Jeff King was born in Omaha, NE in 1974. Before his serious interest in writing, he was active as a visual artist in a local capacity in Omaha, exhibiting widely throughout the city. He is currently a student at Metropolitan Community College in Omaha where he studies in the creative writing program. His work was featured in Heavy Feather Review and The Metropolitan. He still lives in Omaha with his wife and two sons. Instagram—Jeff King @thewo_rdsremainthesame
PRAISE:
” Poetry is a way of working out a problem, a question, some wonder—and realizing, eventually, that we will not work everything out. Time, as King writes, is always different looking backwards. How to carry it with us? Under a title that is both resolution and confession, King’s poems chronicle time–its people, their expectations and his own–unraveling and reorganizing experience into something understandable, but for how long? “I don’t want there to be a last song,” King writes. Lucky for us, he’s just beginning.
–Lindsey Baker, writer and editor, author of This Is Bad (Gibraltar Editions) and Fine Warm Pulse (dancing girl press).
“Jeff King‘s evocative and strenuous poetic mindscape, full and boiling but somehow not overbrimming, in which he’s also, “editing out the parts/of the day nobody can hear without listening as hard as I do,” provides delight and instruction. What to retain? What to discard? They’re our ongoing, essential, and perplexing questions. I appreciate how King hears and sees a range of unexpected responses that meld into pure synthesis…how each intriguing conclusion sets in motion a fresh and urgent beginning.”
–Steve Langan, author of, most recently, Bedtime Stories; What It looks Like, How It Flies; and Meet Me at the Happy Bar
“In these deft and deeply-felt poems, King contemplates the elusiveness of time-the shifting selves in the mirror; the memories that have taken on the surreal tint of a polaroid, the context of everything outside the frame just out of grasp. In the opening poem, King warns us,” There is no way to remember this life, it all falls apart into shreds of dandelions,” and yet what a landscape he’s he’s able to reconstruct with those shreds–in paint, in song and snapshot, he maps an internal landscape as vivid and tender as grief.”
–Liz Kay, author of The Witch Tells The Story And Makes It True, Monsters: A Love Story and Fallout.
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