Author Archives
Jon Bishop
a haiku for the 4th
Light spiders brightness
across the dark and cool.
Yearly, lovely transcendence.
A Welcome From Liberty Island’s New Poetry Editor
My name is Jon, and I’m honored to be the poetry editor at Liberty Island.
In Defense of Moviegoing
The moviegoing experience is in danger.
The Walt Disney Company recently announced that it would make streaming its primary focus, if need be. What that means is that its big-budget films, such as its superhero franchises, would go straight to Disney+. And Cineworld, the owner of Regal Cinemas, the second-largest theater chain in the United States, has shuttered its theaters. They’ve been unclear as to whether this is a permanent or temporary thing, but if it is permanent — and with the company’s insolvency talks, it could be, in part — then it’s not hard to imagine other theater companies, like AMC (which has indicated it could run out of money by the end of the year) and National Amusements, either closing or significantly altering their business model.
This would totally alter the movie landscape — and not in a good way.
A New Poem: pressing onto the place where the sun rises
Poet Jon Bishop reflects on this time of disease and anxiety.
Marvel and Disney Vs. Martin Scorsese: How the Modern Studio System Is Impoverishing Cinema
This ongoing superhero movie debate isn’t about superhero movies.
Before I continue, let me say I’m a fan of Marvel films. I think they’re fun to watch, moving, and well-made. I also think it’s entirely reasonable for us to have different categories of film. It would be off-base, for instance, for us to compare Endgame with Citizen Kane. They’re two entirely different styles of film, two entirely different cultural products. (I borrowed this metric from the late film critic Roger Ebert.)
I don’t think this debate will die down anytime soon. I don’t think it should.
New Poem: Call Center Requiem
I’m spent, useless, blind
and lying burned
and sizzling and cracked
on the hard ground….
New Poetry: Annoyed By the Bluebird
I can hear you roaring dully,
like a lonely lion
announcing across the desert
that dinner is ready.
I want to shut you out,
but I can’t.
Because you are everywhere.
You bubble up like muck
from the depths of the earth,
and you are muck now,
squelching slime into the air,
cackling as you do.
New Fiction: Childhood Nightmares
At first, the room gave no sound, but then a creak was heard from under the bed. Ryan’s ancient house, aching and groaning in the night. It happened all the time. He shut his eyes, half-dreaming, and then he heard the creak again. He shivered. Maybe it was the way the floor creaked, or maybe it was the time of year, but tonight, it reminded him of when he once snuck into his mother’s room while she was sleeping and slid under her bed. His mind drifted off. He was no longer forty and single. He was nine and afraid to be alone.
New Poetry: The End of the Workday
A chorus of yelps
from the office towers
that scrape the sky,
from the buildings low,
barely dirt,
from everything, all…
New Poetry: Daydreaming
Standing on the corner of the road,
Watching the sky change from black to red,
Thinking of all the day demands.
Hungover from the night before.
How am I alive?
