Nicole “Nic” Jean Turner is a hand-patched, sticker-smattered, torn-lace layered writer from New England. Turner writes in cursive to hide the butchered spelling that might otherwise raise suspicion regarding her master’s degree in writing. Find yourself between their lines below
Like watching a magician having you pull the card you picked out of some random stranger’s pocket.”
– Craig Clevenger
Author of The Contortionist’s Handbook, Dermaphoria, Mother Howl
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“You will find pieces of yourself inside her poems.“
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“I kept getting knocked over line after line.”
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“…as a reader I know that I’m not alone.“
hybrid works published in curated literary journals, magazines, and anthologies; maintaining a yearly publication streak since 2012
+ authored a book in 2020 and two chapbooks in 2017/2023
with The Underground Poetry Spot of Syracuse, NY, over a decade ago. Known by her stage name Nic Jean, she has strung literary heartstrings from the Pacific Northwest to New England and calls the Dirty Gerund Poetry Show home
writing with minimalist traditions in a post-confessional mode, intersecting fragmented voice-driven burnt tongue and layers of metaphor in both poetry and prose.
prefers to be described as one of them their writers in the diner cart dive bar
that in an age of exploitative viral soundbites, shrinking attention spans, and computer generated companionship, a newsletter is still worth as much of our time as a beer with a stranger in a dive bar
Find yourself between the lines
Now on display, typed on a 1914 Royal No.10, this poem is a post-confessional meditation on lineage. This piece is part of a larger body of poetic works exploring ancestral secrets shaped by estrangeness, shame, and fear. The exhibition runs through December 14 and admission to ArtsWorcester is free. There will also be a closing…
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The muscle which makes up the human heart is a spiral. It is one long tissue twirled in on itself like a thick ringlet of red hair,dispair is the feeling of air falling straight through.The vessle uncorkscrewing itself just enough to open up a water spout for tears,and slide for sorrow. When you left us,…
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