By Daniel Shyti
Sitting on a hill with a book, a flashlight, and a 12-pack of Yuengling, three young men sensed a rising force between them.

The book was The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry and the force was SELMA, a poetry collective based in the Metro Area.  With a transient membership of three to six participants, it has remained under the social media radar hosting only small readings and events in unpublicized locations.  Though knowledge of the group’s existence has spread only by word of mouth, members seem to believe that the private nature of their meetings is sufficient for their intended purpose.

“SELMA is the collective effort of a small group of young men to share their thoughts,” explains 20-year-old Matt Stone, a founding member.  “The sole purpose is to create an environment of emotional understanding, while moving forward as individuals and as a group.”

SELMA borrows its name from a plantation house in Lessburg built on land once owned by George Mason’s nephew, which is now a decrepit, B-list historic site.  This has a thematic correlation with SELMA’s literary influences, which range from Jack Micheline and D.A. Levy, to Sapphire and Ed Mabrey – all significant-yet-underappreciated American poets.  These are the poets who have been rocks in the river of the mainstream current, contributing to the volatility of what would otherwise be a calm, passive body.

The SELMA collective has only been active since fall of 2011 and has nonspecific plans for future events or publications.  Though they may be much less distinguished or prolific than the artists lifted above, their effort to perpetuate an unheralded art form puts their motivation in the vein of the greats that came before them.

 

Excerpts from untitled works by various authors:
You ebb and flow,
you’re shifiting gears,
smoothly,
truthfully transitioning,
one season to another.
Everyone, even my mother,
loves you.
—
Collapsed over the wheel,
the word “theft” blinking thick,
red on my skull.
I have tried to justify
the injustices of the world.
They have mistaken
my silence for arrogance.
I have failed
to yield on green.