Stanzas Poetry Contest: Winners and Finalists, Summer 2021
Photograph by Christy Lorio
Poetry editor Skye Jackson names the winners of the first French Quarter Journal poetry contest and introduces their compelling entries.
Dear French Quarter Journal Readers,
I hope that this letter finds you well and enjoying the fruits that only summer can bring – sunny weather, good food and fun times. I’m talking about the kind of fun that sticks to your soul and makes memories we’re always quick to return to in the nostalgic recesses of our minds.
Today as I wandered up and down Magazine Street, I couldn’t help but think of one of my favorite gifts of summer: possibility. This idea that your life can change at any moment – whether that be meeting a new friend, getting a new opportunity or even simply walking down a street you’ve never been down before. I pray that possibility, ingenuity and creativity are finding you wherever you are.
Speaking of which, I want to thank all the wonderful writers and poets who entered our first poetry contest! One of the highlights of my summer has been reading the work of all those who submitted. I appreciated getting to know you each on the page and seeing the exciting ways that our city has changed you. Thank you for trusting us with your words. Your care and love for New Orleans reflected strongly in each poem I read. For that, I am truly grateful.
I’d like to congratulate our winners!
First Place ($100): Nikki Ummel, "Saturday Morning on St. Claude Avenue"
Second Place ($50): Kelsey Stancliffe, "Amtrak"
Third Place ($25): William Butler, "Iggy's on the Corner"
Your poems, published below, reminded me of all the things I am drawn to about New Orleans. Each poem used place and perspective in fresh and exciting ways. At times, I found myself wishing I could physically leap into your work. Thank you for allowing me to be so present in your poetry. I absolutely loved the journey.
To our finalists: Daniel Lee ("Playoffs"), Nikki Ummel ("An Aubade for the Sous Chef at Cochon"), and Shelly Rodrigue ("Whiskey Canal"): your work was amazing. I agonized over all your poems because they were so good. Thank you for sharing them with us.
To our faithful readers and poets, I just want to let you all know that we’ll be holding another poetry contest this upcoming fall. Please stay tuned for rules and requirements for the next round if you’re interested in entering. I look forward to reading more of your work, so please send it in!
Once again, thank you for your readership, kindness, and support during these maddening times. Stay safe and well. Please take care of each other.
Until we meet again in the streets…
Yours,
Skye
First Place - Saturday Morning on St. Claude Avenue by Nikki Ummel
The poem “Saturday Morning on St. Claude Avenue” took me on such a delicious adventure. It transports the reader to a very specific time and place while asking the same questions many of us have had as we strolled down certain New Orleans streets: whose hair is that on the sidewalk and how in God’s name did it get there? The poem weaves (no pun intended) a story of twists and turns that take us down St. Claude as it is best seen: from the seat of a well-ridden bicycle. The poet builds a vivid world that comes alive for the reader – all the while showing us how easily pieces of it can be left behind.
photograph by Christy Lorio. Click to see more of Christy's work
Saturday Morning on St. Claude Avenue
The hair in the neutral ground
tells the story:
there was conflict, here
outside Hi Ho Lounge.
Perhaps it was two friends,
tipsy off $3 PBR &
drunk with Gen Z anxiety.
Perhaps the hair removal
was self-inflicted,
the result of a Friday spent
perched atop a barstool
waiting
for Tinder Tina or
Bumble Ben
to show, waiting,
pitching shitty martinis
down a soft throat
in cadence to “Do Whatcha Wanna”
by the brass band on stage.
Perhaps it was a hair flick
gone wrong.
An over-the-shoulder toss
taken too far,
thrown in the direction of an ex
who needed to know
what they were missing.
From my fixie, the early morning
damp breathes dank on my neck,
my hair cropped too close to soak
the moisture or prevent drip.
Does the weave-woman also
feel the wet air slide down her spine?
Does her regret also mingle with Pepto, Fry & Pie?
Whatever it was,
tumble weave doesn’t lie.
Behind me, the screen door swings shut,
buffered by my boyfriend’s tired hands.
He blows a kiss. It lands on my bike seat.
Somewhere nearby, a cat plunges,
pulls the synthetic hair between
sharp teeth, a predatorial floss.
A new home.
Second Place - Amtrak by Kelsey Stancliffe
“Amtrak,” by Kelsey Stancliffe, is an intriguing observation of adolescent angst. It skillfully captures a feeling that many of us have experienced: that palpable awkwardness of being a teenager uncomfortable in your own skin. We root for the speaker as she seeks solitude and calm in the cool of her hotel pool. Her anxiety is so deeply felt that the reader is relieved when she finds the momentary comfort that she desperately seeks away from the frenzy of tourist-laden crowds. This poem is delightfully strange and achingly real as it shows us a girl who is just waiting to catch that next train back home.
photo by Osman Rana, Unsplash
Amtrak
The first time I came to the Quarter, I was 13,
mad, sweating, fuming at the 24 hour train ride it took to get there.
No city was worth a train ride--
my mom wanted to make amends,
took me to a boutique for fat ladies on Royal,
bought me a sleeveless top—
You can tell everyone it’s from New Orleans
she said.
Everyone can tell this shirt is for fat people
I said.
The top told me
look at the rouching on the sides,
don’t pay attention to my pouch it says.
My thighs about town
stick together and slide, the humidity making them fat
thick egg noodles, soft and too wet, floppy.
I stay at our hotel most days, swimming alone in the pool
You’re missing the city
Ok, I say.
At least in the pool the fat lady
tops, the red wet thighs
are covered and free.
I miss the haunted tours,
the beignets, the racist plantation tours,
the sad horse buggy ride, make it for
dinner every night.
We ride home, 24 more hours.
24 hours to come to New Orleans--
to swim in a pool,
to buy a shirt,
to remember that I am not meant for heat
for walking
for being seen
for being more than
a fat lady shirt,
rouching on the side.
Kelsey Stancliffe
Third Place - Iggy's on the Corner by William Butler
“Iggy’s on the Corner,” by William Butler, is a masterclass in New Orleans ambiance – it saunters and lingers in doorways and at barstools, showing us that it is often people who make up the delicate fabric of a place. The poem bursts with wonderful sonics and richly painted characters who seem to beckon to you from the page. Through all of this, the poet shows us a city built on sound and rooted in the dizzying tie of memory and community.
Iggy’s on the Corner
Touro and North Rampart / hanging / pull out a chair / smokers seats / you got sixty cents / music eddying / smoke eddying / talk eddying about the day / modern times I hear / toothless guy whistles while he talks / sax cuts right through the haze / humid / wisteria blooming / why argue / Sammy likes it / getting loud outside /
Sshhhhh / neighbors complaining / sax solo / heads bopping / our sound / our town / in the Faubourg / wachu gonna do / it goes along / it goes on / picks up / settles down / drifts along / then bops out again / Touro and North Rampart / Bobby come out / stretches / looks around / whachall doin / chairs scrape / Bobby can be trouble / gettin me a gin and tonic / listening to the saxophone / curling around me like a cat / wants to be scratched / arches its back / Touro and North Rampart / the clock stuck on 10 PM / you got sixty cents /
- William Butler
