hamilton through Going Santa Fe, Hamilton’s chapbook produced through the League in 1997 as winner of their then-annual chapbook manuscript contest) I would be curious to know if anyone has compiled a bibliography of the scattering of publications they’ve produced over the years, from occasional books to chapbook, postcard and/or pamphlet series. THIRTEEN includes work by (obviously) thirteen Canadian poets currently producing work: John Barton, Karin Cope, Tanis Franco, Keith Garebian, Kayla Geitzler, Matthew Heinz, Rachel Lallouz, Chloe Lewis, Nisa Malli, Trish Salah, Jane Shi, Matthew Stepanic and John Emil Vincent.

Vaults then

Dizzy hopes for ginseng
To be sent

Nonce hopeful
A chant for it

Cure there or here
Garter makes six

Her or over
Or there

When you turn on me
Rose naïve

Styles of tremble
I want it

Ruse destiny
To secede (Trish Salah)

I’m aware of only a third of the authors in this short mix, so am pleased to be introduced to the work of a number of the other contributors. This collection is an impressive overview of some of the writers currently working in the country, and the purpose of THIRTEEN, then, seems to not only provide, but to acknowledge space, as Blythe writes in the introduction:

I know it has taken decades of the heart’s muscle to build these spaces we can gather, and quite a few more to invite others in to listen. I know good authors who have had to keep hammering on the doors of granting bodies, publishing house, festivals. Then took up positions as doormen to let others through. Then built their own spaces with their own doors.

In my former capacity as editor for a youth literary magazine, in about half the submissions I could tell the young writers were exploring in their writing their gender and sexuality. It’s no necessary for people to have a place to do this in art, especially when it can be so hard to do so in the real world.

America (geography otherwise unknown): I’m very taken with the remarkably-crafted rawness of Ithica, New York poet,editor and publisher Marty Cain’s chapbook Four Essays (Tammy Journal, 2019), an assemblage of four interconnected lyric essays on craft, male sexuality and desire, sexual violence and trauma, all of which bleed the boundaries between the lyric essay and the prose poem in powerful ways, such as in this excerpt from the final of the quartet, which could also be used as a descriptor for the collection:

For the remainder of his life, Wordsworth revised the Prelude. He mediated the adolescent rawness; he made the edges eloquent, the poem more like a formal container for a feeling. Originally, he’d intended for it to be the first part of an epic trilogy, one whose length surpassed Paradise Lost.

/

But he failed. That motherfucker died.

And form is a feeling.

And form is a garment. (“Wordsworth Poem”)

In four essays—“Prologue,” “Robert Penn Warren Poem,” “Kids of The Black Hole, Part II” and “Wordsworth Poem”—Cain explores writing craft through and around elements of personal memoir, attempting to reconcile a number of experiences, including the revelation of his father’s sexuality, and a possible sexual attack by a drunken colleage that he might easily have buried away from his conscious memory (I like, also, that an essay titled “Prologue” is both prior to the collection and part of the collection, the first of the four). There is some dark and complicated material Cain moves through, but he does so in such an open and thoughtful way, and one can only hope that the trauma of these experiences is lessened through the process of writing, thinking and publishing. These are very smart pieces, and I can only hope that this chapbook is but a prelude to an eventual full-length collection, whether with or without these four essays.

I remember a time when we were in a car in rural South Carolina. My brother began seizing in the backseat, then his words ceased to signify, they began to garble and turn like an ocean or the simulated sound of an ocean in a shell you hold to your ear, your own blood / a circular river, I remember his eyes as he spoke, I remember seeing his eyes speak, they said, Listen, I don’t know what it is I’m saying.

They said, There is something true in what I’m saying.

Then he didn’t speak. Then his eyes shifted to one side, his mouth like a garage with nothing in it. Then trickling saliva, neck limp and hanging. I remember my mom saying something. I remember the car speeding up and a force pushed me back, we ran through red lights. I don’t remember whether I was scared.

I remember a time. (“Prologue”)


Thursday, August 09, 2018

Spotlight series #28 : Trish Salah

The twenty-eighth in my monthly "spotlight" series, each featuring a different poet with a short statement and a new poem or two, is now online, featuring Kingston writer and editor Trish Salah.

The first eleven in the series were attached to the Drunken Boat blog, and the series has so far featured poets including Seattle, Washington poet Sarah Mangold, Colborne, Ontario poet Gil McElroy, Vancouver poet Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Ottawa poet Jason Christie, Montreal poet and performer Kaie Kellough, Ottawa poet Amanda Earl, American poet Elizabeth Robinson, American poet Jennifer Kronovet, Ottawa poet Michael Dennis, Vancouver poet Sonnet L’Abbé, Montreal writer Sarah Burgoyne, Fredericton poet Joe Blades, American poet Genève Chao, Northampton MA poet Brittany Billmeyer-Finn, Oji-Cree, Two-Spirit/Indigiqueer from Peguis First Nation (Treaty 1 territory) poet, critic and editor Joshua Whitehead, American expat/Barcelona poet, editor and publisher Edward Smallfield, Kentucky poet Amelia Martens, Ottawa poet Pearl Pirie, Burlington, Ontario poet Sacha Archer, Washington DC poet Buck Downs, Toronto poet Shannon Bramer, Vancouver poet and editor Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Vancouver poet Geoffrey Nilson, Oakland, California poets and editors Rusty Morrison and Jamie Townsend, Ottawa poet and editor
Manahil Bandukwala, and Toronto poet and editor Dani Spinosa.

The whole series can be found online here.

Monday, November 27, 2017

12 or 20 (small press) questions with Ashley Fortier and Oliver Fugler on Metonymy Press



Metonymy Press is based in Tio’tia:ke (Montreal), unceded Kanien’kehá:ka (Mohawk) territory. We publish literary fiction and nonfiction by emerging writers.  We try to reduce barriers to publishing for authors whose perspectives are underrepresented in order to produce quality materials relevant to queer, feminist, and social justice communities. We really want to keep gay book lovers satisfied.

Metonymy Press is the project of Ashley Fortier and Oliver Fugler. They met on their first day of high school and have been writing together and editing for each other ever since. They are neighbours, too.

1 – When did Metonymy Press first start? How have your original goals as a publisher shifted since you started, if at all? And what have you learned through the process?
Metonymy Press started as an idea between friends Ashley Fortier and Oliver Fugler years ago. We launched the idea in August 2014, and then we got some start-up funding and put out our first book in 2015.

Our primary goal remains to publish good queer writing by underrepresented and emerging writers. One of our original goals was to publish anthologies, which we haven’t yet done, but we’re in conversation with a potential editor of a collection as we speak.

We both pursued a certificate in publishing through Ryerson University, and although we’ve been able to operate as a two-person press because of that, a lot of what we’ve since learned is about how we don’t fit industry standards (in terms of production schedules, distribution channels, promotional costs etc.), because we’re so small and queer.

2 – What first brought you to publishing?
We have both been actively writing since early high school, where we met in a creative writing program. Our involvement in organizing Montreal’s longstanding annual Queer Between the Covers book fair gave us some ideas about queer publishing and about a potential readership. Finally, our formal training through Ryerson gave us some of the hard skills to go with the creative experience we both have, so it was a natural progression for two people who like organizing and directing things.

3 – What do you consider the role and responsibilities, if any, of small publishing?
Our focus is loosely queer content and perspectives underrepresented in the mainstream. But in general we believe the responsibility of small presses lies in undermining the status quo and offering a platform, however small, to emerging and otherwise not-household-name writers who add to conversations that are happening already but not officially.

4 – What do you see your press doing that no one else is?
We’re for the most part publishing work by trans and racialized authors that’s not autobiographical but also doesn’t cater to the mainstream. We have ended up publishing this work because it’s what we’re interested in, because it’s good writing and because it’s largely otherwise unavailable.

5 – What do you see as the most effective way to get new chapbooks out into the world?
A lot of our book distribution until this year has been individual orders online, which works quite well. Wholesale relationships have been based on personal relationships, cold calls, and the occasional spontaneous request or reluctant university bookstore order.

6 – How involved an editor are you? Do you dig deep into line edits, or do you prefer more of a light touch?
We are quite involved, but it depends on the text. For Trish Salah’s Lyric Sexology Vol. 1, a poetry collection that had been previously published, we didn’t need to edit much because it had been edited by the previous—poetry-specific—press, Roof Books. Beyond poetry, which we have otherwise avoided due to our anxiety about editing it, we are pretty deeply involved in substantive, line, and copyediting.

7 – How do your books get distributed? What are your usual print runs?
Until this year, we have done all of our own distribution, via individual online sales, in-person sales at book fairs and direct wholesale relationships. This year we signed on with Small Press Distribution, so US customers may now order through them, which is great, because it is very expensive to mail books over the border.

Our print runs range from 250-800, and all of our books have moved beyond their first print run. We work with a very nice Montreal-based printer, Le Caïus du livre, that has a short turnaround and good rates for small runs.

8 – How many other people are involved with editing or production? Do you work with other editors, and if so, how effective do you find it? What are the benefits, drawbacks?
We have always hired cover designers, different ones for each book, and the process so far has been collaborative between the designers, authors, and ourselves. We do the majority of extent design and editorial ourselves, but we have hired outside editors where necessary, for example, for the Pinyin text in Small Beauty.

It’s been really great to work with people outside of Metonymy for the most part, as they can draw on themes in the work we haven’t focused on, and offer feedback and skills that support the text and also are instructive for us as editors and publishers. But ultimately we can’t afford to hire out for most steps, and also we both like a lot of control and we do things on a tight timeline, so doing a lot of the work ourselves suits us so far.

9– How has being an editor/publisher changed the way you think about your own writing?
[Oliver]: I know you can’t be your own only editor, but I do find that I am able to edit my own writing as I go in a way that I wasn’t able to before. In general I’ve gained an appreciation for the editorial and production processes, and what a piece of writing can become with care and time.

10– How do you approach the idea of publishing your own writing? Some, such as Gary Geddes when he still ran Cormorant, refused such, yet various Coach House Press’ editors had titles during their tenures as editors for the press, including Victor Coleman and bpNichol. What do you think of the arguments for or against, or do you see the whole question as irrelevant?
[Oliver]: I think that self-published work and work published by your own press can be so great! It’s pretty clear to us that a lot of what doesn’t get formally published is good writing with a real readership that publishers assume won’t sell. This belief is one reality that drives zine culture and a lot of small presses.

But as I said above, I also value the feedback found in more formal editorial and production processes, so I like the idea of those steps being a necessary part of publishing your own writing as well.

11– How do you see Metonymy Press evolving?
We’re a primarily print publisher, but are always considering ways to make our books accessible in multiple formats. We hope to launch ebooks for our first three titles later this fall and we’re exploring the option of audiobooks.

If we expand beyond being a two-person operation, we might develop a co-operative model of some kind, but that’s a longer-term possibility. In the meantime, we’d like to continue engaging in specific collaborations, like we did with our externally juried Gay Book Lovers Unite initiative last year.

12– What, as a publisher, are you most proud of accomplishing? What do you think people have overlooked about your publications? What is your biggest frustration?
It’s been extremely rewarding to see the communities we’re a part of provide such positive feedback and ongoing support for our work. It’s energizing. The award wins and nominations for our two novels, Small Beauty and Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars, were exciting too.

Often critics put a significant focus on the queer and/or trans identities of our authors and their characters, while overlooking other intersecting realities as well as the particularities of their writing craft. This is a frustrating reality in CanLit when it comes to marginalized writers and how their work gets taken up.

13– Who were your early publishing models when starting out?
We’ve been inspired by the work of Arsenal Pulp Press, Fernwood Books, and Topside Press, to name a few.

14– How does Metonymy Press work to engage with your immediate literary community, and community at large? What journals or presses do you see Metonymy Press in dialogue with? How important do you see those dialogues, those conversations?
We’re a member of the Association of English Language Publishers of Quebec (AELAQ) and Oliver sits on the organization’s board as an associate member. We participate in their events alongside other Anglo presses in Quebec, through professional development, book fairs, etc. We contributed feedback for a piece Linda Leith wrote about the organization’s role and significance for Quill and Quire a couple months ago.

In terms of the broader conversations happening in CanLit over the past couple years, from the controversy over the “Appropriation Prize” to accusations of sexual assault made against high-profile players in the industry, our mandate makes it pretty clear where we stand. We value writers and writing that actively undo the conditions that lead to such controversies.

Our longstanding role in queer literary contexts in Montreal stems from our involvement in Queer Between the Covers. We were both members of the organizing collective for years and got a good sense of what readers, writers and micro presses in this realm were producing and what they were missing, especially produced in English in Quebec. Queer and feminist publications such as GUTS, Plenitude, Autostraddle, Bitch and even Teen Vogue have featured our authors and books in the past couple years. We think these conversations are as important as those with industry publications, since our readership is just (if not more) likely to read them. We tend to prioritize dialogues with queer communities rather than literary-specific ones.

15– Do you hold regular or occasional readings or launches? How important do you see public readings and other events?
We love hosting launches and have done so for all our titles so far, both locally and in Ontario, Nova Scotia and BC. Our ability to send authors on tour is limited by their time and our budget, but for closeby events, we often attend and we really enjoy doing so.

We hope to host other reading events in Montreal in the future, ideally in collaboration with other local artists. We see live reading events as important to community building. We also value the particularities of hearing authors read aloud from their own work and collaborate with other writers and engage with audience members in real time.

We also often meet potential new and emerging authors at public events and it’s a great way for readership to learn about our broader catalogue and the mandate behind the work we do.

16– How do you utilize the internet, if at all, to further your goals?
Social media, blog posts, e-newsletters and online interviews and reviews are crucial to reaching wider audiences. Our readership tends to lean young(er), so the internet plays a major role. We also do a lot of direct sales via our website. We have received rights requests from as far as Delhi and Melbourne, and this is thanks in large part to our online presence and how quickly things spread that way.

17– Do you take submissions? If so, what aren’t you looking for?
We have an open submission policy, outlined on our website. What we’re not looking for is work that replicates—whether in form or content—queer and trans narratives already out there. We get a disproportionate number of submissions set in New York City in the 1980s. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but as a Montreal-based small press looking to do something new, it’s not really our jam.

We are primarily interested in fiction and creative nonfiction, though we put out our first poetry collection this summer, so we’re not closed to that either. We have yet to publish graphic novels or children’s lit, even though we both really love the genres.

18– Tell me about three of your most recent titles, and why they’re special.
We’ve only put out four books so far, total. Instead, maybe we’ll take this opportunity to talk up our next title, nîtisânak, by Lindsay Nixon.

The manuscript works with the idea of kinship that derives from the author’s Plains Ojibway, Métis and Cree kinship teachings, and also how queer kin were some of their first experiences of this reciprocal relationality and care. The book is a creative nonfiction collection chosen by our Gay Book Lovers Unite jury. Opening up our acquisitions process like this was a first for Metonymy and we’re very pleased with the result. nîtisânak is scheduled for publication in early spring 2018.

An initial statement from the jury puts it thus: “Nixon’s work blends contemporary Indigenous experience within Queer and 2 Spirit spaces to strike at the heart of colonization and Canadian identity. Along the way, they explore masculinity, patriarchal oppression, racism in Canada, poverty, and the lingering weight of colonial history within Queer spaces. Their intersectional writing merges worldviews and deftly reveals the rotting underbelly of Canadian Queer identity as a space fraught with the legacy of a colonial past. It is vital and urgent work, expanding what it means to be both an Indigenous and a Queer writer in Canada today.”

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Trish Salah, Lyric Sexology Vol. 1




Impersonation doesn’t mean what you think. This is the introduction to this book, my introduction, my lyrical sexology. Lyric Sexology. This is one of the things you need to get straight. This is another, you there in your later age, your so-called 21st century: I am not a transsexual. Or an intersexual, or a hermaphrodite. (Hermaphrorditus can write her own damn book.) I am not any of those things you have words for now. You don’t have words for what I am. What I was was this:
I was a dude.
Then I was a chick.
Then I was a dude again.
Hah. You didn’t think we said “dude” or “chick” in what you call ancient Greece, Hellas of the Hellenes, etc. Think again.
Here is what you don’t have words for: What is a seer? What is beyond knowing? How can I write you now, a now impossibly out of joint with your own, knowing you will read this? Knowing you? Or what is a sex in time? Without?
You do not have a word for snakes or gods or sexes. You only think you do.
You do not have a word for the meeting of snake sex god in one word’s divided knowing, a knowing one divided word.

Seven years is what I was as beyond, a beyond, and inside too. So, impersonation doesn’t begin to describe it, but suppose it did. Suppose
I began to describe you. (“Tiresias, impersonated.”)

I’ve long been curious about the work of Kingston poet, fiction writer and critic Trish Salah, a name I first heard during those early 1990s Montreal days of Corey Frost and Colin Christie’s ga press. Salah’s latest release is Lyric Sexology Vol. 1 (Montreal QC: Metonymy Press, 2017), the first Canadian edition of a title originally published in 2014 by New York publisher Roof Books. The author of a previous title – Wanting in Arabic (TSAR, 2002; 2013) – Salah’s Lyric Sexology Vol. 1 suggests the opening salvo of what will continue, at least to a second volume, if not further. There are elements here that read as memoir, something she plays with as she writes through the legendary Greek character Tiresias, and one can make a rather obvious comparison to Anne Carson writing the Ancient Greek figure Griffin in her Autobiography of Red (Knopf, 1998). In Lyric Sexology Vol. 1, Salah composes her own blend of book-length lyric essay and long poem on metamorphosis, gender and expectation, and one that includes references to Ovid, Glee, Ed Wood, Atlantis, high heels, mythologies, National Geographic, Gail Scott’s Heroine and the October Crisis.

Salah’s essay-poem Lyric Sexology Vol. 1 is an ambitious work that combines the lyric with the narrative, writing out poems that wind their individual ways around and through each other; writing out, even beyond gender, the potential elusiveness of identity itself. Through the voice and character of Tiresias, “a blind prophet of Apollo in Thebes, famous for clairvoyance and for being transformed into a woman for seven years.” (Wikipedia), a character mentioned in numerous works by Sophocles, Euripides, Pindar, and Ovid, Salah is able to explore and articulate an identity that was never fixed, but one that evolved as Tiresias did, and as his/her own situations required. As Salah writes in the poem “Godtears”: “Her break with form was primarily intelligible as wanting the impropriety of your hand / in me, sous la table, the exquisite corpse giving way to hewn simply exercises / (spoonerisms) in French or Greek.” In an interview conducted for CWILA: Canadian Women in the Literary Arts by Morgan M Page/Odofemi, Salah writes:

Viviane Namaste talks about the autobiographical imperative, arguing that when non-trans folks approach trans people, not only are they only interested in hearing our autobiographies, but they feel free to discount everything we might have to say that isn’t about autobiography. And on CBC this morning, Janet Mock remarked that the media’s treatment of trans people hasn’t changed significantly since the early 1950s press coverage of Christine Jorgenson. Mock framed her own memoir and media interventions as attempts to push back against the narrowness and othering that has come of treating trans people as if we are solely defined by our transness (as opposed to other aspects of our identities, histories, experience, expertise and interests), and also as if we are curiosities to be known about as opposed to being people one might engage with.  This relates to a point Julia Serano and Talia Bettcher make, that cis folks feel entitled to especially scrutinize and doubt trans folks’ self representations, positioning us paradigmatically as imposters or deceivers. In autobiography we appear as singular beings, at best as exceptional individuals who have triumphed over adversity to actualize ourselves, but more often as curiosities, outliers among humankind, who confirm the normalcy of the non-trans reader.

All that said, yes, it is a problem that there has not been either a critical apparatus or a broader public for our creative work, and that is tied in some ways to Viviane’s critique of the idea that the only or primary reason we might possibly have for writing is to satisfy the curiosity of, and/or educate, a non-trans public.

In a review of the prior edition at Tripwire, Zoe Tuck opens: “Trans women poets: raise your hands if you have written poems about or in the voice of Tiresias? Although I’m not sure if there are enough trans poets AND trans poets who have written Tiresias poems to call them a commonplace, I will cop to having written a few. The figure of Tiresias looms over the search for precedent.” Tuck continues:

The wit masks a real concern that has dogged transgender history and queer history before it: who can we claim, either in the past, or across cultural boundaries, as being  one of us? Put another way: is there a universal category of gender?

Through writing a whole volume through and around Tiresias, Salah is able to write out beyond the purely physical, and beyond the initial, and somewhat expected, poems that Tuck suggests have already been composed; by composing nearly two hundred pages of this first volume of Lyric Sexology, Salah manages to write through Tiresias, as well as utilize the legendary Greek figure, as a way to explore the very nature of fluidity, concerning gender, sexuality and the core root of self, bringing in all the cultural expectation, uncertainty and complications that come along with such shifting.

The simplest equations are subtraction.
A “dog never loses its savour.” Arab slavers.

Fawn smear from the mouth, eye sockets
Tell me about your history, the one to come. (“Tiresias as Cuir (on the run)”)