Jen Tynes lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan. She is the author of Hunter Monies (Black Radish Press, forthcoming), Trick Rider (Trembling Pillow Press), Heron/Girlfriend (Coconut Books), and The End of Rude Handles (Red Morning Press) and several chapbooks. She is the founder, editor, and publisher of Horse Less Books and Horse Less Review: http://horselesspress.org/
Deftly flipping the quotidian inside out and on its head, Jen Tynes’ Hunter Monies leaves one wondering which rabbit/wormhole she, and we with her, have fallen through. Her fissured narratives relentlessly embrace the fractured, composite texture of experience and memory, unstitching the certainties by which we navigate our lives, provoking the ‘queer’ pediment just underneath: “a blue insulator / come to me like a bird.” Hunter Monies scissors open syntax, stitches idioms, spells trouble. Jen Tyne’s images soar across one another, droll grotesques by which to see our way through. Go on “out in the lush” with her, “all the men draped // in pink sateen,” wearing this “dream crown, a crown made of everything.”
Jen Tynes’ Hunter Monies is available at SPD.
Praise for Hunter Monies
Jen Tynes’ Hunter Monies is a tracking expedition. I find myself hooked on a voice, and I wander behind it. It echoes and distorts. It turns corners, and I hurry after it, and, only after catching it, do I realize the corner was a horse, the horse, a jar, the jar, a slaw or a bloodletting or a flea market emptied out after a busy morning. This is a world simultaneously strange and familiar. I hear talking and realize I’m been eavesdropping and try to figure out what I’m listening to: a voice consulting with itself, a voice talking to a corpse it refuses to admit is dead?: it’s the sound of someone walking to town through the woods, making an art of note-taking, talking to the plural of herself and her dream of us, talking to acorns, asking of antlers on—and removed from—animals, asking of a rogue melon, listening to a discarded suitcase and rotting lace, listening to a hoard of boys in the distance, licking a noun, licking a bit of old magazine—the glossy eye of an indiscernible star, licking the back of a June bug, swallowing bling and coughing up song. This is a speaker who’s “gonna tell you” more “else” than “what.” I admire the room this book makes and the ground it covers. As I’ve come to expect, Tynes is more forage than forget. – Kristi Maxwell