Jared Schickling

Jared Schickling’s latest collection—comprised of hybrid genre prose, footnotes, erasures, and struck-through lines of verse—engages compelling questions about the relationship between literary criticism and artistic practice: Is it possible for creative and critical discourses to coexist within the same rhetorical space? Can the literary arts facilitate unique—and even revolutionary—contributions to theoretical conversations? To what extent is every poem an act of deconstruction, a revision of the writing that came before one’s own? —Kristina Marie Darling

Jared Schickling makes no bones about his intent. Cribbing the title of one of the more famous books of poetry in the late twentieth century, Robert Creeley’s For Love, Schickling reorients it with the subtitle, (the order of the echoes), and sets out to rewrite love in a context where the lover becomes “the grape of my obscene lip.” —Michael Boughn

Jared Schickling, the Poetry of the imagination expansive, no master, not forms that restrict, not the commercialism of print.   Not the Government of Poetry, with this an anarchistic being is where all might of the elemental as a construction without end with wisdom and magic, behold begins a future —Michael Basinski

Cutting ruthless swathes into the dense thickets of history and culture, Jared Schickling's submissions is the linguistic detritus of his singular explorations. Hard to classify, impossible to pin down, this poem demands attentive reading and re-reading. Its unforgiving energy and relentless tension make it seem as if Herman Melville and Susan Howe got together and, during an awkward pause in the conversation, conjured Jared Schickling from a dark corner of the room. —Daniel Bouchard

With THE MERCURY POEM, Jared Schickling brings us an oddly reversible apocalypse—the story of individuals grappling with their own bleak place in history. “A tsunami ruining the beach / during an election season,” “the exclusion zone is breeding,” and as an elegy to television, the poet finds normalcy in the unlivable. —Jonathan Penton

Schickling’s materiel-driven poetics mashes up a pre-ethicalized consciousness of the raw human reach for Life with the divination-pose of Fuel Speculation’s futurity e pluribus Unum. The “rational” to “irrational” spectrum of our present’s “present”, betrays an unspoken truth: the Republic of Fuel has, in fact, no sensate feel for time—at all. —Rodrigo Toscano