Join us each month in responding to a “field generator”—an offering from our headliner(s) in the form of a prompt, statement, ritual, or other creative exercise that inspires their work & thinking. Throw your name in the hat before each reading for a chance to share your original, generator-inspired composition (e.g. one poem or short prose excerpt) at the open-mic portion of the evening. We’ll make this resonant field together.
October 2026 field generator ::
RUPTURE
I like it when ink bleeds through the analog page or when I can see the echo of what’s written on one page through another as I hold it up to a light. For me, a poem works best when I let it take the space it wants, the shape it wants. I like to séance my way into figuring out that shape, though that does take a certain kind of time!
If you’d rather not séance, I invite you to draw the shape of your ideal poem (or the shape of the energy of the poem). If you’re inclined, tape several pieces of paper together! Use the shape you’ve drawn to guide the poem you make.
September 2026 field generator ::
I LIVED HOW I DIED
Maya writes, “In my poetic monologue, ‘I lived how I died,’ I started with a line I heard in the show Desperate Housewives (‘I lived how I died’). I decided the piece would begin from the perspective of a housewife. I then used my own feelings, languages, and emotional truths to guide the rest of the narrative, taking sentences here and there from motivational speakers as well as teens on TikTok. The ending of the piece culminates in a false shared memory about a restaurant I used to work at, which ultimately became a meditation on workers’ rights.”
Write a one-page monologue generated from a single found line (spoken by a character on a TV show, an influencer, a minister, a child, something overheard at a restaurant, waiting in line at the post office, etc.). Begin the monologue with that sentence, then follow your personal inclinations and poetic imagination to end up somewhere totally unexpected, finishing your piece at the scene of a false shared memory.
— Maya Martinez
Listen to Maya read her piece that inspired this prompt below.
August 2026 field generator ::
MUSKRAT OVERHEAR
Imagine translation as a way of overhearing. You catch meaning without full access to it. In this field generator we ask you to translate the following poem (from el cuaderno de la rata almizclera / the muskrat’s notebook by Víctor Rodríguez Núñez). Hear the poem read in Spanish while following the original text (also provided). Attend to whatever reaches you—sound, rhythm, pauses, repetition, typography, cognates, images, or uncertainty. Listen. Don’t decode. Let your (mis)hearings shape the translation. Then write the poem that emerges from this act of listening.
el cuaderno de la rata almizclera / 32
para Jorge Boccanera
la lluvia no te deja
conciliar el silencio
y se resuelve en una tos nublada
un seco escalofrío
nada que completar
se evaporan los rostros
y estañan el espejo
donde todo se oculta de sí mismo
tosco bandoneón
el arroyo te quita la palabra
la afonía es la lengua de la muerte
que no puede callarse
una espuma maciza
movilizando el polvo de raíz
todo el líquido arrojo
a tu sed desbordada
armonía de cuarzo
soledad con buen juicio
pero si escuchas bien
la muerte trina
— Katherine Hedeen & Víctor Rodríguez Núñez