Looking Back on a Colorful Year. Back in (Catholic) high school, once a year, each class would walk across the street to our church’s convent for a retreat with the nuns. We did lots of things at those retreats, but there are two I remember most clearly, probably because we did them with the same nuns every year. First, one teeny nun who must have been well into her 90s and looked like a sweet, dried apple, would hardly talk to us. She’d have us all sit down, turn off the lights, and play one episode of “Degrassi High” for us. Then she’d sit a bit apart from us, silent and, I’m sure, praying we behaved. (We always behaved.)The other thing we did yearly resonates with me still. The nun would sit and calmly talk to us for a while. Then she would lead us into an empty room with mats on the floor. We would lie down on the mats and the nun would lead us through a meditation. Every year, it was the same. First, slow your breath to nice, deep inhales and slow, controlled exhales. Next, concentrate on relaxing each little bit of your body. First, take a few breaths to concentrate on relaxing just your toes. Next, take a few breaths to relax just your ankles, then your calves, your knees, and on up, focusing on slowly relaxing every muscle. When you’re relaxed from toes to fingertips to face, imagine yourself floating in a bubble above the earth. Now, you get to do nice things for people by covering them in colors. First, you get red, for love. You can direct those red love thoughts at anyone you want. Then blue, for peace. Anyone who needs peace, cover them in blue thoughts. Purple is for change and new beginnings; green is for friendship; yellow for joy. Orange for strength. Fly around in your bubble covering people in color, whatever colors you want, whatever colors they need. Your colors can mean different things. It’s the most wonderful thing, being able to fully relax and then go around giving people the gifts they need. It is a gift.
Writing this retrospective blog is kind of like that: we editors get to look back at all of the wonderful artists we’ve published and choose a few to mention. Thanks and colorful thoughts to all of our contributors. And special rainbows to the following contributors, who stood out to my team and me as being truly extraordinary.
Erin Elizabeth Smith is just amazing. I love her candor and sense of humor. Her interview is charming and forthcoming – and also surprising and impressive. And her poetry is just stunning. Hers is my favorite kind of poetry: the kind that gets better each time you read it. The imagery, true to Alice in Wonderland, is vivid; the turns are unexpected and poignant and stacked; the journey is the journey.
Miguel Murphy’s poetry gripped me like a rollercoaster, and I can still hear the tracks. Mr. Murphy conveys the feeling of an experience in his poems, and the feelings are powerful as the current in a swift river.
Gianmarc Manzione is a brilliant thinker and writer with a deft hand. His poems give me chills over and over – and he is as charming as he is talented. If you love charm and brilliance, you’ll love Gianmarc’s poetry and interview. This one is not to be missed and has stayed with me since we published his work.
Yun Wang’s translations of Su Dong-Po’s poetry sang to me. These are beautiful, timeless pieces. Plus, Yun is an internationally renowned specialist in dark energy. But the poems! The poems are stunning work. They still me inside, humble me. These poems reveal the timelessness of being human in a way I rarely realize.
J. Phillip Reed knocked us off our feet. He is a brilliant poet, and – remarkably – still a student! He’s is a master of language, and I can’t wait to see where this young man’s career heads. His poetry is an orchestra of words, metaphors, and meanings, repetitions of words and sounds, onomatopoetic rhythms, gentle slams, thought-provoking everything. And his interview is another window into his brilliance and charm.
Julie Brooks Barbour’s work made do-not-miss status. Associate Editor Doug Van Gundy wrote that her poems peel back the veneer of sentimentality which often obscures our memories of childhood to reveal the everyday danger that is so much a part of being alive, particularly as a child. Reading them, I found myself smiling, nodding and wincing in equal measure. I am particularly glad to have these three poems together in the magazine, as together they form a sort of cautionary triptych.
Marissa Ayala’s poems resonated with us, too. Associate Editor JP Reese wrote of the two poems we published, Each poem is unique in its perspective and voice. Both are concerned with relationships, with the management of grief, the need to make sense of a seemingly senseless world. They are also strong reminders that no matter what happens, it is our nature, and duty, to go on. … As I conjured the images the writer so deftly constructs, I also sensed an underlying theme that is universal: the loneliness of the artist that always lingers just below the surface of a creative life.
Mary Stone Dockery stood out to us as outstanding. Associate Editor Mia Avramut wrote of her work: Unrelenting, the poetry singed, aroused and comforted, so candid and so gritty. I was smitten.
Bernadette Geyer’s stunning craft stayed with us. Associate Editor JP Reese wrote of her work, Bernadette Geyer has a facility for form. A sestina is one of the most difficult poetic forms to pull off, and Geyer's "Corpse Pose" does it brilliantly. … [R]ead the poem and enjoy its quiet intelligence and humanity and then appreciate the almost mathematical quality demanded of the poet by the form. Geyer's second poem "My Life's Purpose" is a paean to unrequited love. The poet's deft use of line breaks and language choices give the poem a gentle voice with depth and purpose. I hope you like these gems as much as I do—enjoy.
Andrei Guruianu’s work struck us. As Associate Editor Mia Avramut wrote, Guruianu’s prose poems are indeed striking. Their tone is that of a modern Trakl, their intensity undeniable. He writes of the unspeakable, and creates puzzles of surreal splendor. He colors the desolation of our days with the nuances of contemplation, melancholy and “ravenous hope.”
Sophie Klahr’s poems are wonderful. Associate Editor Doug Van Gundy wrote that that they strike an uncomfortable balance between desire and danger, suggesting that each contains, and is dependent upon, the other. Her work has a dark, uncomfortable, celebratory music to it, like Tom Waits playing the wedding march.
Richard Foerster’s work stayed with us, too. Of his work, Associate Editor Mia Avramut wrote, Richard Foerster, the Maine award-winning poet, is an alchemist, a contemplator, a voice given to nature when it needs to word loss, crisis, and transformation. His authenticity of expression stuns. His language captures and releases you into rhythms you did not know existed.
There are so many more poets we wish we could mention, but I’ll leave you with just a few more that we suggest you check out: Sandy Longhorn, Matthew Nadelson, Andrew Dillon, Jane Blue, Ana Dragu (translated by Claudia Serea), Rose Hunter, and D. Gilson.
Thank you to everyone who’s been a part of the column – contributors, readers, my team of wonderful editors without whom this column would not be possible: Joani Reese, Mia Avramut, Doug Van Gundy, & Nicelle Davis, and the whole Connotation Press family.
Hugs.