the a list

As I've been reflecting on my art and its meaning beyond me, I've noted that the beyond me part has become less important.  It's interesting, because the only reward is the glimmer of recognition that says that piece of work represents something meaningful to me.      Back before my brush with death and the need for me to attend to my stamina and health, there were of course the clicks and the patreon donations.  But I still continue, with out the more public attention. As I continue to work through all of this, I have found that I need to be careful not to burn myself out and to stay connected to the world.  One of the ways I do this is to look for what keeps it moving and fresh as well as what is most productive.  I have found these things to be helpful: provide myself with a form or constraint. I agree with myself that I will continue within this format as long as it produces something pleasing. Escape fights burnout. seek input - museums, library b...

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 Thank you to Open: Journal of Arts & Letters (O:JA&L) for selecting my poems "wait" and "bullet" for publication.  These poems contrast each other in an interesting way. the poem "wait" has been a long time coming.  My first draft was registered on December 2, 2023 9:24 AM. and had gone through 35 versions. "bullet" on the other hand was started on March 9, 2025 10:07 PM and went through 20 versions.   What does that tell me?  Probably that some poems take a while? Some come quicker.  All of them require a lot of editing.  

  Follow this link to read i've seen them happy

Here's something I've been wanting to do for sometime amongst friends (and any one else who's interested). It's fun to get snail mail from friends whose names are not "bill".  Imagine how much fun it would be if it were art mail!!!! The Big Idea Here's How We Can Connect If you want to play, contact me at anfurst@gmail.com.  Send me your snail mail address and a hello,  also optionally : a picture, how you feel about where you are right now, a number between 1 and the square root of -1, a piece of pecan pie, your best report card, your worst report card, the nicknames of all twelve apostles, an explanation as to why there are so many vowels in the place names in Gaelic countries, a bottle of campbelton whisky, a recording of you reciting all the street signs you see when you go for a drive, and an essay in which you prove the antithesis of your most cherished belief.... Well send an address any way I'll provide a  postcard template  you can use.  You d...

This is another addition to a series of artist books I’ve been creating over the past several years. It features a collection of untitled images and photographs that come together as a unified whole. I find satisfaction in this collection, as it represents the result of years spent taking photos, modifying them, setting them aside, and rediscovering them through the power of computer search algorithms. Recently, much of my effort has been focused on this rediscovery process—searching through thousands of photos and images I've accumulated over the last 20+ years to uncover emotional and visual connections. I hope you enjoy the book. Please let me know what you think.

Quilts Sewn from what’s on hand, Scraps of love, and comfort, and longing. Each square tethered to the next Like family at the table.  Threaded with tea and troubles. Steeped in unspoken sorrows and sequestered joys. These disembodied fabric versions of ourselves,  Linger over the dreams of our daughters and sons  In forms and memories  we might not always abide. Published in Gravitas Dec 2019

  Got a short, polite email at 7:00 AM this morning from Craig at Zoarium Magazine.   I even got an (entirely unnecessary) apology for taking a vacation and still responding within 11 days.  It was nice to find a home for this poem.  It is filled with ancient memories of my mother's parents (and donuts!)

  Over Near the Big Christian Indian in Lowell I got to a Lowell cemetery to the gravesite of Jack Kerouac. They say that information Is just alienated experience. That’s just another way of saying life is more fucked up than the news. So, it follows that the grave is just alienated information about a life. Senseless too.  Senseless as Jack, whose is dead,  and oblivious to the rhythms of you and your soulmate making love to the idea of screwing near Jack,  and each other. Drunk on Cognac or boredom You’ll eventually come to terms  With how separate anything afterlife is. It’s more meaningless than information.  Less than memory, or being hated,  or sharing a smoke with your soulmate  after a good lay in the graveyard. Published in Duck Lake Books August 2019

these paint cards are artifacts of my paintings.  I frequently use paper to lay over blobs of paint on the canvas to create a worn, speckled effect.  I usually save the paper I use for this purpose for additional design touches and then mount them.

  No Home Where do I put this dust; without a mantle  and the yellow paste of nicotine to hold it fast? Walls and windows cling to me, Desperately; Like a name to a place or a face Or like my love is stuck to you. The brown bristly welcome mat tells me The universe is not a home.  As do the locks, the lamps,  and the chimneys. My coffee stains and I Would have no place to leave our mark. Words would make no sense. The dog would just go anywhere. What a stupid thing  to think the universe is anything but a cold dark other. What else could it be? There are no floors and no ceilings. Breakfast and the cycles of love and hate Are left, space less. As if God had nothing to say And the trash had nowhere to go. The preachers that say,  “the moss on the house won’t need washing”  They lie. It was cholera that built these walls, not love, And I won’t give them up. Published in Ink In Thirds June 2019

  Impossible The drawers are lined with messages from the dead, Scattered in with the papers, clips, and keys. These messages - Musty whispers and jots,  Receipts and ticket stubs, Fill the drawers, All the drawers, In all the desks,  In all the buildings,  They are needing transmission to the living. When your time comes  To transmit -  Be it grief or joy - Leave a message in the drawer, So the living might know. Published in Superpresent Magazine, Fall 2021  

I imagine beginnings, Where word makers harnessed the stars, Leading up to the two of us. Now, the Atlantic air lifts the curtains Up over the indignities of dishes And unbleached enamel. Our worn minds and hands Retrace the contours Of mountains and empathy. Softly watching As crossroads and names Morph into self, into oblivion.  Published in Penumbra  2021

  Click on the image below or here to read "rock"

 

  Between October of 2023 to April 2024 I've had seven poems accepted by journals. If there is such a thing as a groove, this might be it. I'll share a link when they publish later this spring.  "three hundred" is a a mix of irony, perception, anonymity, and the how we blend with those we love. It is probably the freshest poem that I've had accepted. Many of my poems have been years in the making. It was 9 days old when I got this email surprise. 

My poem "Rock" has been accepted at MORIA Literary Magazine. You'll find the issue here   on May 6th.

 My poem "The Piano" has been published in Cerasus Poetry Magazine .  Its a poem about the challenges of mental health and its impact on my relationship with my mother.  the piano we have the bellies of gum chewing cobras, where guilt and sin metabolize... (click to get your copy)

 You can view my poems Cottony   and Ray Guns and Severity over at CEPHALOPRESS

Can't say I don't enjoy these emails. I'm also glad the poem Cottony found a home. It has been a work in progress for many, many years. And a reminder of the perseverance necessary to get published. .  Since January of 2016, I've made 891 submissions I've written 226 poems that I felt were ready to submit   I've made an average of 127 submissions per year  In those 7 years, 28 poems have been accepted .   About 4 poems per year have been accepted that's a 3% acceptance rate