Larissa's Blog

Poems accepted for publication in RESIST MUCH / OBEY LITTLE: Inaugural Poems to the Resistance

Pleased that  my two poems, "Whorl's Eyelet Captured" and "Lager NYC" have been accepted for publication in Spuyten Duyvil's RESIST MUCH / OBEY LITTLE: Inaugural Poems to the Resistance. Here's "Whorl's":

Whorl’s Eyelet Captured (Fibonacci Sequence Syllabic: 0 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89)The number of syllables in the verses correspond to the Fibonacci number in the sequence. All words in the poem are made up from the letters of the title (except one).  
O  who? 
you howl. . .
are holy . . .
you heal, are heard: hear: 
Whose pure eyes tear, red arcs wetted?
Whose heresy elects? Who will select? You, petted
Howl! Whose trolls rap westerly trochees? You are scared, secretly care, are hard (how? ow!), healed.
Wholly here! Whose loyal laps are spared hotly? You allot acutely, adeptly. React: you are a royal red crypt. Holy, haloed, sealed?
How! Who? OURS! YOURS! Adulterers captured, whorl’s eyelet pastured! Decelerate! Whore’s eye red, pour the tears. Educate (traduce). Clatter or rapture, pastures or captures, whose red caps cater, a parted sea? The alehouse is here, heeled.
How, who? A red letter! The Dane utters WORDS WORDS WORDS WORDS WORDS, or a puree, wetted, a treacle, a pact of red tears; they sear. Reduce (reeducate) your epaulets. Creep toward the words, curate the words, cure the words. Create heresy, push the crypts down. The tears of portly predators are sad, selected pees—ah, there is a who: you, a nascent howl, or two, healed.

Trump Meets Philosophy (Scheme, Theme, Meme)

M. Heidegger joined the Nazi Party
to further his career;
his ontological Being and Time
should be stuffed in Donald Trump's rear.
R. Barthes set forth mythologies
as rich as truth is true
He should be read to Donald Trump,
his henchmen and his crew.
Dear M. Foucault so loved the mad,
(so strong we sleep in snow);
Now let another clinic rise
and there the Trumpets L. Shmailo

2016 and beyond . . .

What a year 2016 has been! By compare, lively 2015 seems so happy and innocent. Yet there was good that the trumpery could not touch.
Before Trump became a viable, liable candidate, there was AWP LA, where I had the privilege of moderating "Endangered Music: Formal Poetry in the Twenty-first Century." The distinguished panelists included Annie Finch, Timothy Steele, and Amanda Johnston. The discussions continued for a month!
I celebrated the first anniversary of my corporation, Larissa Shmailo, Inc,. which does business as Professor's Helper (TM) (please see our services for the academic community at We are honored to serve academe, one professor at a time.
This summer, I was delighted that MadHat Press accepted my third full-length poetry collection, Medusa's Country, with a brilliant cover design by MadHat publisher, Marc Vincenz. Medusa's Country will be launched at AWP 2017 in Washington.
And then, election night, 11/9. We founded HOWL (Humanities Opposition World League), an international anti-fascist collective of artists and scholars. Read our manifesto, and consider joining us!
Last, but certainly not least, this week the New York Public Library ordered copies of my novel, Patient Women, a dream come true. The novel is also available in the Sarasota Library system, thanks to friend Gabrielle Lennon. And thanks to all my friends who are ordering Patient Women from their libraries!
Friends, we will survive, nay, thrive in 2017. Stay close, stay true, and we can help one another through whatever this new year will bring.

NYPL ordering Patient Women!

Joy! The New York Public Library is ordering copies of my novel, Patient Women! I feel like the heroine of a novel!

Two Dates Americans Will Never Forget: 9/11 and 11/9 - The Poetry of Dean Kostos and Michael T. Young

New at HOWL (Humanities Opposition World League): Michael T. Young's eloquent response to the Trumped elections, and Dean Kostos's obsession with the number 11, the shape of the Twin Towers.  Also, a Katrina ballad from McQ and the Dude, "Hands Across the World."

New at Writing in a Woman's Voice: Memento Mama

Memento Mama

by Larissa Shmailo
I haven’t passed that dream of wisdom,
the borders you crossed through.

I can’t translate the languageI thought I thought I knew.
I see a meaning, watching you die,
hold it in my hands like a graying sigh,
this lock of hair which I comb and tie.
I kiss the head which hears my no,
and meet your eyes, and say: Don’t go.and leave you to this tongue of dread:
This is me, it cries, this is me and I die.We will all speak these words in this wayand then, and till then, what shall I say?

Work at Writing in a Woman's Voice

My poem, "Madison Square Park 5:29 AM," is up at Writing in a Woman's Voice, edited by Beate Sigriddaughter. 
Madison Square Park, 5:29 AM
Text follows.

MADISON SQUARE PARK, 5:29 Larissa ShmailoDawn: I wake in the park, face puffy and red;Liquid, brown tallboys, broken glass, at my head.The bench is cool, my shoes are gone, my fishnet stockings torn;I wish I were elsewhere, lived differently, was safe, or never born.Policemen tell me, broke and blackly bruised, to move along;I find cardboard in the garbage, make a sign, sing a song.A teenager stops, sings with me, and blushing, averts his eyes;Women pass, scorn me, prouder than they’d be otherwise.A businessman winks, gives nothing; a serviceman gives a buck.Men hang out windows; one screams obscenities from his truck.What some men will hit on, eagerly, still astonishes me;You are never too sick, too dirty, or too old, apparently.