Så gott som varje månad erbjuder Rattle sina läsare att delta i en ekfras-utmaning där bidragen ska inspireras av ett konstverk eller ett fotografi. November månads inspirationskälla var:
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Det är alltså en tävling för amatörer. Det utgår inga prispengar. Dock väljer konstnären/fotografen sin favorit bland de inskickade bidragen. Även redaktören hos Rattle utser sin favorit.
Konstnären Arushi Raj valde följande dikt som sin favorit.
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The surface of light, by Martin Willitts Jr.
(Published in Rattle Magazine Website, December 20, 2016.)
Light rises out of my wrist like a raptor above the surface
searching to peel away the skin’s orange surface.
Light is haunting the intersections for places to feast,
light and metallic, edged sharp, used by cutting the surface.
It is soundless as a thought of danger that surprises,
the belief we can be responsible for it is only the surface.
Light becomes a better rapture that comes from a death-strike
delivered objectively by a drone, denting the surface.
Light is pain and separation. It knows distance does not matter.
Before we die, we will be taught to love its surface.
Light began as a gnat; in an hour it became a vulture, in two,
it became a dragon. At this rate, it leaves the air’s surface.
All this began when I woke up and opened the blinds,
and one microbe of light found me bringing its cold surface.
Surface of my loss, why do you take off? Why slice sadness?
It is raining metal fragments as it departs with a Ghazal surface.
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Rattle Magazines redaktör valde den här dikten som sin favorit:
Illuminated, by Sherry Barker Abaldo
(Published in Rattle Magazine Website, December 29, 2016.
Like they said in art history, it isn’t the object we see, it’s the light. Impressionism and calotypes. Try to paint the pitcher using only orange, blue, white. Somehow all the hours in dark rooms staring at slides taking notes on stacks of index cards led me to you. Up close everything is geometry: giraffe spots, turtle shell segments, the pattern of mud as it dries ‘til it cracks, the intersection of soap bubbles. Your skin is as intimate to me as the skin of an orange. And as mysterious. Your skin distant as the skin of the sea. You with your ridges, rills, dimples, reaches, legions of pores. How did you ever land in my bed? We chased light as long as we could. Touched as the jet lifted off. Long gleam of beach, lace waves spun away like the ground under a carnival ride. Breathless. Shine of a seed. You asked what those leaf things children stick on their noses are called. I said helicopters. Winged seeds. You noted the freakish drive of all things to reproduce. On Maui the divemaster zipped my breasts into neoprene. My favorite thing was watching you come out of the water. I could pick you out of a crowd. Hibiscus petals under my burned feet. Thorns hidden in sand. My eyes poured so full of light I had to close them.
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