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Profiles: Travis Klunick

January 11, 2011


Travis Benjamin Cactus Klunick:
Writer, photographer, ranch-hand and graceful purveyor of mediums borne of the pristine and frightening nature of the land, and the meddling of hearts therein. Travis lives in Alpine, TX and has won both the Burleson Contest and the Fania Kruger Fellowship in poetry and fiction.

1. Klunick’s blog: These Mighty Secrets

2.


Photos by Travis Klunick

3. A recent short story YEGUAS Y CABALLOS, recently posted on American Short Fiction.

4. Excerpts from Klunick’s various untitled poems:

This morning I heard the Elk bugling to each other. I couldn’t see them because the grey was against the earth but as I watched first one and then another came out of the clouds and when they walked their antlers tore the fog so that they dragged behind them ribbons of emptiness through the air.

Us sitting there with the truck engine shaking and you were kissing me all delicate but I couldn’t figure out what was happening how the softness hit me so brutal everything bunched up and the red lights flashing on us as that train went by in the night the horn blowing so loud that the dark got ripped away and the ground shaking and we were just alone there you and I and it made it where I felt like horses loose on a highway or like moths like film burning and there was so much flint in us that was all rubbing along our ribs when we breathed and I thought maybe it was light that was filling us but I couldn’t know for sure I never know for sure.

Sometimes in the evenings as I pass over roads a Scissor-tail rises up in front of me and the orange under her wings spreads out into the sky and glows and glows and the sun falls down into the black hills.

Throb and thunder. Twisting storm. O Saragosa! O your foundations laid bare! Your children’s voices hushed. God, how your grace is something unheard of here. God, how your Book says another world. I don’t know it. I try to see. But how Your hands push the creosotes’ heads down. How You drag Your fists, miles wide, over the earth and push the grasses’ faces into the dirt.  And I, drunk in the afternoons. Pill dark and heavy burdened. There were epochs in which I looked upon You. There were times that ran with the shifting of the plates in which my love for You was seven swans shaking the earth with their white wing beats and seven epochs in the between during which I couldn’t bear to believe in You at all. How your ineffable brightness burnt my eyes. Left me with my arms swaying before me like those of a drowned man. Drifting pale at the bottom of some black sea.

5 Comments leave one →
  1. kaymuller permalink
    January 12, 2011 17:21

    Michael, I especially loved your skys of the Big Bend country! Soooo beautiful. I only wish I could capture
    that beauty in my watercolors.

  2. January 14, 2011 21:37

    Love the top photo with the second. That blue.

  3. Francisco Marin permalink
    January 16, 2011 15:55

    Klunick’s work is legit… 5-star post, Muller.

  4. Vanessa permalink
    December 14, 2011 09:41

    I stumbled upon this story somehow and find myself re-reading it almost twice a month. It just hits me hard, I love it

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