You Will Remember Me Word Galaxy, an imprint of Able Muse Press, 2023 https://www.ablemusepress.com/books/barbara-lydecker-crane-you-will-remember-me-ekphrastic-poems The Ekphrastic Review: Tell us how you discovered ekphrasis, or came to be interested in writing ekphrastic literature. Barbara Lydecker Crane: In 2005 I began taking a series of classes in poetry writing from Cambridge poet and artist Tom Daley; I learned so much from him. He introduced me to many traditional forms—sonnet, villanelle, pantoum, sestina, ghazal, ballad, etc.—as well as to ekphrastic and persona poems. My new book’s poems are ekphrastic and persona, as each is written in the imagined voice of a particular artist, and each references a particular portrait painting by that artist. Writing from others’ viewpoints felt very freeing; I was writing on their behalf more than mine. Sometimes I was quite critical in my portrayal (such as with Gauguin and Dali) but usually I tried to portray each artist empathically, often alluding to both their strength and weakness, or their confidence and fear. Also, ekphrasis interests me because I was a Fine Arts major in college and a professional artist for many years—first in graphic design, then in designing and making “art quilts” (for wall display). These quilts were predominately landscapes, so it was a refreshing change to create all this people-centered work. I still love making art, but I find words are a great material: unlike fabric, they are free, they don’t fade, and they are infinitely changeable. One needn’t unstitch to edit! And published poems remain in my hands—unlike sold artworks. The Ekphrastic Review: What is your process like? How do you find your way into a painting? Barbara Lydecker Crane: For this collection, I kept looking at paintings—in books, on the web, in museums—and some made me want to research, delve deeper, and try to imagine why the artist painted that subject in that way. If I felt that I was saying what he or she might choose to say, then it seemed I had found my way into that artist’s mind. Or at least I hope I did. I am so happy that Able Muse Press is including colour illustrations. Many of the paintings are public domain - free use; for some I obtained permission from the artists themselves; for others the process became too expensive or labyrinthine. Most of the poems do have accompanying art. The missing ones can be found on the web, with directions for that in the Notes at the back of the book. The Ekphrastic Review: Tell us about your interest in portraits in art. How did you decide to write about this theme? Barbara Lydecker Crane: By chance, I found a copy of Janson (the iconic art history textbook) at a library booksale. The picture of the mosaic at Hagia Sofia intrigued me: what must it have been like creating it, setting in thousands of tiles to create this glittering, towering, mystical image? Around the time I wrote that sonnet (which is not in this book), the pandemic began. I huddled with my computer, my books, and my notebooks, and wrote about 100 poems in the next few years, all ekphrastic persona poems relating to portrait paintings. This book contains 65 of them. Now that I think about it, I think writing about all these artists gave me a great raft of imaginary company during Covid isolation. And these artists certainly gave me perspective. The Ekphrastic Review: Your collection is all sonnets. Do you always write in that form? Do you find the constraint of form limiting or liberating? Barbara Lydecker Crane: Good questions. No, I don’t always write sonnets, though I’ve written more of them than any other form. I find it’s both limiting and liberating to write in form. Of course a sonnet limits you to about 140 syllables, so you have to make every one count! But making it short and sweet can somehow be liberating, too. And there’s always the chance that a rhyme word search leads into an unexpected but welcome direction. When a formal poem ends just right, it seems “like a box that clicks shut.” X.J. Kennedy said that. It’s an elusive and very satisfying sensation, and one I only seem to find in a formal poem, when I get lucky. The Ekphrastic Review: What were some especially delicious discoveries you made about paintings, portrait subjects, or artists during the research and writing for this collection? Barbara Lydecker Crane: So many! Caravaggio’s using a dead prostitute as his model for the Virgin Mary…Dali’s outrage at his parents’ fixation on their deceased firstborn, also named Salvadore…Warhol’s sly joke about his deceased mother…Artemisia Gentileschi’s rape and subsequent trial…the story of Lavinia Fontana’s arranged marriage turning out happily…Rembrandt’s bankruptcy…the rivalry between Rafael and Michelangelo…I could go on and on. There were so many fascinating discoveries. The Ekphrastic Review: In an era where we are absolutely saturated with images, is visual art still important? Why or why not? Oh my yes, just as important as music or dance or any art form. Visual art is a form of expression and communication, with no translation ever needed. Since the rise of photography, portrait painting has definitely declined. But what a fascinating record it is—historically, psychologically, and artistically. The Ekphrastic Review: Which poem or painting in this collection did you find most challenging, and why? Barbara Lydecker Crane: I’d say it was the portraits by the living artists, especially Julie Dowling and Amy Sherald, because I didn’t want my words to say something that might offend them in any way, but to still “speak” with conviction in critical ways. Fortunately the two have interviews on the Internet, elucidating their life stories and their views. And I sent each of them “their” poem in permission requests for their art images, so that each could see what I was trying to say as if I were her. Also very challenging was Lucien Freud. He seems to have been a conflicted and troubled man, and yet pretty arrogant. That was a hard mix to try to convey. Of course there were many that I researched but never wrote about—those where I couldn’t find the drama of an artist’s life, or the drama of a portrait, that would invite me (and readers) in. The Ekphrastic Review: Tell us about a few favourite poems in the collection, perhaps something about how the pieces came together, and what they mean to you. Barbara Lydecker Crane: I'd cite the female artists here who persevered against great odds, including discrimination, disability, poverty, and war—including Cassatt, Laserstein, Kahlo, Pajakowna, and Serebriakova. Their works are inspirations, and their lives show me just how fortunate I am, in so many ways. The Gainsborough poem about Mr. and Mrs. Andrews is another favourite, with my double-entendre at the end. In fact no one knows why this work was left undone (Mrs. Andrews’ lap is unpainted). But research told me that Gainsborough held a grudge against this couple, and it’s clear that Mr. Andrews was a hunter. Likely Mr. and Mrs. Andrews asked for something genteel to be painted in her lap, such as flowers or a book. I hypothesize that Gainsborough suggested—then insisted on—a fresh-killed bird, or (ahem) a ‘dead cock.’ I don’t often have a bawdy sense of humour, but I discovered that Gainsborough did! The poem called "Boterismo" was fun to write, and I can empathize with the poet that Botero paints: I’m imagining this painted poet, like me, must await the right words to complete his poem. Right words do fall, like sweet fruit—in time.
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Conspiracy Theories Did a giant child drop a toy, red hoop and stick, frozen forever, spinning yet also standing still? Shards of vermilion shrapnel fixed in air, a wild gyroscope. Into an angry sky, strange banners lift muffled alarums, a million alien warriors landing their spaceships. But surely not? Just some welded metal in concrete, you say. Are you sure? A space invasion could never happen, right? Fake news, clearly. Or is it a warning? Vince Gotera Vince Gotera was Editor of the North American Review and Star*Line (Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association). Poetry collections: Dragonfly, Ghost Wars, Fighting Kite, and The Coolest Month. Recent poems: Crab Orchard Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Philippines Graphic, Rosebud, Multiverse, and Hay(na)ku 15. Blog: The Man with the Blue Guitar (http://vincegotera.blogspot.com).
Mary Ann Crowe Mary Ann Crowe moved to Santa Fe (Holy Faith-O'gha Po'oge/White Shell Water Place), New Mexico to recuperate from debilitating illness. Poems appear or are forthcoming in After Hours Journal (2023 Mary Blinn Prize finalist), Flying South, Stories That Need To Be Told 2022, Sin Fronteras, Miriam's Well. "War Child Lament 2020" was a poetry prize winner for the Pasatiempo 2020 Writing Contest, reprinted in Writing In A Woman's Voice, 2/28/23. As a visual artist-activist-writer, her essays, art installations and public art projects have addressed gender, the environment, war, and gun violence. Barnard College graduate born in Munich, Santa Fe is her 30th move between Germany, New York, Chicago, and Puerto Rico. Of Course She must be the mother, that woman who sits beside the cradle-- her infant in innocent slumber, her elbow resting on the rim among the folds of thin gauze that shroud it. Chin on her hand, she studies the child her gaze steadfast, the way Eve bewildered, must have beheld Cain, then Abel. What wonder! What future to consider. The mother’s expression is enigmatic, impenetrable. Is it hope? Concern? Is she already anointed with the oil of doubt? Isn’t this the unease of every mother? Didn’t Mary, with her eternally tranquil face and divine fore-knowledge agonize over the infant Christ? And the mothers of the two thieves on their separate crosses? Bonnie Wehle Bonnie Wehle is a docent at the University of Arizona Poetry Center and facilitates a monthly discussion (via Zoom since 2020) on the work of selected poets or poetic topics. Her chapbook, A Certain Ache: Poems in Women’s Voices, was released in 2022 by Finishing Line Press. Her work has been published in Coal Hill Review, River Heron Review, Sky Islands Journal, and elsewhere. She lives in Tucson with her dog, Tillie. Urban Altarpiece Harbors teem in daylight. Tugs guide ships to berths. Longshoremen heave and grunt as they load and unload cargo. Fog horn whistles resound for miles. Stella ignores the bustle. A night sky looms over tanks, piers, ocean. Weary stevedores Fall asleep on subways home Wharf rats claim the port Taxi cabs swerve and honk down Broadway. Tourists stumble or skip along crowded sidewalks. Trains rumble underground. Theatre marquees shout silently. Neon bounces off rain slick streets. Backstage angels pray Nervous directors fidget Actors peruse scripts Modern buildings tower over brownstones. Industry breathes energy into city air. New York floats above Manhattan Island like a giant ocean-going vessel cutting through waves, conquering land and sea. Does the center panel pay homage or hurl blasphemy to the cross of Christ? As speculators applaud Wall Street’s rampant greed Girls toil in sweatshops New York vibrates, celebrates, dominates. Midtown north, midtown south, the Big Apple pulses with sound. Streetcars clang, vendors hawk hot dogs, newsboys holler “Extra,” bands boom Sousa marches, pipe organs blast and whisper fugues and sonatas. News hot off the press Nineteenth amendment passes Women gain the vote The bridge sweeps over the East River, cambered span soars high above barges, scows and merchant ships. Borough to Borough. Manhattanites promenade on Coney Island, Brooklynites picnic in Central Park. No need for ferries. John Roebling’s brainchild Towers, girders, steel cables Strung across the sky Anne Waters Green Anne Waters Green is a retired attorney and administrative judge. She recently returned to coastal Georgia after years in western North Carolina. Her work has appeared in Ruminate, Kakalak, Salvation South, Delta Poetry Review and other journals and anthologies. Kelsey Books published her chapbook, Minute Men and Women, in 2021. Hillside Reverie and Nocturne No.2 Mid-day sun shone down generously upon the hill in view. Though it wasn’t spectacular in height, it was, however, immensely green and immaculately mown. There were two trees which sprouted from the hill, one on the incline itself and another standing, rather contentedly, upon the top. Both eschewed comfortable looking shadows upon the grass. Their branches and leaves lead a heterogeneous shade, the area beneath them darkened but puddled with sunlight. The distinct notes of Nocturne No.2 reverberated, and the trees swayed to the rhythm of the strings. Upon the crest of the hill two women walked along, their dark hair taken by the force of the wind which increased in intensity along with the keys of the piano. Their walk began to entertain a noticeable lean, as if—unbeknownst to them—they were being lowered head first towards the ground. Not only did their procession take on this alteration, but the trees did as well. In fact, the entire vista seemed to embody this increasing rotation which was not entirely sickening nor entirely the opposite. Much like the sound of Nocturne No.2, it was caught in a state of equipoise, teetering somewhere between beauty and destitution. The subliminal tilt continued to crescendo along with the No.2 until a nauseating vertigo was induced, and the trill of the piano keys became haunting as opposed to delicate—an arpeggiated horror. The spectacle seems at its apex, yet finds further ways to warp, locked in a desperate fight against forces which desire to revert it to its static nature. With the conclusion of Nocturne No.2, the hillside submits to rigidity, ceasing its geometrical rebellion. The women cross the hill to the other side, out of view. Cole Martin Cole Martin is a twenty-something writer from Atlantic Canada. He has words in healthline zine, Fahmidan Journal, Rejection Letters, and Bulb Culture Collective. He can be found on twitter @maritimemagnate, and on Substack (asilaytrying.substack.com) |
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