 La Grotte de la Loue, by Gustave Courbet (France) 1864 Dear Ekphrastic Writers and Readers; It was a great honour to receive and read all of the poems and fiction written for the Courbet Challenge. I have been enamoured of ekphrastic writing for several years and love the prompts presented from paintings and sculpture. Such a rich pool of poetic fodder! I find it fascinating how different the interpretations can be on a single specimen of art. Such talented writers! I have narrowed the entries down to this collection, for their special qualities and unique approaches. I would like to thank Lorette C. Luzajic, editor of The Ekphrastic Review for the opportunity to be a guest editor, and for her continuing efforts in curating such an interesting and exciting poetry journal. Warm Regards, Julie A. Dickson ** Cave Painting I was not accustomed to dark I made my eye into a pencil piercing into the lead I saw bent figures among the stalagmites their voices calling through evolution my brothers and sisters I reached into the hole to pick them out but my fingers were not enough paint they said paint the past our imaginations are wild horses on empty plains paint the future I told them we are waiting for you. Marc Brimble Marc Brimble lives in Spain and teaches English. When he's not doing this, he likes drinking tea and looking at the sky. ** La Grotte de la Loue What do you see, Gustave, as you peer into the depths? Do you perceive a flicker the glimmer of light moving there a hint of rippling reflected on walls or do you stare farther down and in looking beyond what is visible into the dark abyss, not just here but the inner world of yourself, contemplating deeper within mining your personal hinterland busy with white noise and black light allowing your own mind's colours to flood your soul and the canvas? Emily Tee Emily Tee writes poetry and flash fiction. She's had pieces published in The Ekphrastic Review and for its challenges, and elsewhere online, and in print in some publications by Dreich, in Poetry Scotland and in several poetry anthologies. She lives in the UK. ** The Roar of the Waterfall A cascade, leaping from rock to rock, a waterfall broken by a thousand imponderables, a spectacle stirring emotions, touching all the senses. The Loue springs from a dark cave dug into the rocks during millions of years by its relentless intent. Courbet painted it 14 times, investigating the secrets of its terrible beauty. Perhaps he was in thrall to the Vouivre, the dragon that resides in the cave. Half woman, half snake, her forehead is adorned with an enormous precious stone which she hides on the shore, in the moss, or under a stone, before drinking or bathing. Thief, try your luck, but don’t get caught. Her revenge will be terrible... Beauty’s mystery Source of nature’s power Woman Rose Mary Boehm Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as seven poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was twice nominated for a Pushcart. Her latest: Do Oceans Have Underwater Borders? (Kelsay Books July 2022), Whistling in the Dark (Cyberwit July 2022), and Saudade (December 2022) are available on Amazon. https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/ ** The Stream That Is You I draw down into the cave of my heart into the dark welcoming world of water and rock of soft memories hard knowledge of knowing this long hallowed channel of want regret and quiet repose I find my reflection where riffles toss to the edge travel slow currents of yearning slip into sorrow murmur of love you are a moment long in its lingering you are forever flow silent within me meander arrive in each corner each crevice you…. Ursula Shepherd Ursula Shepherd has spent a lifetime exploring the world, celebrating all those alien life forms (plants, animals, even algae and bacteria) found right here on planet Earth, and finding joy in the beauty and power of words. She has written a book Nature Notes: A Companion to the Seasons, published by Fulcrum, occasional essays, and has poems in Unbroken, Grim and Gilded, Minnow and upcoming in Writing in a Woman’s Voice. ** Dark Dreaming She’d always loved to watch the birds as they swooped and swerved in the sky above her. She could see them now from the mouth of the cave, black birds, rooks or ravens, corvids as dark as the cave. They were invisible as she went deeper so she could only see them when she dreamt. And she wondered if dreams would be enough to sustain her in the dark. She wondered if they would be enough for her when the black water rose. and the river flowed in. Lynn White Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Consequence Magazine, Firewords, Vagabond Press, Gyroscope Review and So It Goes Journal. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com///www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/ ** boatman I harken to the lapping of the water against the rocks the boat the pole where I hear in the voice of the cliff all the whispered echoes of bygone lemures lamenting weeping pleading as if I’m some Orpheus come to bring them out back into the world above instead of the boatman completing a journey allotted to other days and nights erased and faded like fingerprints in the clay of our lives shaped fired glazed then broken then cast out onto the sand lining the beaches where the young are still standing -- waiting Mark A. Fisher Mark A. Fisher is a writer, poet, and playwright living in Tehachapi, CA. His poetry has appeared in: Reliquiae, Silver Blade, Eccentric Orbits, and many other places. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for his poem “papyrus” in 2016. His first chapbook, drifter, is available from Amazon. His poem “there are fossils” (originally published in Silver Blade) came in second in the 2020 Dwarf Stars Speculative Poetry Competition. His plays have appeared on California stages in Pine Mountain Club, Tehachapi, Bakersfield, and Hayward. He has also won cooking ribbons at the Kern County Fair. ** Trapped by a Nervous Dawn Trapped by a nervous dawn the dead stone of the night knocks at the buried sky gone underground, retreated dramatically. Shadows applaud its growing momentum and awkward passage. The rocks add burden while generously avoiding breaking: think of a long, inflexible, rough rope - and pull. It hangs in the center like a dark arm and a scream, blocking the view, tilting the water, and I lean upward to answer that weary moan of poison. I try to take two huge steps back and forth, and extend my elbows in front of the creature to avoid it: what a beautiful awakening I am. Angelo 'NGE' Colella Angelo 'NGE' Colella lives in Italy, where he writes poetry and prose in Italian and English, makes analog collages, asemic writings and DADA objects. ** Perspective cavernous limestone I feel insignificant among the massive Elaine Sorrentino Elaine Sorrentino, communications director by day, poet by night, has been published in Minerva Rising, Willawaw Journal, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Ekphrastic Review, Writing in a Women’s Voice, Global Poemic, ONE ART: a journal of poetry, Agape Review, Haiku Universe, Sparks of Calliope, Muddy River Poetry Review, Panoply, Etched Onyx Magazine, and at wildamorris.blogspot.com. She was featured on a poetry podcast at Onyx Publications. ** Reflections on the Grotto of Loue, My Home away from home. Whatever I give it, ripples back to me in echoes. These pink-grey limestone rocks overhead are the roof over my days. I cannot but hug the darkness, within, its chiaroscuro-depths, its everyday-familiarity. The soft chant of the white waters, without, are the whispers of hope and clarity. Standing on the banks of movement, this brown glassy calm is what I observe, when I try to read the waters of life at the margins. It is here that I fish not just for food and survival. It is here that I fish for the meaning of that survival with the sharp spear of stillness. Preeth Ganapathy Preeth Ganapathy is a software engineer turned civil servant from Bengaluru, India. Her works have been published in several magazines such as The Ekphrastic Review, Soul-Lit, The Sunlight Press, Atlas+Alice, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Mothers Always Write, Tiger Moth Review and elsewhere. Her microchaps A Single Moment and Purple have been published by Origami Poems Project. She is also a two-time winner of Wilda Morris's Poetry Challenge. ** La Grotte de la Loue, 1864, Gustave Courbet The artist with his pallet of gunmetal and sorrel and his cavern-sized vision of the bateau as it slides among grey-brown boulders, of a white shirt and the position of an arm upward toward whatever light reflects, could he be thinking of entreaty or surrender or simply of painting the Loue, a man in a skiff. The peasant in the river, with his culottes rolled, gripping his pole could he have his attention on more than his skiff, more than the dark grotto ahead, the trout and greyling in the spume where the river is born again and again. The painter with his pallet, and his grey and brown notion, the fisherman with his flat skiff and his empty belly, neither of them have a promise of fish or inspiration, although they both have desire. The painter waits on the bank with his inventions and oils. The fisherman gazes into the gloom toward a stir in the water. Never mind beseeching the cavern for a fish dinner, a finished painting. Never mind praying to the cave. Never mind worshiping the river. Never mind paying homage to the darkness. There are no answered prayers in stones of the Loue. Wendy Taylor Carlisle Wendy Taylor Carlisle is the author of four books and five chapbooks and is the 2020 winner of the Phillip H. McMath Poetry Prize. A chapbook-length selection of her work appears in Wild Muse: Ozarks Nature Poetry, (Cornerpost Press, 2022) and a new edition of her book, Reading Berryman to the Dog, (Belle Point Press. 2023) is out now. Find her work at www.wendytaylorcarlisle.com, ** Fisherman no stars… his blunt spear jabs at the river’s flow a lone fish… today’s rush of brightness swallowed night’s barrier… his yawn of emptiness hollow… the source of his world murmuring dankness… in his ears echoes of lost voices his lament… moss-draped shadows only he can see a ghostly stream… giant limestone rocks trickling hard tears his slight figure… a twisted stalagmite about to break Dorothy Burrows Based in the UK, Dorothy Burrows enjoys writing poems, short plays and flash fiction. Her poems have been published by various journals including The Ekphrastic Review. She is still enthralled by the sight of stalactites and stalagmites. ** Almost too small to notice the fisherman stands at the lip of the cavern’s stony mouth casting his line into the swallowing dark. The river rises from the throat of the abyss to sluice around his ankles cold and blind as the eye of God. Unlike night with its salted stars and moon that wanes and returns regular as a slow pulse, this is no innocent darkness he stands against but one so absolute its creatures live like fallen angels without hope or memory of light Mary McCarthy Mary McCarthy is a retired Registered Nurse who has always been a writer. Her work has appeared in many journals and anthologies, including The Ekphrastic World, edited by Lorette C. Luzajic, The Plague Papers, edited by Robbi Nester, and recent issues of Gyroscope, 3rd Wednesday, Caustic Frolic, the Blue Heron Review, and Verse Virtual. Her collection How to Become Invisible will come out from Kelsay early next year. ** Let Me Show You the grandeur beyond this domed dark grotto, says, Courbet by The Loue. Your vision is the protector and the predator, says, Courbet. Imagine–– the little man at its gate is me stirring and spearing the light of the dark, my fish. Leave the rest to my paints and brushes to enliven the boulders’ might bestowed on us by the maker. Look at the hues of jade and ivory worn by water sculpted by storms. Remember–– the bouncy foam only performs for the rocks wearing lacey skirts and wind stoles. They were there long before we got here. I am simply offering you a peek in the cavern’s womb, the way each day and night do when you and I drift into dreams of the intangible our sun brings to life, nonstop, with its circadian strokes. Varsha Saraiya-Shah Author of VOICES, a poetry chapbook by Finishing Line Press, Varsha’s work appears in journals such as Borderlands, Cha, Convergence, Echoes of the Cordillera, The Ekphrastic Review, Mutabilis Press, Penguin Random House-A Global Anthology, Pippa Ran UK book-Converse: Contemporary English Poetry by Indians, Skylark Publications- UK, Soundings East, UT Press, etc. and has featured on Public Radio and a multi-language/century dance program: “Poetry in Motion.” Poetry lets her practice the art of living. ** Cavern Somewhere, the earth yawned. Cracked a smile a little too deep. A mouth watering for an anticipated meal, it opened slowly, dripping with the slow indulgence of sustained appetite. The hunger grew, whole rooms blossomed with calcite. Stalactite fangs pronged from above, stalagmite cavities shone in the hollow. The maw was a wide swallow in the ground of Earth-face, eyes closed to the sunlight, the inside seeping in unhurried time. Diane Funston Diane Funston lives in Marysville, California, in the Sacramento Valley. Diane has been published in various journals including California Quarterly, Synkronicity, San Diego Poetry Annual, Whirlwind, F(r)iction, Tule Review, and Lake Effect Magazine, among others. She has been the Poet-in-Residence for Yuba-Sutter Arts and Culture for two years and ran a monthly Zoom event called “Poetry Square” featuring poets from all over. Diane has a brand-new chapbook, her first, entitled Over The Falls from Foothills Publishing. ** Natural History Time goes slower in the sea and faster in the mountains. Physics has taken over where poetry left off. Lynn Davidson, “Pearls” Gaze into the mouth of the cave. Beneath that yawning chasm, there is no doubt that time folds. No doubt that time bends deep, waves and curls like an echo, rippling under earth and ancient water. The history of the world is not set in stone, but it can be found there – if you know how to look. Think cartography, in four dimensions. Coordinate, distance, direction, and limestone. A colossus of karst and strata, bone included like salt grains in a Jurassic river, currents deep and crystalized. These horizons run rugged, all pink and blue and gray, overflowing with coral, mollusk and ammonoid, sponge and algae. A tapestry of deposition. Little pearls show the seasoned observer where hunger is formed – little fossils where the world begins to grow teeth. Tide meets pulse, and teaches blood to beat its vital rhythm. Forget Plato and his shadows. Outside of the cave, people cleave themselves from the past headfirst, carving away the years until all that’s left are skeletons. Hollow husks. One can play with them like marionettes, a caricature in historical dress – but the truth remains buried under six feet of earth, dust, and decay. Inside the cave, though, the limestone colossus breathes. Benthic silence thrums with energy. Everything that has ever lived and will ever live swims through the stone – the walls, the bedrock, coming closer and closer to the surface until the distance between your hand and the depths of Hades is weathered down to less than a millimeter of skin. Kimberly Hall Kimberly Hall (she/her) is a queer and neuro-divergent poet and writer. She received her master's degree in behavioral science from the University of Houston-Clear Lake. Her poetry and prose can be found in online publications such as First Flight, Sappho's Torque, and Equinox, as well as in several ekphrastic poetry anthologies and an upcoming anthology from Mutabilis Press. She still gets the idiomatic butterflies whenever anyone mentions these things where she can hear them. ** Crab Eaters Our wandering mind slinks off until your words layer thoughts and feelings beneath our limestone skin: therapy with a palette knife. Today we summon night terrors in a sunbeam---go spearfishing for secrets---watch them scrape and squirm going down the wet- over-dry shadows of your throat. Mariel Herbert Mariel Herbert likes to write short ekphrastic poems, including haiku and senryu. Her most recent two were published in Failed Haiku. She can sometimes be found walking near the Pacific Ocean or online at marielherbert.wordpress.com.
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