2007-2008 Parnell Poetry Prize Winner Announced

Barrie Kreinik has been selected as the 2007-2008 Parnell Poetry Prize winner by judge Patricia Smith.

Kreinik is a professional actor and singer who has performed in NYC and with the Virginia Shakespeare Festival. Kreinik graduated from Cornell University in 2007 with a B.A. in Theatre and English; while there, she served as Editor-in-Chief of Ink Magazine and her poetry was published in several campus journals. Her poems have also appeared in Artis Magazine. She is a native of Hartford, CT and currently resides in New York City.

The following were finalists for the prize:

Harry Bauld, "I Argue with Neruda Over You"

Linda M. Black, "Going North"

Carissa A. DiGiovanni, "Old Keys and Strangers"

Willa Granger, "And In New Jersey"

Shaine Latham, "Family Portraiture"

Rumit Pancholi, "The Pledge of Allegiance Heart Attack"

Marian Kaplun Shapiro, "Moving On"

Charles Toll, "Creative License"

The 2007-2008 Parnell Poetry Prize-Winning Poem:

Chorus Call

Barrie Kreinik

This scratching is the worst: our cattish clawing
rips across narrow boxes
where we pack in fishlike, piled
on panes of wood. Our tremors echo higher
than the ceiling can support.
Primordial slime, rage simmers
under all this polished spit; we are
angry at the odds, but dead set on bludgeoning them
if it takes all day.

We're taught to crush each other into dust,
to drag our red nails over a milky face
then walk away from the blood and silk debris.
A kind one might toss a band-aid
over her shoulder. Usually we just smile
and hide the knife.

Those who preach hardness or spout challenge
from the safety of a cubicle or bench –
they know nothing of this sweat-stained room,
its corners.
Belongings strewn in heaps,
thick music books; piles of photos
now stacked on tables to be
sorted later, rejects labeled "SHRED."
Toes squeezed into shoes squeezed into hallways
hot with breath and emotive mumbles. Even
colors splash rudely – BVM blue
is in this season; black is the new last year.

We compete for attention down to our very socks.

At last, the clouds of chaos weave into queues; we paint ourselves
by number, stand and wait, or force square pegs
into circles to stay typed-in.
Once in the room (there are ifs involved),
you have about twenty seconds –
eight bars, four thank-yous, a double door,
and done. The previous victim sighs
as the next inhales.

What can they tell of us in twenty seconds?
They say, try to see it from our side
of the table; try to imagine
you're there to save the day.

But all that remains are shards:
a broken chair,
an echo
and a rainbow on the floor.