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an image from Melissa Squires’ photoessay, “Lake,” in the Winter 2013 issue

4 Mar

msquires-peariver-submission-05

We love Melissa Squires and her gorgeous photography website, A Girl in Love.

And if I don’t see white trillium this year, will I be here next year to see it? … we don’t know.

13 Feb

An exchange from our interview with Michael Czarnecki in December 2012:

PRJ:

When you’re surrounded by mortality and things that don’t even seem to be choices, sometimes you’re in the swirl of karma, either as observer or things are happening to you, and things are so far outside the blame/responsibility sphere. This concept of everything outside our control. And what is control, anyway. Why did we want it, and why did we think that was one of our happy human gifts.

And I’m seeing some of that in both images that you post and in your recent haiku. It’s not despairing work, but it seems to have at the center of it the sense that the noticed moment is the only thing we have. The only thing we can control.. I can control my 17 syllables. Or I can control my photograph. And as soon as I shot it, the bird flew away. It has a different resonance now. Am I misreading?

 

MC:

No, I don’t think you’re misreading them. And I don’t know that I’m writing or picturing that consciously.  But certainly it is there.

You never expect to have something like the total loss of your house. Obviously it is going to affect how you go forward. I’ve never been one to be overly attached to material things. I’ve felt strongly for a few decades that death is hanging there over our left shoulder. It’s there, it’s hanging there, and one never knows. And I think I’ve tried at times, not always, to realize that we have no sense of what might happen tomorrow. You know me, the natural world being so important, and the wildflowers and the birds and the experiencing of the life out there in nature. We keep track of the flowers on our property, when they bloom, and when we first see them. And if I don’t see white trillium this year, will I be here next year to see it? There’s that: we don’t know.

(You can listen to the Michael Czarnecki Interview121512 .)

new poem from the Winter 2013 issue: Sean Thomas Dougherty, The Shape of Such Longing.

6 Feb

THE SHAPE OF SUCH LONGING

is light

as the wind
flaps

and lets fall
a shirt’s

empty sleeves.

 

 

 

New poem from the Winter 2013 issue: Joshua Gage’s “Confession”

4 Feb

CONFESSION

Grandmother,
too many times I try to wash off
the stars of your stigmata
only to smell of lavender.

I sip free coffee
at a Woolworth’s counter,
try to swallow the coin
you slipped my tongue as I slept.

Do you still yearn
to come back a grizzly,
gold button in your ear?
At night I whisper,
like chipped porcelain,
prayers I can’t remember.

We will plant you at the roots
of a Pacific mountain,
a seam of taconite
in a gingham dress.

I will flaw every quilt after you,
sew a square of red at the center.
When my stitching frays, promise
paw prints in the bunting.

Winter 2013 issue update: progress. and almost ready.

2 Feb

on nassau

Dear Beautiful Readers,

We are so happy to share our Winter issue news with you. All work is edited and ready, and we are putting final touches on both versions of the issue.  Both versions, you say. Yes. We are releasing a black and white print version of the issue (via Amazon and Lulu) and a full-color version as an ebook (via Amazon for Kindle and iTunes as an iBook). The two versions required separate design and editing work, a labor of love, we happily admit, and we love both.

In the issue we have poetry and stories and photoessays and urban mural process and endless interviews with Fascinating People.

So stay tuned in. And in the first week of March, join us for the virtual release party.

“an amorphic hash of language, a sustained exposition in a dark room with no memory of itself”: our interview with Linda Lee Harper

2 Feb

I’m not a visual artist and until signing up as a docent at the Morris Museum of Art, had little art training other than obligatory art history courses in college. The Morris docent training is like receiving a certification in basic arts education. It really stimulated a latent desire I’ve always had to learn more about the process of visual art making.

Visual artists practice magic, a mysterious and visual sleight of hand that I believe produces an awesome vision of truth unique to each artist. I think it was in graduate school that one of my mentors said that without images in written work what you have is an amorphic hash of language, a sustained exposition in a dark room with no memory of itself. No thanks. So, on my own and with help, I began a more organized study of visual arts. I also took up stained glass to help my eye gain acuity for color and form. . In no particular order, the artists I favor are: Kandinsky, Rothko, Monet, Vermeer, Eischer, Picasso, Gauguin, Michelangelo, de Kooning, Pollack. My favorites:, VanGogh, for whom I composed a chapbook which won the Hibiscus Award from Tampa Writers Voice, and Mary Whyte, an amazing water-colorist from Charleston, SC and Malaika Favorite.

an excerpt from our interview with Linda Lee Harper, in the Winter 2013 issue

    

excerpt from Sam Williams’ Wagon Story. new fiction in the Winter 2013 issue.

1 Feb

birds_edited-1

 

The almost absolute silence was just that indeed- almost, because there was some noise that started just a few seconds after the explosion and this was the noises of falling pieces, pieces that had flown high into the air as if they’d never stop, pieces of the wagon, pieces of the mules and pieces of Jacob.

By the time the pieces had stopped falling and the chemical laden air had reached the various receptors on the rattle snakes tongue- zipping to its small brain, instantly, instinctively willing its body to leave this place of strangeness and turmoil without even rattling its tail in fear or anger.

The animals had started moving away from the area as well. The forest was awakening from its shock.

By this time the sound from the blast had already rattled the windows of the nearby town of Poplarhead and the people were starting to gather in the streets, chattering about what could it have been.

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