Miraculum Monstrum

Miraculum Monstrum

by Kathline Carr


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Miraculum Monstrum is an epic hybrid narrative about Tristia Vogel, a female artist who experiences a radical physical transformation, beginning with the excrescence of apparent wings. Though she is possibly an anomalous mutation resulting from worldwide ecological upheaval, the bird/woman is co-opted by a religious cult that claims to have prophesied her experience; she is thus written as the central figure of their scriptural text. The fragmentary poem that is Miraculum Monstrum, which bears the same name as the fictitious codex quoted throughout, is presented within a catalog for an exhibit of visual artifacts and writings that chronicle this speculative history. The exhibition curator persona performs a duel function as narrative voice within the poem and critical commentator on the exhibit.

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781597096072
Publisher: Red Hen Press
Publication date: 10/24/2017
Pages: 114
Product dimensions: 5.00(w) x 7.10(h) x 0.80(d)

About the Author

Kathline Carr, writer and visual artist, is the author of Miraculum Monstrum, forthcoming from Red Hen Press and winner of the 2015 Clarissa Dalloway Book Prize. Carr’s writing and art have appeared in Alexandria Quarterly, Calyx, Connecticut Review, Hawaii Review, Earth's Daughters and elsewhere; she has exhibited in the Berkshires, New York City, Boston, Toronto, and at artSTRAND Gallery in Provincetown. Carr received her BFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College, VT and holds an MFA in Visual Arts from The Art Institute of Boston at Lesley University. She lives in North Adams, Massachusetts with her husband and sometimes-collaborator, figurative painter Jim Peters, and her youngest daughter Mercedes. View Kathline's writing and artwork at kathlinecarr.com.

Read an Excerpt

From Miraculum Monstrum

(Her desire looks like a house. Boarded up, empty rooms, bills in baskets for services rendered, dusty baseboards, stacked dishes, rusty metal, blood in floorboards, creaky bedsprings, soiled carpet, no carpet, wood flooring, Formica counters, cigarette burn, attached garage, welcome mats, and this she dreams into him.

He, her latest lover, is guileless, as flocking, feather-spoken she coaxed him, he shyly stayed the night, one time.

There is something in the air.

Her dreams are pocked with dark places, falling from heights, oppressive heat. There is a weight on her chest; she wakes up freezing and reaching for the phone in the blue light of breaking morning, but whom to call.

Not him, he is sleeping, alone, and there is no way to rush past all the barriers to closeness—time and loneliness construct. She sighs.)

In daylight, panic skin sloughs.

On days she paints she forms images cusping,

dream to waking images, the point of insertion. Wing tips,

bracken, nest. Flail.

Her rooms full of paintings, red globes, beaks, shades of cinder, wheat stalks.

She can’t show them. Crowds fill her, their noisy blistering thoughts.

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