THE THREE E.P.s
We are thrilled to publish Ross Robbins’s first full-length collection, The Three E.P.s, a few years after working with Ross on his chapbook, All In Black Blood My Love Went Riding (Two Plum Press 007).
This volume includes the lengthiest excerpt yet from Robbins’ forthcoming Mental Hospital: A Memoir. We are so honored to be the press given the opportunity to share the first longer glimpse at this very important work.
Also included are two additional self-contained works, Tremble, and The Mean Dream. The former contains lyrical pieces on subjects such as “On Missing Being Young,” “Psychosis,” “An Aborted Elegy,” and “Memory.” They glide from cutting depth to dry humor to edge-of-the-cliff/beating-heart-on-the-page to wry observation effortlessly. The latter is a long form poem best explained by the note adjacent to its title page:
This poem found its genesis as an erasure project. By taking the erasures and revising them, molding them into something—else—I was able to create a work that is restricted in its language but expressive (I hope) in a way that I, emotional being that I am, couldn’t hope to access by my lonesome. I’m sure this raises all sorts of interesting questions about authorship, plagiarism, just what is “original writing,” etc. I don’t care to address those questions. There are dreams to dream, after all.
Taken as a whole, The Three E.P.s is a remarkably beautiful, raw, deliriously passionate collection of poems. Read this book, give another copy to a friend, and go see Ross read!
Two Plum Press will be reissuing All In Black Blood My Love Went Riding, with new design elements, dust jackets, and preface from Ross. It will be released this fall.
At night in bed in the dark unable to sleep. There are twinkles on the black ceiling that are half-digital, half-analog. They cycle blue to red to white to blue to red to white: dying stars, 10,000 dying stars. A woman inches away from my left ear says We fear the fire, but we cannot stop it. We all fear the fire, but there is nothing we can do. We cannot stop it. We fear it. The fire. We all cannot stop it. My tongue is made of tin.