Tag Archives: Natalie Hayes

Dear Readers,

 

Normally we take time here to welcome you into the issue, and to tie the works within it together in a way that gives you some sense of the context of the journal and the value of our mission. The present being what it is, we feel an even more pressing urge to speak deep truths about literature, art, and life. It’s time to be profound. Please excuse us if we are not up to the task.

COVID-19 has transformed the context of our production and the daily context of all of our lives. The death toll in New York state alone has, at the time of writing this, surpassed 15,000. The struggles for all people, but especially the most vulnerable in our society, are severe. Given the transition to online education, the production of Gandy Dancer was different than it has ever been before. Due to the cancelation of our Visiting Writers series, you will note that this semester’s publication lacks our usual book review and author interview.

Luckily, technology has allowed us to stay connected enough to produce a journal we’re proud of, even in the wake of the unrest around us. Gandy Dancer’s mission is to connect readers, writers, and artists of all kinds across all SUNY schools. How timely. It’s easy to feel isolated in a time where we’re not in our classrooms, we’re not attending club meetings, and we’re not making art in the same way we were. But many of us are still making art.

Engaging with that art and literature feels equal parts impossible and necessary. We offer you this journal as a multipurpose tool. That is to say, we hope you will utilize this journal in whatever way, or ways, you need. Two purposes strike us as equally important. The first being escape, whether that be into the lives of characters and speakers, or into the words of a poem. We cannot, in good conscience, call Gandy Dancer a light read, but the contents of this issue are as engaging and vital as ever.

The second purpose we seek with this issue is one of reckoning. Through our “Remote Voices: Posts from the Pandemic” section, we want to invite you to face this moment through art. Why engage with challenging things during a challenging time? Maybe because when everything is terrible, sometimes it is just as relieving to cry as it is to laugh. Maybe because it is comforting to see you are not the only one who is angry and confused and worried. Find catharsis in the idea that, as Evan Goldstein puts it in his poem “Litany in April,” “your kindness was good, your anger / is good… and you were good.”

With that being said, we encourage you, to the very best of your ability, to continue making and enjoying art. Gandy Dancer exists as a lasting testament to the connections we have to each other, through the SUNY System, and beyond that, the connection we have to all people through our creative work. Maintain existing connections, make new connections when possible, and support one another endlessly. You are not alone in this.

Your friends,

Nicole Callahan & Natalie Hayes
April 2020

 

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Natalie Hayes

river as reaper

crawfish falls from the sky and lands in my lap:

i imagine what you were when you still moved

(and my skin crawls, but i don’t tell you that)

and where is the thing that brought you to me?

big bird with shit grip

snatches you from shallow waters

and names you   supper

but you are too hard          to be held that tight

and so you fall to my front lawn.

i want to know  whether or not

you looked back at the bird             as  you  fell

and if you did, were you laughing? or were you

asking to be eaten   instead?            the  passage

from tongue

to throat

then stomach

is warmer, at least

and perhaps if eaten you would have returned,

albeit unrecognizable, to your river.

it is just so hard to see when you are moving that fast;

maybe stomach acid would’ve taken its time with you.


Natalie Hayes is a double major in English (Creative Writing) and Film Studies at SUNY Geneseo. She is extremely passionate about all facets of the arts, including but not limited to film, writing, and the visual arts. She is most interested in where these forms overlap, and in engaging in them collaboratively.

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Natalie Hayes

psychic distance draws a line down the middle of me

i scrub my skin with salt

until the grains’ raised red lines begin to blur

into the red plaid-patterned tablecloth of childhood home.

this skin feels more familiar somehow;

i look more like myself like this

(rubbed raw and bleeding)

so lay me down, i guess.

cut to my sweat-stick back cementing itself to the hardwood

such that i am centered on the dining room floor.

i feel steely forks and spoons against my hot skin

and the ceramic base of your plate soothes my throbbing skull.

eat off or from me. put this body to good use

(as i certainly have not)

now sit me back up

and perhaps at last you will understand the weight of body

when brain is little more than an amalgamation of rocks.

my head is heavy and stagnant

and the pressed powder of prescription pill barely masquerades the cold

cobble glistening of gray matter; in the right lighting,

i look no different than before

(still gray-brained and mostly breathing)

let me sit steady in this

pattern of refusal; i store everything behind my eyes until i am absolutely

and unbearably full and then release all at once. after a long and unforgiving

six months of ignorance, i cry three times in one day.


Natalie Hayes is a double major in English (Creative Writing) and Film Studies at SUNY Geneseo. She is extremely passionate about all facets of the arts, including but not limited to film, writing, and the visual arts. She is most interested in where these forms overlap, and in engaging in them collaboratively.

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Natalie Hayes

gabrg3

you are the sound of a bottle, neither prior to nor during its breaking—

only after, when it is structureless and unbound, but also the sharpest it’s ever been;

shards of glass in a puddle of sweet wine are enticing, wearing their veils of burgundy, hiding

and shaky hands become archeologists, excavating what remains.

when your teeth rot out, toss them one by one into the box where you keep the broken glass,

deep in the matter of your brain

and introduce them to one another, as if they weren’t already acquainted.

as if the bottle were a stranger to your bones.

 


Natalie Hayes is a first year English major and film studies minor at SUNY Geneseo. She has been writing poetry since she was about seven years old. She is sure that she has improved with time. While she is passionate about all types of artistic expression, from painting to filmmaking, poetry is her preferred medium.

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Filed under Poetry