Michael Stalcup
This poem was originally published in ar-che-type. Michael Stalcup is a Thai American poet living in Bangkok, Thailand. His poetry has been published in several magazines, including Firewords Magazine, First Things, The Moth, Sojourners Magazine. He co-teaches Spirit & Scribe, a workshop integrating spiritual formation and writing craft. You can read more of his poetry at michaelstalcup.com. Emily Knowles is an emerging fine artist and writer from Maine. Her paintings and poems are often inspired by the ocean’s energy, trees and flowers, animals and kind humans, and anything spiritual. Almost every day of the year, Emily retreats to her studio with her eighty-pound dog, Brad Pitt, who sleeps with his tongue hanging out of his mouth in a bed too small for his large size. Emily cherishes her mornings when she can sit in silence and her evenings when she sits in conversation. Her work is currently being shown at Wintergreen Arts Center in Presque Isle, Maine, and it has been published in The Washington Post, Archetype, Beyond Words Literary Magazine, and others. You can follow her on Instagram @emilyknowles_artist, and you can find her work at www.emilyknowles-artist.com.
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Breughel's Hunters (During the Pandemic) The hunters come. Come slowly, hunched, through the last copse of black tree-trunks, from cold, suspended being, black their hoods, black their leggings, black their dogs, too fagged to yap, their snouts down. They are on the outskirts of town. They trudge along, with hanging bags of shot and only one fox carcass. They shoulder the spears that they used as poles. The snow is less deep here. They are focused, tired and cold. They have been away a while. They still have a long ways to go. They still have a long ways to go. They lean into each step. They pause to catch their breath. On a branch, a jaunty crow braves a silhouette. They don’t care anymore. Ahead, a magpie soars. Can’t catch me, losers. The hunters don’t notice this, or that their patron saint, on the Inn’s sign, dangles by one link. Nearby, peasants singe the bristles off a pig, but don’t say “You’re cold. Come join our lively fire.” There is no hand-warming scene. Impatience loosens the hunters’ tight group. They still have a long ways to go. They still have a long ways to go, and that is why, deep in the wood, they stopped in the icy air, nodded, a common sign to turn around, head back. They had been away long enough, the hunt discouraging, the dogs ill-tempered. They barked when they shouldn’t, whimpered when scolded. The hunters look down on the brick town, home. The steeple rises above snow-rounded roofs. A man bears a load across a bridge. Their places are against the far crags. They still have a long ways to go. They still have a long ways to go. The fox-flesh will break up the dull meals of porridge and potatoes. Far below, on the frozen ponds, folks slide and skate. Parents laugh at a baby on his bum. Kids link hands in happy chains. More join the fun. Someone falls down. Such carryings-on. It is all as they will remember it at home, as they dump the fox in the cold-hatch, work off boots, shoo dogs from the fire, and slump into the short nap they look forward to. They still have a long ways to go. Steve Noyes Steve Noyes is a Canadian writer living in Sheffield, UK. His most recent poetry collections are Rainbow Stage-Manchuria (Oolichan Books, 2011) and small data (Frog Hollow Press, 2014.) A recent poem appeared on the online magazine The the. More info on Steve's writing is at www.stevenoyes.com. The View From Heaven self portrait as Christ of St. John of the Cross, by Salvador Dali My fingers flex and caw like a raven’s bones. Without flight, my own shadow keeps me company as John, Matthew, Luke, and Mark take our old boat out on the lake. I’m yellow against brown wood, they’re cloud puffs, blue sky. Mountains of nights with friends, luscious green, rowing the boat to shore. Hallelujah. If only I could walk on water again. If only John could see me now, it’d be like that day he teased: You’ll never make it back to the boat. You’ll be stuck out there forever. If only he knew that red wine, my swaggering sea-strides, our hearty laughs were personal miracles just for us friends. If only they all knew this is what we’d sacrifice. These days, I feel like the peasant children I used to preach about on the mount, the ones from the cursed valley around Old Jerusalem where wicked souls sacrificed their children into the dark. It was called Gehenna, I told them, the worst separation from those we love at the hand of a parent—Gehenna, the same root word as hell, like my new view. Rebecca O'Bern Rebecca O'Bern is associate poetry editor of Mud Season Review. Her poems appear in Storm Cellar, Black Coffee Review, Ample Remains, Connecticut Review, and other journals. A recipient of the Leslie Leeds Poetry Prize, she's also received honours from UCONN, Connecticut Poetry Society, and Arts Café Mystic. She tweets @rebeccaobern. Hello! First things first: I should like to extend my gratitude to you, Lorette, and The Ekphrastic Review for providing me with an opportunity to take part in an interview. I promise you, for me, it’s a source of a tremendous contentment at the conscious, cognitive, philosophical, artistic, and poetic levels to be a part of this one-of-a-kind Review, and to find myself in the company of such fantastically-ingenious poets, writers, and story tellers at TER. In fact, I am confident that I also speak on behalf of many members at and contributors to the Review, when I utter the following statement: without any exaggerations, TER is, indeed, an exemplar in the Global Literary Arena of the Online/In-Print Journals, which is sincerely dedicated to endowing a Voice to all manner of national and international poets, writers, and storytellers (known and unknown alike) from all walks of life. Therefore, my sincerest congratulations to You and TER Team. It’s Fantastic to be here—that is: to have discovered and have been discovered by TER. The Ekphrastic Review in Conversation with Saad Ali, on Owl of Pines: Sunyata Lorette: The ekphrastic element is present in much of your poetry, in this collection and your previous ones, too. What is it that attracts you to writing inspired by visual art? Saad: We are all very well familiar with the English proverb: "a picture is worth a thousand words." Well, my response to the said aphorism is: a word is worth a thousand pictures and more! Now, when a thousand pictures (images) and a thousand words (letters) amalgamate / reconcile, the story (of the human enterprise) becomes extraordinarily enticing/exciting/intriguing, don't they? To me, (visual) art in conjunction with/supplemented by ekphrasis is the door to: 1) the world of interpretations and inferences and intrinsic-ness of the human condition i.e. beyond merely descriptions and definitions and recordings of the natural/historical/scientific facts, 2) the world of storytelling, where the images and alphabet are truly free to consummate in any fashion they prefer, and 3) the world of amalgamations i.e. where the artists (painter and poet) allow their worldviews to collide and re/incarnate as aNew. It’s an awfully addictive enterprise, this ekphrastic writing (poetry) is, I tell you. And I think, you yourself can relate to this notion in a better manner than many—being an artist and a poetess—right? By the way, how generous are the Muses to you, Lorette: you get to enjoy the best of both worlds i.e. The World of Art and The World of Poetry. Admittedly, I am a little envious, but mind you, not ‘jealous.’ I think, I have uttered the last statement previously, as well—in one of my prose poems titled "Letter to Lorette" which is inspired by your artwork titled Black and Blue Haiku 7, 8, 12 (2018). Lorette: Were you always interested in art history? Saad: Since my early teenage days, I have been interested in the subjects/disciplines of anthropology and history, yes—i.e. symbolism, language, culture, architecture, literature, and poetry—which, subsequently, led me to the rich terrain named art. I remember, I had become particularly interested in the Western/European modern art on having visited The British Museum and The National Gallery in 2002 C.E. in London, UK. By then, I had been already living in the UK for two odd years. Since then, I have been particularly inspired by the Surrealism Movement after becoming introduced to Salvador Dali. Well, not in person, but rather through his paintings and artworks, of course. Well, it would have been such a pleasure and honour meeting him in person, though. Alas! Surrealism, in particular, appealed to my artistic and intellectual side, and continues to, due to the movement’s/artists’ fascination with the human mind and its sub-classifications (id, ego, and superego). Here, I shall spare us a/ny lengthy/short discourse on the influences of the philosophies/ideas of the likes of Nietzsche, Freud, and Jung on the Thought and Momentum of the respective movement. And I wish, I could paint, too, or draw/sketch, at least. I think, I have also made a reference to my initial days of getting introduced to art in one of my rather long poems titled "Self-Portrait," which is inspired by your artwork titled The Best is Yet to Come (2019). The other genres of art that I am thoroughly intrigued by include: abstract art, expressionism, symbolism, and dadaism. I think, my interest and engagement with the (visual) art is also psychological, to be honest. I mean, it’s because of this very matter-of-fact that I cannot paint, draw, or sketch that the desire to be(come) a painter remains repressed in the unconscious; and it’s only through my conscious engagement with the art and artists that a part of the said desire is ever satisfied. So, here’s an instance of the self-psychoanalysis, for you, as well. In the recent years, I have also become interested in the contemporary street art, you know. But I haven’t had a chance to explore it properly—neither nationally nor internationally—as yet. To my mind, it’s one of the most organic forms of the human expression, Street Art is. I mean, a modern cave-wo/man with modern tools; drawing, sketching, and paintings in the modern concrete-jungles: on the modern concrete-walls and in the modern concrete-streets, you know. How fantastic, how very fantastical! Banksy, Bambi, Lady AIKO and the likes come to the mind, for now, when I think of this particular kind of art. And then, there is this mixed media art genre that you practice and preach. And I have to confess that I wasn’t at all familiar with this genre of art, you know, until I had discovered The Ekphrastic Review. In fact, even on finding TER, I wasn’t aware that TER Project was being run by an artist—the cherry on the top: a poetess. And what a fantastic news it was! Lorette: You immerse yourself in western art history as well as South Asian art. I see this duality in your approach to literature, too, borrowing a great deal from the western canon while constantly sharing treasures of literature and spirituality from the words of your own culture. Can you tell us how you reconcile any differences or contradictions in worldview of the arts of South Asia and Europe or America? Are the works of art and literature or philosophy and faith at odds with each other, or are they actually complementary? Saad: Pease allow me to divide my answer into three parts for this fantastic question: 1) Ideological Underpinning, 2) Art, Poetry & Philosophy, and 3) The Subjective Realm. Ideological Underpinning I think, the base, structure, and superstructure in the West are grounded in Materialism; whereas, in the East, the base, structure, and superstructure are grounded in Idealism. By Western Materialism, I mean the scientific empiricism; by Eastern Idealism, I mean the spiritual, the mystical elements of the ideological enterprise. The Western ontology and epistemology is predominantly founded in the physical (matter/atom); whereas, the Eastern ontology and epistemology is predominantly founded in the metaphysical (thought/energy). One needs only to observe and experience the mannerisms of art, poetry, literature, architecture, medicine, engineering, attire, and food in the respective cultures/societies to witness the infiltration of the said ideologies in almost all walks of life. Now, based on my rather substantial subjective exposures to and experiences of both cultures/societies, the two philosophical/cultural paradigms are still at odds with each. To my mind (consciousness and intellect), above all: the reconciliation needs to transpire between the Western Materialism and Eastern Idealism i.e. the reconciliation between ‘wo/man for her/himself (individualism) of the West and ‘wo/men for themselves’ (collectivism) of the East needs to transpire, in fact. In simple words: the excessive rationalism of the West and the excessive emotionalism of the East needs to be reconciled into a meta-Paradigm. I think, the current Era of Digitalism will play a vital role in such a reconciliation (synthesis) of ideologies. Art, Poetry & Philosophy Nevertheless, I opine that the (contemporary) Western art, poetry, and philosophy is still Truer/Sincerer to the condition(s) and experience(s) of the Human Enterprise as compared to the Eastern mannerisms of art, poetry, and philosophy. I mean, the West is that Artist, Poet & Philosopher, who is sensitive yet ruthless, to keep it simple. On the contrary, the East is that Artist, Poet & Philosopher, who is still incarcerated by conservatism/traditionalism, I am afraid. That is: the Western individual is liberated; the Eastern individual is constrained at the hands of suppression, at the hands of repression of thought. Which is to suggest that the Western artist/poet/philosopher is loud with her/his voice and expressions; whereas, the Eastern artist/poet/philosopher is with the subdued voice and expressions. I mean, I do not foresee the Eastern society producing the likes of Nietzsche, or Michelangelo. I mean, I cannot imagine some thinker (philosopher) proclaiming that ‘God is Dead’ in a conventional/traditional societal setting of the East. Well, what Nietzsche meant by that dictum is a matter best suited to a rather serious philosophical deconstruction and discourse, of course. Or I cannot imagine an artist undertaking as audacious a project as Simoni’s Creazione di Adamo (The Creation of Adam). The primary reason being: pictorical depictions of the God and His Prophets/Messengers (and their Disciples) is strictly forbidden in the Islamic tradition. Yes, I do realize that Islam is but only one of the prominent aspects of the Eastern mindset. Let’s consider another example: one of the prominent iconographies in the West i.e. Jesus on the Cross. Such an iconography is utterly INCONCEIVABLE in the East e.g. especially, in the Islamic tradition—primarily, because such a visual representation of one of the Messengers/Prophets of God is considered utterly disrespectful and heinous; it even qualifies as blasphemy. Here is another instance: Iqbal, inspired by the likes of Milton and his work, Paradise Lost, dared to tread the dangerous path of critical/radical-thinking with his long poem titled "Shikwa" (The Gravamen), but had to immediately issue an apology in the shape of another long poem titled "Jawab-e-Shikwa" (The God’s Retort) due to the socio-political and politico-religious elements of the region. And so on and so forth. However, historically and culturally, I find the Chinese and the Indian Artist, Poet & Philosopher to be relatively courageous compared to her/his other Eastern counterpart. Even then, the elements of ingenuity and creativity are not commonplace, I am afraid—in that the movement-away from the ascribed (given, inherited) myths, folklores, parables, and stories is yet to properly transpire; where, the artists, the poet, and the philosopher is able to create any/some-thing new. In simple words, there’s a dearth of Courage; courage to question and deconstruct the Given. Subsequently, in the recent times, I have observed a cultural-trend, which has been loudly pronouncing its presense in the contemporary Eastern hemisphere for a couple of decades or so; whereby, the artist, poet & philosopher looks (up) to the West for inspirations and aspirations. (The song "Go West" by the Pet Shop Boys is now playing in (the back of) my mind). Well, all of this/that is also a courtesy of the postcolonial syndrome in the South East Asia. But this "postcolonial syndrome" isn’t only true of the said regions, you know; it’s true of Americas, Africas, and Australasia, too—where, the (socio-)psychology of the American-ness, Australian-ness, African-ness, Arabic-ness, Canadian-ness, Chinese-ness, et cetera continues to manifest in the shadow of the Anglo-Franco Cultural-Spirit. And in the South Americas, more in the Hispanic Cultural-Spirit. And so on and so forth. The Subjective Realm At the subjective level, to be honest, I am not an ardent follower of neither the Western Thought (ideals) nor the Eastern Thought (ideals). To me, both philosophical/cultural paradigms are a prey to determinism, in their own peculiar ways. I am even of the opinion that the terminologies of ‘West’ and ‘East’ (with their respective first capital letters) are more a socio-psychological by-products of the colonial enterprise/mindset, really. Anyway, in my poetic and philosophical mannerisms, I am more a subscriber to the ideals of the neo-paradigm in the making i.e. meta-postmodernism, to keep it simple. Well, this is how I would title/name it. I am not sure as to what the other artists, poets, and philosophers are calling this cultural-paradigmatic transition, though. Maybe every artist, poet, and philosopher has her/his own terminology (or terminologies) for it, as well. And that’s the beauty of this contemporary cultural-shift i.e. it’s prowess to facilitate heterogeneity across the board (cultures/societies) as opposed to the obsession (OCD, more like) of the Western materialism and the Eastern idealism with homogeneity, or the universal hegemony via homogeneity. I have always opined that existence/being is more a heterogeneous enterprise than a homogenous one in [Its] essence! And that’s how the poet and the philosopher is reconciled (balanced/merged) in me, too. I strongly opine that especially the artists, poets, and philosophers need to seriously consider opening up to the idea of becoming involved in the cross-cultural collaborative works, too i.e. contributing as conscious actors to the creation and proliferation of the meta-postmodern culture. I have talked about almost all of the above mentioned notions on several occasions in my poetry and poetic discourses, as well e.g. in the poems titled "Ashraf ul Makhluqat," "Language and Thought," "History and Men," "The Caveman," "Coin: Imagery, Language & Spine," and "Time = XYZn," in this compendium. Lorette: You are called a philosopher poet by many, and reference philosophical ideas and thinkers frequently in your work. What does it mean to be a philosopher? Saad: Now, isn’t this the ultimate question--The Quest, more like? To me, to be a philosopher is to be an embodiment of an array of characteristics, such as:
Above all, to be a philosopher entails being a thinking and a feeling being as opposed to being a passive-automata. In one of my most recent poems (vers libre) titled "Being Thinking & Feeling Being," I address the matter (problem) of being a philosopher as follows: being a thinking & a feeling being is being as sensitive as a butterfly’s wings yet being as ruthless as hyena’s jaws! Philosophy is a phenomenon: which is not to be lived sitting on the curule seats inside the walls of the ivory towers; which is not to be experienced being recluse under a tree somewhere! Philosophy is a continuum, where the foreplay and the interplay between the opposite forces and neutral elements is perpetual. In other words, to be a philosopher, isn’t (all) about brewing some ‘big and unintelligible ideas’ in the mill-of-mind, but rather it’s (also) about routine-life e.g. now we are able transmit our thoughts in the form of micro/nano data electronically, such as, in case of this correspondence between you and I via e-mail, which is, beyond a shadow of doubt, a by-product of a philosophy and a philosopher. And so on and so forth. I am grateful to the friends and acquaintances, who refer to me as a "philosopher." I am grateful to all of them for such kindness: I feel honoured; I am humbled. Nonetheless, the desire, on my part, is to come forth/rise as a philosopher, who is: sensitive yet ruthless! For now, I have merely arrived at the riverbank—the immersing in the river and amalgamation with the things-of-river are yet to transpire, I am afraid. However, the predicament—to borrow the words of one of my favourite natural Greek philosophers, Heraclitus—is: 81 Just as the river where I step is not the same, and is, so I am as I am not. If I may explicate: the idea behind making a reference and/or quoting the aphorisms of other artists, poets, and philosophers isn’t merely for the purpose of decorating my own poetic-discourse with fancy words, but rather to consciously engage with others’ ideas/concepts i.e. to establish the validity and relevance of their notions to the contemporary human condition, the culture, and the society. But of course, I hope for the other artists, poets, and philosophers to engage with my (poetic) discourse in the similar spirit of constructive critique. Lorette: Is art a form of philosophy? Saad: In the context of my preceding perspectives regarding ‘what is philosophy’ and ‘what it is to be a philosopher:’ to me, if not philosophy-philosophy—in the strict conventional-sense of the noun/phenomenon—art is a form, at least, of philosophy. In fact, art is a significant form of philosophy. By the way, the vice-verse is true, too i.e. philosophy is/as a form of art. And why not? However, if we continue with such dialectics, I’m afraid, we will be prone to falling a prey to the very ivory tower/arm-chair philosophising of: which came first: the chicken or the egg, or in other words, philosophy or art? The initial conscious act of the so-called cave wo/men was painting the walls of their caves, not creating gods and goddesses, after all! The Founder of the European Academy, Plato, opined that the philosophers and academics should run the affairs of a/ny State. Well, my response to that is: unless you want the State to be all plain and colourless, don’t underestimate the function of the artist! After all, who best to decorate the rooms, walls, floors, doors, and windows of a building than an artist? After all, what is (the value of) a base/structure without any walls, floors, doors, and windows, in the first place? Therefore, Dear Plato, philosophers and academics are but merely the frames, the artists are the interior/exterior decorum of the bases, structures, and superstructures. Well, here is a metaphor for you/I/us/them to contemplate. I think, I have also made a reference to this notion in my poem titled "Plato Is Right" in this collection of poems. Lorette: Your poetry is a very unique style, usually with considerable length and multiple footnotes, as well as changes in font, spacing, and margins. Were you influenced to write this way, and if so, by what or by who? Saad: Thank you for your kind words regarding the uniqueness of my poetic style. I appreciate it. hus far, there are no influences on my poetic etiquette i.e. composition, verse decorum, spacing, et cetera. Yes, that my thought (process) is influenced by a quite a few (Western and Eastern) artists, philosophers, poets, storytellers; but No, the poetic style isn’t influenced by any. However, if there is another poet/ess on the face of this earth, who is currently composing poems in a similar fashion as I, I am definitely not aware of her/his existence, thus far. I would LOVE to find out, or be introduced to her/him, or even meet her/him! I wouldn’t be surprised, if there is one or two or more, by the way. In my case, the poetic mannerism is more a child of an effort to achieve and compliment the ideals of the contemporary cultural paradigm shift, which I refer to as the meta-Postmodernism, which is the Global Cultural Movement that allows for the elements/ideals of the East and West to merge/reconcile, to keep it simple. In other words, my poetic style is more a result of, if I may borrow the English proverb, thinking outside the box, than anything else. If I may: I opine that every artist, poet, and philosopher ought to fashion her/his own artistic voice (style) as even a matter of artistic moral obligation—as a Movement towards consciously contributing to art and its evolution. Lorette: Your poems are often numbered, and contain many footnotes and allusions to literature and to sacred texts, to artists. You include dialogue, quotes by a wide variety of interesting thinkers, and references to family and friends. All of this gives your poetry the feeling of archaeology, or a labyrinth. Each one is a voyage of discovery, a gift to unpack, or a puzzle that only makes sense when all the pieces have come together. It is almost like collage, in words. Tell us about your process. Saad: Thank you for your kind words regarding my poetic mannerism/style, Lorette. I appreciate it a lot—especially, since the appraisal is by an artist-poetess. It means the world to me! The "process" is the same in its characteristics as in case of any poet, I suppose. I mean, there’s a thought or two, or a memory or two, or an experience or two, or an emotion or two, or a notion or two that is lurking behind the curtains of the mind, and you spot it, or it spots you—either accidently or purposefully—and then, you engage with it, or let it engage with you, and both parties let the language and alphabet—with a hint of a literary device or two—play with such a manifestation of a muse or two, as you recline deep into your seat to enjoy the Literary Animation/Feature Film to unfold, you know. A few days ago, I was contemplating this phenomenon of the "poetic process," and ended up composing a few aphorisms on the said subject. Please allow me to share a couple here: 1. Poetry cannot be taught just as a mother’s breast cannot be taught how to make milk for her infant. 2. These [poet, poetry, poems, verses, forms] are the matters best suited for the devices of epiphany, eureka moment. Lorette: You sometimes translate English poets into Urdu. Tell us about this aspect of your work. What appeals to you about it? What do you hope to achieve? Saad: Well, there are several reasons for my involvement with this enterprise of translation and translating the foreign poets—especially, the postmodern and contemporary English language poets. Some of these reasons include the following:
Unfortunately, the culture of translation/translating isn’t a commonplace in the South-East Asia literary scene e.g. in countries such as Pakistan. Thereby, one of my aims and objectives is to encourage such a culture in this region and country—both at the individual level and the universities/colleges level. There is a dearth of translations of the Western literature in this country, I am afraid. I opine that translating/translation is an Art in its own right! I do always encourage my fellow (national and international) poets and writers to consider becoming involved in the translation related activities. By the way, if time and energies and health permit, I do have plans to translate—either individually or in a collaboration with a fellow translator—a few poets & writers of The Ekphrastic Review into the Urdu language and publish this anthology of translations in the near future. Lorette: What does the title Owl Of Pines mean to you? Saad: To me, the title, Owl Of Pines: Sunyata, is: Consciousness, Language, Symbol-ism, Epic, Philosophy, Art, Culture, Paradigm —in its own right! Above all, it’s a homage to: 1) Sunyata, and 2) dichotomous characteristic of existence/nature/life—or howsoever you render the phenomenon of being intelligible (to thy consciousness/cognition). "Sunyata" (Sanskrit for "emptiness") is the void, the space, which allows for the opposites (elements, phenomena, species, things) to not merely interact but integrate to both destroy and create: elements, phenomena, species, things! Without it, there would be no matter, no energy, no sound, no light! Owl Of Pines is that Sunyata to me! And of course—it’s a tribute to the three distinct forms of the literary art i.e. vers libre, prose poem, and ekphrasis; it’s a tribute to all those poets and writers (on the face of earth), who are consciously engaged in the practices/culture of the said art and its forms. And of course, in many ways, it’s even a culmination of my artistic, poetic, and philosophical system of thought. Lorette: Tell us about one or two favourite poems in this book. Share how they came together and why they are meaningful to you. Saad: I think, "A Poem Without Punctuation," and "Snow Leopard and Ibex," will have to be the two of my favourite poems in this compendium. Both prose poems are instances of: 1) an homage, and 2) a confession. Homage to the literary art, in general; to the said art form, more specifically. It’s a confession in that the respective instances are representative of the poet’s (my) utter helplessness before the sheer authority of the literary art, poetry; where, I am literally rendered a slave—not a wage-slave in the capitalist sense of the noun, but rather a tragical/classical Roman-Slave, who is without any freedom/s, even deprived of the sense and/or notion(s) of freedom—since the poetry and poems literally dictate at (free) will, like a Caesar: the anatomy and the nomenclature of the poetic-manifestation i.e. the exordium/the interlude/the epilogue; the selection and the arrangement of letters and words; the shape, the length—I mean, everything! In the "A Poem Without Punctuation," I am more like a rebel, Camus’ rebel: I’ve revolted; I’ve initiated an insurgency against the hegemony of the enterprise of language, alphabet, art, and form; where, I refuse to obey the rules of the game; where, I desire to construct my own meta-Order—like a Spartacus, whose real-name is not known to anyone, who is ever-ready to embrace death in the spirit of metamorphosis (change). (But hold on a second here! My real-name is known. Oh, crisis!) In the "Snow Leopard and Ibex," I am more like a philosopher, an anthropologist, a historian, a naturalist, a humanist, and an evolutionist; whereby, I am acknowledging both natural and human-made conditions and processes that are indispensable to the existence of all i.e. nature, human, and beast in unison; whereby, I am an advocate of the philosophy that the progression of thought/ideas cannot transpire without the material conditions, and that one is not more or less in/dispensable than the other i.e. both thought/ideas and matter are interdependent! Lorette: In just a few words, what would you say your poetry is about? What do you want readers to take with them? Saad: My poetry is a compendium of poetic discourses, which is an embodiment of: 1) contemplations, 2) memories, 3) experiences, and 4) emotions. My poetry also entails the elements of materialism, idealism, romanticism, and utopia. Above all, my poetry is about:
I hope for my poetry to resonate with the readers—that is: the readers are able to relate to the reflections, experiences, memories, feelings, and philosophical notions in some way; that the poems also become, besides being a source of literary pleasure, a source of inspiration for the readers to contemplate existence, practice self-reflectivity, reflect on (the direction of) our society and culture; that the readers are encouraged to adopt art/literary art as a medium of (individual/collective) self-expression. ** Saad Ali Management Consultant, Poet-Philosopher, Translator & Author saad.ali.qureshi@outlook.com www.facebook.com/owlofpines ** Listen to Brian A. Salmons read Saad Ali on TERcets, a podcast of The Ekphrastic Review. ** Read a review by Ejaz Rahim of Saad's previous collection of Prose Poems. ** Read a poem by Saad Ali here. The Empty Galvanized Metal Tub Considers Preceding after Preceding, by Amy Cutler (USA) 2004 https://www.moma.org/collection/works/95751?artist_id=28596&page=1&sov_referrer=artist This is an unnatural state of being. I’m to be for gathering or washing, filled with something – apples or soapy water. Not just hauled alongside, banging against thigh and ankle. Where to? Wherefore? How long the journey? And with no cheery song sung to quicken the hours and task – this proceeding into a blank landscape suggestive of the same substance nearly all the other buckets carry. Substance formed, and with a carrot stuck there and two pieces of coal, or like. Or none. No mouth to speak of. No say. It’s a sad day when a tub feels such, feels superfluous. I long for the warm kitchen or orchard come gathering. To do. ~~~ The Elephant Grows Weary of This Particular Passage after Passage, by Amy Cutler (USA) 2005 https://www.artforum.com/picks/amy-cutler-12924 We look as if we are going somewhere, as if I am taking them somewhere with the necessary accoutrements, and more than. The bundles of dresses and the many bags and the stick. Three flattened by the weight of, just as I totter with the weight of. This burden that peels my hide. That bends my back leg and stunts the growth of my tusks. A camel would understand. And a horse. Though neither ever carried quite as much as I. Beast of burden with no bells and fringe, no bright color of my own. Beast of fleeing. And yet, I am tied to the tops of trees and the trees stand rooted in the ground. And we only get so far. ** The One Birch Tree Pleads for Mercy in Cake Toss after Cake Toss, by Amy Cutler (USA) 2004 https://www.moma.org/collection/works/98691?artist_id=28596&page=1&sov_referrer=artist They lie in wait. Still as statues, that recess game. Hiding behind my fellow birches tall and clean. That cannot up and run but only bend ever so slightly and only the upper half – that tussock of green. So alike we are, I wonder why me. Why me with the house upended, dropped as if from tornado and all the many, many cakes piled at my base. As if offerings, but of anger. Rage. The wedding confection smeared on the groom’s face and the sweet kiss after not as sweet as thought. Have mercy. For the tree that only grew to reach the sunlight, to serve as complement to the blue, blue sky. Kelly R. Samuels Kelly R. Samuels is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. She is the author of two chapbooks: Words Some of Us Rarely Use (Unsolicited) and Zeena/Zenobia Speaks (Finishing Line). Her poems have appeared in Salt Hill, The Carolina Quarterly, The Pinch, RHINO, and The Rupture. She lives in the Upper Midwest. Find her here: https://www.krsamuels.com/ Caprice for the King King Rudolph chortled at my painted jest– his radish rabbit teeth, his pea-green pods for eyelids, his vegetation-muscled chest. I dubbed him Vertummus, the Roman god of metamorphoses and growing things. Curiosities and alchemy drew Rudolph more than statecraft, and the king collected things with odd vitality. Turning up in turnip, artichoke, cabbage, apples, leeks, and spikes of grain, he sees he is grotesque–in part a joke, but too, a novel god. The king’s domain in Europe has grown to growing crops? I know that painters profit when regal egos grow. Barbara Lydecker Crane Barbara Lydecker Crane, a finalist for the 2017 and the 2019 Rattle Poetry Prize, has won awards from the Maria Faust Sonnet Contest, the Helen Schaible Sonnet Contest, and others. She has published three chapbooks: Zero Gravitas (White Violet Press, 2012), Alphabetricks (Daffydowndilly Press, 2013), and BackWords Logic (Local Gems Press, 2017). Her poems have appeared in Ekphrastic Review, First Things, Light, Lighten-Up-Online, Measure, Rattle, Think, Writer’s Almanac, and several anthologies. She is also an artist. The Ekphrastic Writer’s Column Greetings from Door County, Wisconsin! Here’s a question from one reader: Dear E.W., Ekphrastic writing has become a way for me to give shape to ideas that might otherwise escape expression. Imagery doesn’t explain, it doesn’t always clarify, and that’s what I trust about it. You asked "where does ekphrastic writing get me?" Very often, imagery provides me with an opening, a way to explore an idea, an experience; it’s very useful when I need to change direction, change the tone, or introduce another element. Imagery is a prompt. It doesn’t always take me where I expected, it surprises me. So much in life is just incomprehensible, but an image can give doubt and confusion a form, make it almost manageable, or make it something we can live with. Signed, David B. Dear David B., “An image can give doubt and confusion a form” is a brilliant argument for why writers of any type should turn to the visual arts especially when they’re experiencing a block in their writing. I met a woman today at a quaint Fish Creek inn who lamented, “I want to share my wedding album with my grandchildren, but besides us, they won’t know anyone in the pictures, which would bore them to tears.” The concept of unfamiliarity giving rise to boredom stupefied me. Ekphrastic writers know that any image can present an opportunity for memory as well as magic. Let the eyes lead you to the questions you have but have not yet uttered aloud. Let the eyes lead you to the answers without questions. Look deeply and let that single act of looking be the guide that opens the door. Where does ekphrastic writing get me? In 2019 the organization Write On, Door County launched the nation’s first writer-in-residence program especially for ekphrastic writers. The Dick Scuglik Memorial Residency and Scholarship “is given to a writer with demonstrated skill and interest in ekphrastic writing—writing inspired by visual arts.” Each year beginning in 2020, one ekphrastic writer is gifted with a gratis stay in Fish Creek, Wisconsin, as well as a travel stipend. Additionally, the writer is paired with a Door County visual artist, resulting in both a new ekphrastic work and a new piece of visual art. As the winner of the inaugural award, I’m thrilled to see the new ways in which ekphrasis is gaining traction as a creative writing subgenre. While in residence (postponed one year due to COVID-19), I’m working on a new collection of ekphrastic poems, tentatively titled, Andrew Wyeth Notebook, but I’m most excited by my upcoming artist talk. Rarely do I get the opportunity to exchange words and images with another artist and discuss, before an audience, the creative process. It was an alien exercise, composing words while being cognizant that my choices should be tracked (annotated) in the service of presenting my painstaking writing process to others. Will it surprise my audience to see how 10,000 words ultimately morphed into two poems of 400 words each? Perhaps as much as it astounds me that everything begins with a blank matrix. What is your creative process? Is it different when you’re writing ekphrastically? What might you present in an artist talk regarding how the words came to you and how you abided them? I challenge you to organize your own art exchange. Which living artists do you know and admire? Would that artist accept a piece of writing from you as a path to their own blank canvas? Each artist is a door. Find one open. Join the conversation by sending your letters to E.W. at ekphrasticwriter(at)gmail.com. Signed, E.W. Post Script—Biographical Note: E.W. (Janée J. Baugher) is the author of The Ekphrastic Writer: Creating Art-Influence Poetry, Fiction and Nonfiction, as well as the poetry collections, The Body’s Physics and Coördinates of Yes. Recent work has appeared in Saturday Evening Post, Tin House, The Southern Review, The American Journal of Poetry, and Nimrod. Her writing has been adapted for the stage and set to music at venues such as University of Cincinnati, Interlochen Center for the Arts, Dance Now! Ensemble in Florida, University of North Carolina-Pembroke, and Otterbein University, and she’s performed at the Library of Congress. Currently, she teaches in Seattle and is an assistant editor at Boulevard magazine. www.JaneeBaugher.com. Follow her on Instagram: @ekphrastic_writer. She Wears a Pearl Earring She wears a pearl earring, looks somewhat shy. Chest heaves desire. Hmm! Count impossible_ He paints, she sits, her gray-blue, brown eyes pry. If years pass, beauty emulates the sky: star specked face; would she last, be visible? She wears a pearl earring, looks somewhat shy. A heart-shaped hope hurt through default knows why do moon shades dark, downcast, invisible? He paints, she sits, her gray-blue, brown eyes pry. This rags to riches tale, sure, one can try A girl with turbaned dreams, Hmm! Possible She wears a pearl earring, looks somewhat shy. His hands are studio-styled, wet paints dry Hmm! Colors blend, make art incredible. He paints, she sits, her gray-blue, brown eyes pry. Bright gritty gems she wants, can fate comply Grand sale, last act, are cheap deals credible_ She wears a pearl earring, looks somewhat shy. Trinkets she bought pierce earlobes, sage eyes scry. Dr. Rubeena Anjum Dr. Rubeena Anjum is a psychologist and an educator. Now retired, she lives in Texas. She is a member of the Dallas Poets Community and enjoys reading and writing poems. Return of the Prodigal Son I kneel into wings of crimson feel heaviness of open hands on my shoulders, hear heartbeat weakened by loss. My sandal slips to dust, on my calloused sole yellow warmth of fire. Though I know patient anger waits in glazed shadows, I embrace new gold, his closed eyes, his loving hold. Lorcan Byrne Lorcan Byrne is a short story writer and poet. He graduated from University College Dublin in 2016 with an MA in Creative Writing. He has won the Irish News International Short Story award and been shortlisted for several other awards, including RTE’s Francis MacManus Short Story Competition in 2017. His story ‘Delivery’ was included in the Phoenix Anthology of Irish Short Stories 2003. More recently, his poem ‘The Watch’ was longlisted in the United Kingdom’s Poetry Society Artlyst 2020 competition. He lives in Bray, Co. Wicklow, Ireland where the sea is always cold. Freedom Once Herbert had dreamed of being an artist. Instead he collected books and magazines in plastic bin-liners during the greater part of fifty years. When he knew he was dying, he showered only on Sundays. In his small flat, taken over by old newspapers, mice gnawed small tunnels through politics, culture, and false alarms. One Sunday morning, Herbert woke, a happy man. He grinned while he shredded newspapers, magazines and journals, mixed them with water and paste and sculpted himself as an exultant, bright figure, arms outstretched, poised for dance or flight. Rose Mary Boehm Read another poem by Rose Mary in The Ekphrastic Review, here. Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was twice nominated for a Pushcart. Her fourth poetry collection, THE RAIN GIRL, was published by Chaffinch Press in 2020. Want to find out more? https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/ |
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