Readings: Bridgewater Fest Poet A. Logan Hill

Over the next week I’ll be posting information on the poets who will be reading from their work at the Bridgewater International Poetry Festival, Jan 15th-18th. 

A. Logan Hill will be reading his poetry on  Friday, January 16th, at 11:00am.


Hey ya’ll, super stoked to meet up with everyone & exchange languages. Here’s some stuff about & of me:

A. Logan Hill grew up just north of Harrisonburg, Virginia in an old house by a small town off the highway. As a Poetry candidate in the MFA Program for Poets & Writers, he is currently working on a novel, a new chapbook of “appropriations from texts on NOTHING,” a collection of “prosaic meanderings” with the working title “Reward,” new poems, a children’s book, journals, and a collection of essays. In addition, Logan has also begun preliminary research on “the art of the list” and his interests in the integrity of mobiles. He currently teaches College Writing in the University’s Writing Program and is an Associate Editor at Route 9 Literary Magazine.

Needless to say “logan’s poems are more like blooms.” — H I L L

l o g a n H I L L “ hates ” genre.
He writes lists, notes, batches, drafts, plumbs, poems, stories, lyrics, essays, journals, writing, fiction, creative non-fiction. letters, essays, journals, poems, genre/form, collections, novels, chapbooks, speeches, strands, grants, proposals, lectures, lessons, drafts, labels, symbols, diagrams, lists, talks, responses, reviews, poems, presentations, stories, lists & other illiterate drafts / songs.

x Poetry is an act.

x Fiction is a process.

x Writing is the universal human act of a reciprocation between / personal experience and

x Everything is / the act of poetry.

* * *

DAY 4r

little spiders
in the
cob webs
of the
hanging there
in the bodies
of brownish
orbs —
in between
greenish hemisphere
of the
porched in
sadness can
not achieve
complete loneliness —
like a rotting
mattress —
the beautiful paired
with the mundane —
the everyday
& the useless—
the beauty
& the grotesque
of the beautiful—
some things will never end up in the wildflowers.

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