Wednesday, December 11, 2024

Contents of California Quarterly Vol. 50, No. 4 (Winter 2024), eds. Marlene Hitt and Konrad Tademar Wilk

 

California Quarterly 50/4 (Winter 2024), eds. Marlene Hitt and Konrad Tademar Wilk. Cover Art: Petals of Memory. Photo of “Compassion” Rose by Maja Trochimczyk, 2022.


CONTENTS


Polymorphic Tumbled Stuff  —  Gurupreet K. Khalsa 7
The Lighthouse  —  Louise Moises 8
Sometimes at the Edge of Sleep — Deborah Bachels Schmidt 9
In the Season of the Crows,   Deborah Bachels Schmidt 10
bougainvillea cave Gregory Cecil 11
An Archaeology of Ignorance  — Joel Savishinsky 12
A Noiseless Spider (Revisited) — r.g. cantalupo 13
Of Singing Mice  — Deborah Bachels Schmidt 14
Puzzled — Carolyn Jabs 16
The Heat of the San Joaquin  Rosemary Ybarra-Garcia 17
In Dreams  Brian Cronwall 18
Resignation   Jonathan Bennett 19
A Candle, April 2020  — Carla S. Schick 20
Metal Ladies — Rosemary Ybarra-Garcia 22
All Hallows' Warning  — Joe DeCenzo 23
Without Hope   Caire Scott 24
Lifting the Spell  — Carolyn Jabs 25
On the Porch   Donna Emerson 26
Red Boat Remembers   Deborah B. Schmidt 27
Gloria’s Garden Café in Hilo, February 1993 — Brian Cronwall 28
How Does a Planet Evaporate? — Gurupreet K. Khalsa 29
The Snake Speaks   David Anderson 30
The Patriarchs Die First —  Carolyn Jabs 31
Retirement  — Maja Trochimczyk 32
talking —  Gregory Cecil 32
I Saw the Edery Woman This  Morning  — Livingston Rossmoor 33
Good Night, Virginia  — Donna Emerson 34
That Snifter of Brandy in an Irish Pub —  Katharyn Howd Machan 35
Walk Along the Promenade -—  Ambika Talwar 36
In the Garden  Dorothy Brooks 38
Shavings — Jonathan Bennett 39
Similitude of the Rock — Allen Strother 40
The Sphere Inside the Cone: The Archimedes Palimpsest — David Anderson 41
Computer, Write a Shakespearean Sonnet  — r.g.cantalupo 42
Falling Frames  — Stephanie DuPont 43
Bandana —  Jonathan Bennett 44
It Is What It Is  —  Sharon Chmielarz 44
My Place of Dreams  — Carolyn Chilton Casas 45
I Watch the Bees at the  Sunflowers — Kenneth White 46
Heart with Wings — Ambika Talwar 47
Birth — Anna Maria Mickiewicz 48
The Fruit of the Blue Tree  — Konrad Tademar Wilk 49
A Soldier’s Journey  — Ambika Talwar 50
Dream of a Dodo  —  Deborah B. Schmidt 51
Reparenting — Jonathan Bennett 51
By Way of a Star’s Light -— Cara S. Schick 52
Break the Mold  —  Dennis Ross 53
Presence of Prayer  —  Ei Sanchez 54
Disquietude  — Konrad Tademar Wilk 55
37th Annual Poetry Contest Winners and Comments 56

Contributors in Alphabetical Order    59
CSPS Contest Opportunities  60
CSPS Newsbriefs 2024, No. 4 by Maja Trochimczyk  62
Publishing Opportunities with CSPS 65
2024 CSPS Donors, Patrons, and Membership   66
Membership Form   68
 


EDITOR’S NOTE

While every poem is a “good” one, some are more eloquent in style and language. After reading and rereading each poem, I was overwhelmed with the task of choosing. There were so many wonderful works entered! Finally, after much contemplation, I had to create a tie in the third-place winners and add more honorary mentions.

I have a criterion in mind. First, I look for meaning, then language, then cadence. I was drawn to poems that evoked an incident that we could all partake in, such as the despairing feeling of giving up hope at sea, or the experience of the summer heat. In other poems, including top prize winners, I found an extraordinary use of language (especially in verse by Ms. Khalsa and Ms. Schmidt). Many thoughts and lines will always be remembered.

It has been a pleasure to share in the ideas and artistry of these poets. With gratitude for the talents of all contributors, I decided to in clude even more poems submitted to the Annual Contest in this issue of the California Quarterly. I hope you will enjoy reading of these poems as much as I did! 
Marlene Hitt
Sunland, California

As Marlene Hitt died before she was able to complete this issue of the California Quarterly, she did not finish her Editor’s Note, nor her notes for each Honorary Mention. After decades of tireless service to the poetry community in California, she left behind hundreds if not thousands of unpublished poems. CSPS’s Monthly Contest Chair, Alice Pero, selected and organized some of these fascinating poems for Yellow Tree Alone, published in 2022 by Moonrise Press, a small press of CSPS President, Maja Trochimczyk. Marlene was also able to complete her task as the 2024 CSPS Annual Contest Judge, her final large-scale poetry project. This issue of the CQ is dedicated to her memory.

Konrad Tademar Wilk, Los Angeles, California
California Quarterly, Volume 50, Number 4


Rainbow Sorbet by Maja Trochimczyk


WINNERS OF CSPS 37th POETRY CONTEST

California State Poetry Society is pleased to announce the winners of its 37th Annual Poetry Contest selected by Judge Marlene Hitt of Sunland, California.  We are grateful to all poets who submitted a total of 214 poems this year. Due to the high quality of this year’s submissions, some of the submitted, but not awarded poems, are included in the California Quarterly,

 CONTEST PRIZES

• First Prize: Gurupreet K. Khalsa, “Polymorphic: Tumbled Stuff”

• Second Prize: Louise Moises, “Lighthouse”

• Third Prize, ex aequo: Deborah Bachels Schmidt, “In the Season of the Crows”

• Third Prize, ex aequo: Joel Savishinsky, “An Archeology of Ignorance”

 TEN HONORARY MENTIONS

• No. 1: r.g. cantalupo, “A Noiseless Spider (Revisited)”

• No. 2: Carolyn Jabs, “Puzzled”

• No. 3: Deborah Bachels Schmidt, “Of Singing Mice”

• No. 4: Rosemary Ybarra-Garcia, “The Heat of the San Joaquin”

• No. 5: Brian Cronwall, “In Dreams”

• No. 6: Jonathan Bennett, “Resignation”

• No. 7: Carla S. Schick, “A Candle, April 2020”

• No. 8: Rosemary Ybarra-Garcia, “Metal Ladies”

• No. 9: Joe DeCenzo, “All Hallow’s Warning”

• No. 10: Claire Scott, “Without Hope”

 

M. Hitt at a reading in Pasadena, 2012

THE JUDGE’S COMMENTS

 First Prize. With skillfully crafted language, the poet compares two worlds of words: those as lined-up boxy, dreary apartment buildings and those other ones that the poet sees as much freer, simpler, colorful. This poem is an homage to untroubled passion, feverish intent, a thirst for freedom and the beauty of creation.

 Second Prize. I chose to identify with the hopelessness of the narrator as “Without sails or oars or compass, unable to read the stars, I drift through the fog of uncertainty.” There is hope, though. I see this vivid and imaginative poem as a metaphor for all life.

 Third Prize (Savishinsky). Do we know what we are saying? Do we perceive correctly? Will the shards of floppy discs be understood after thousands of years? I was drawn to discover the meaning of the poem which ends with the words, “we mouth the sounds but miss their meaning” as in lost languages. Much is said here. We speak well now but does anyone listen?

 Third Prize (Schmidt). The black, inky crows enter the lively moment of an evolving and colorful scene, with their blackness forming a crowd of their own, the elite. I see this beautifully rendered work as a metaphor for the contrasts in life, even for that of good and evil.

 Honorary Mention No. 1. I was captivated by the image of a spider, “a fuzzed blur of legs fleeing across the rim of my eyes.” This picture of a spider, written in simple words, is appealing in

its way of drawing the reader into this poet’s experience. It is also an erudite reflection of Walt Whitman’s famous verse and a reflection on alienation and solitude.

 Honorary Mention No. 2. Joseph Campbell once remarked that if we look back on our lives, we would finally see the puzzle pieces fall together. I am impressed with the careful building of a puzzle whose pieces are arranged into a completed whole. In this poem the poet tells a valuable truth: “Day after day, we struggled to find the big picture until, one afternoon it found us.”

 Honorary Mention No. 3. Beginning with imagination, the carefully structured poem examines artfully our myths and legends and that we need them. Something list-like has become a cultural lesson.

 Honorary Mention No. 4. Magically worded, we see a dream within a dream. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on,” said Shakespeare, The poem carries a message of “these blessings of awakening, alive, again.”

 Honorary Mention No. 5. In the silence only, the invisible crickets sang from the dry grass. Last Thursday in Death Valley the temperature was 130 degrees F. Would that day of the poet be the beginning of a California Sahara?

 Honorary Mention No. 6. A thoughtful piece about mice who can sing but we can’t hear them and how we all love our myths, fairy tales and folktales. How we wish they were true and maybe they are. We need them. If we lose them, we will make more.

 

 MARENE HITT (1936-2024)

A native Californian, poet and community activist, Marlene Hitt was the first Poet Laureate of Sunland Tujunga (1999-2001). She has been a member of the Chupa Rosa Writers of Sunland Tujunga and the Foothills since the group’s inception in 1985. Her critically-acclaimed first poetry collection Clocks and Water Drops was published by Moonrise Press in 2015. Her second collection, Yellow Tree Alone appeared in 2022. In addition to publishing numerous poetry chapbooks, she authored a non-fiction book Sunland-Tujunga, from Village to City and two books of stories for children.. Her poems appeared in Psychopoetica (UK), Chupa Rosa Diaries (2001-2003), Glendale College’s Eclipse anthologies, CSPS California Quarterly and Poetry Letter. Atadena Poetry Review; and poetry anthologies (Chopin with Cherries, Meditations on Divine Names, and We Are Here:Village Poets Anthology that she co-edited in 2020 with Maja Trochimczyk). Recently, Hitt was one of 12 poets invited to contribute to Crystal Fire. Poems of Joy and Wisdom (2022). Her work also appears in Sometimes in the Open, a collection of verse by California Poets Laureate, and The Coiled Serpent, of verse by Los Angeles poets, ed. Luis Rodriguez (2016).

 Marlene Hitt served at the Bolton Hall Museum in Tujunga as Museum Director and docent for many years. She was the history writer for the Foothill Leader, Glendale News Press, North Valley Reporter, and Voice of the Village newspapers. She has been honored as the Woman of Achievement by the Business and Professional Women's Club, as the Woman of the Year by the U.S. Congress, and received many congratulatory scrolls from the City and County of Los Angeles, and the State of California. In 2019, Village Poets of Sunland-Tujunga presented to Marlene and her husband Lloyd, a Lifetime Achievement Award, recognizing the significance of their support of poetry in the Foothills.


"Chicago Peace" Rose by Maja T.


 The anniversary year of the California State Poetry Society has come to its end, but the celebrations continue in 2025, with the publication of our 50th Anniversary Anthology edited by r.g. cantalupo. He will select four poems per CQ volume, one per issue. So far I have driven around to pick up boxes of old issues of the CQ from Richard Deets in Dublin and John F. Harrell in Yorba Linda.  Established in 1972, our Society should have held its 50th anniversary in 2022, but the Board decided to move the celebrations to 2024.

Pushcart Prize Nominations. The following six poems were nominated to the Annua Pushcart Prizes for best poems published by small presses. From CQ 50/1 (guest-edited by Beverly M. Collins), “Begin to Heal” by Charles Harmon. From CQ 50/2 (ed. Nicholas Skaldetvind), “A Poem for Portraits” by Anselm Berrigan. From CQ 50/3 (ed. Maja Trochimczyk), “Allegiance” by  Carolyn Chilton Casas, and from CQ 50/4, “Polymorphic Tumbled Stuff, by Gurupreet K. Khalsa, “The Lighthouse,” by Louise Moises, and “An Archaeology of Ignorance” by Joel Savishinsky. Congratulations!

The California Quarterly 50/4 has an unusual content, in that it contains quite a few submissions to the 37th Annua Poetry Contest, in addition to the four award winners, Gurupreet K. Khalsa, Louise Moises, Deborah Bachels Schmidt, and Joel Savishinsky and ten honorary mentions. Per the request of the Contest Judge, Marlene Hitt, these poems were published in a different order than usual (when we would add a contest section after other poems). In this issue, the awarded and honored poems are placed first, followed by a selection from other submissions (to the Annual Contest and the CQ directly via Submittable, email and mail), and ending with the judge’s comments. Ms. Hitt died in December 2024 and was not able to complete all sections of this journal. I’m grateful to Konrad Tademar Wilk who stepped in and finished the work.

The CQ cover is graced with my photo of a hybrid-tea “Compassion” rose from my garden, selected as a tribute to Marlene Hitt and Margaret Saine, another influential CSPS poet who left us this year. Both poets were fond of my rose photographs and attended my exhibitions held in Sunland and Monrovia. We shared a passion for beautiful blossoms and enjoyed the serenity of gardens. I published two poetry volumes each from these great friends and fantastic poets—Clocks and Water Drops (2015) and Yellow Tree Alone (2023) by Hitt followed by Lit Angels Literature Angels ~ Angels of Light (2017) and Gardens of the Earth. According to Nature (2018) by Saine. The cover of Marlene’s first book featured a photos of California poppies and sweet alyssum from her garden—I am grateful for receiving some of these pants as farewell gifts, so her irises and baby’s breath will grace my garden, too.

My three-year od granddaughter Juniper, once asked me about my parents, and when I said they were no longer with us, she told me sternly: “Babcia, you must remember them, they live on when they are remembered.” I wondered who taught her that, maybe the film Coco, but the sentiment is right. We must remember those who were with us and left a huge void after their departure, even if that process of leaving was slow and extended—as was the case of both Hitt and Saine, who gradually gave up their volunteer duties.

In 2021, after 18 years of service to CSPS as California Quarterly Editor, Secretary/Historian and Poetry Letter Editor, Margaret Saine decided to step down. A brief tribute was published at that time and my comments below are a paraphrase of that. I was and am especially grateful that she introduced me to the CSPS and greatly value her contributions to our Society. Her expert knowledge of poetry, literature, painting, sculpture, and architecture was coupled with fluency in many languages—she published translations from French, German, Italian and Spanish. She wrote and published poetry in English, her native German, as well as French, Italian and Spanish. She translated an international group of poets, giving them a space to share their insights and talents. After her death, many poets expressed their gratitude in numerous posts on her Facebook page. Her network of poetic friendships was truly global! I first heard about her passing from an Italian poet, Alessio Zanelli who wrote “We were good friends and met her numerous times here and there in Italy, during her many trips in Europe. She was a good poet and a fantastic woman, as well as one of the first editors to ever accept my work.”

As a photographer, she depicted the world in motion— blurry, misty, ambiguous, yet enticing with mysterious patterns. Her erudite, thoughtful and passionate poems reflect her keen attention to detail, ability to see the large picture, find wisdom in nature and art.). I am profoundly grateful for all the gifts Margaret brought to my life – richness of vivid language, sharp focus on quality of words expressing a thought or impression clearly and succinctly. 

Saine's photo of Kansas from air.

Ute Margaret Saine was born in Germany. After a Yale Ph.D. in French and Spanish, she taught languages, literature, and culture in California and Arizona, while writing and translating poetry in five languages. Since 1991, she has been a board member of the CSPS and a California Quarterly editor since 1994. She also edited the CSPS Poetry Letter and served formerly as the CSPS Annual Contest Chair. Her poems have appeared in many journals here and abroad. She has published four books of poetry in English – Bodyscapes, Words of Art, Lit Angels and Gardens of the Earth – as well as six haiku chapbooks in five languages. Three books of poems and a Postwar childhood memoir appeared in Germany – Das Flüchtige bleibt (The Ephemeral Remains), Das Weite suchen (A Yen to Travel), Atem der Stille (The Breath of Silence), and Das ungeschickte Kind (Awkward Child). Searching for Bridges is a bilingual English-Arabic collection edited by Nizar Sartawi.


 

Gardens of the Earth: According to Nature is a poetic exploration of nature tamed and shaped by humans, nature that in turn shapes the gardeners and gives them a purpose, a cause for action, and a reason for reflection. Saine shared her delight in gardens and gardening with a host of contemporary poets and friends and the renowned gardeners of the past. Lit Angels (Literature Angels ~ Angels of Light) is a collection of poetry inspired by literature and the arts. Written in English, the volume includes several translations into German, Arabic, French and Italian. As Saine wrote in the introduction: “Lit, past participle of ‘to light’, and Lit, abbreviation for literature? Lit used by people who love it so much they breathlessly shorten it to one syllable? Light and Literature, the mainstays of human lives, wherever we are, whenever we are so privileged. Literature and Light are best friends.”  Her life was a light to many. Nizar Sartawi, poet/translator from Amman, Jordan, wrote: “In Margaret’s poetry we listen to the inner voice of a poet who is committed to building bridges. Beyond the versatility of her topics, the vividness of her images, and the richness of her style, almost every poem she writes is an expression of this quest – building bridges of peace between people, nations, and, in a very intricate way, between the individual and his or her inner self.”

 Maja Trochimczyk, CSPS President

    
Maja Trochimczyk and Margaret Saine with Maja's Rose Photo Exhibit, 2016

Photo by Margaret Saine












Monday, October 21, 2024

Poetry Letter No. 3 of 2024 - Autumn, Part II - Reviews of Books by Butner & Moran. Poems from "The Rainy Bread"

 Nad Baltykiem (By the Baltic) by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil/canvas 

The Fall 2024 issue of the Poetry Letter presents prize-winning poems from seven Monthly Contests of 2024, selected by the Monthly Contest Judge, Alice Pero  - in Part I, here. Two book reviews by Michael Escoubas include extensive poetry quotations which make the reviews even more enjoyable, so we do not only learn what Michael thinks of the poems by Renee Butner and Tom Moran, but also can get to know this poetry ourselves. 

In addition, I present here two poems from my book The Rainy Bread, in original English with Polish translations, that were read at a conference “Generations Remember” organized by the Kresy Siberia Foundation and the Sybir Memorial Museum in Białystok, Poland on 19-20 September 2024. For this conference, I selected 12 poems from my book The Rainy Bread: More Poems from Exile, commemorating the suffering and resilience of my family members who lived in Poland’s eastern territories and were imprisoned, exiled to Siberia or deported to the Polish People’s Republic during and after WWII. Their estates and farms are now parts of collective farms in Belarus, formerly in Soviet Union. They were lucky to survive and, of course, did not receive any reparations... Indeed, my maternal great aunts were hardly alone in being dispossessed and displaced by the Empire next door.... The Soviet Union annexed 48% of Poland’s lands after WWII and about 3.5 million Poles were deported, plus about one million killed. The poems were read in English while the translations appeared on the screen.  Deszczowy Chleb is a new 40-poem book with Polish translations of selected verse from The Rainy Bread. Now, that the Apocalyptic "Horse of War" has returned to this world with vengeance, it is good to remember the hunger, destitution, cold, and sorrow of deportees who lost a part of their souls with their beloved homes.                                             

    ~ Maja Trochimczyk, CSPS President



MICHAEL ESCOUBAS REVIEWS HUNTING FOR SHARK'S TEETH

 BY RENEE BUTNER

 Hunting for Shark’s Teeth—Poems by Renee Butner.    

36 Poems ~ 45 pages. Lulu Press. ISBN #: 978-1-312-48589-1

Seamus Heaney, (1939-2013), a leading light in the world of poetry, had this to say about poets and their craft: “A poet is someone who feels, and who expresses her feelings through words. This may sound easy, but it isn’t.”

This quote came to mind during my journey through Hunting for Shark’s Teeth—Poems, by Renee Butner. I asked myself, “Why hasn’t this poet been on my radar screen before now?” Already an accomplished writer, Renee Butner’s work has appeared in a variety of fine journals. Sharks Teeth displays these poems plus new poems that highlight her talent.

The book is organized into four untitled sections: I. 11 poems; II. 8 poems; III. 8 poems; and IV. 9 poems. Butner opens each section with a modern haiku, a haiku  bookends the work.

Butner’s title speaks to me on different levels: the first is “sea-level.” The opening 11 poems take me specifically to the beach. My nostrils breathe salty air; aromas, sights, and sea-textures abound. On another level, I read Butner’s poems at the level of “hunting.” The title is catchy. But there is more. As poets we are constantly searching for life; we want to unearth life, we invest ourselves in life in and through our words. This is the work of poets. 

At Sea-level. The poet “had me from hello,” with “Ocean Pier”:

She meanders down a
twilight street;
digests the sweet, thick air.

Cicadas and crickets sing their
summer evening lullabies.

The heady thrill of salt melds
with balmy trade wind currents.

As they play a final game of tag
children’s voices hover

alongside he eternal background
reverberation of the sea.

She comes upon a
weathered pier projecting
over the bruising water . . .
a welcome provider of respite in the dusk.           


The air around Butner’s twilight pier is “thick and sweet.” Crickets and cicadas sing, I hear the sea’s “reverberations” rattling the pier. She puts me in the action. She does more than experience the air; she “digests” the air. The poet is fully ensconced in her surroundings, satisfied, whole and complete. Butner’s work shows skill with poetic devices: alliteration, consonance, internal rhyme, simile and metaphor abound. Her poems are predominantly free verse; without end-rhyme.

“Five Senses” imbibes “grains of sand” that stings, / a thousand needle prickles.” “Waves roar as they fold over / and crash against the shore / then fizzle back out to sea.” Other titillating titles in this section include: “Dirty Sneakers,” “Glorious Moon,” “Lavender Skies,” and “Sea Glass,” none of which disappoint.

Let’s Go Hunting. Butner is never far from the sea, which I sense is her first love. However, her interests go beyond the sea as primary metaphor. For example, “bits of blue eggshell” capture her attention and result in the poet contemplating morbidity. Is the baby bird tragically dead or might the shell fragments indicate some “natural progression / hatching, downy feathers” of a young bird learning to fly? Shark’s tooth #1.

“Butter” is about` the poet’s self-perception. What lies beyond the “Buttery  golden path” . . . “Does the aura surround me / Or has it fled / Into the bare branches / of the trees.” Shark’s tooth #2.

In “Daybreak Thunderstorm” Butner awakens to “rain gushing down the drainpipe / near my head / pounding on the roof / in sheets.” The eerie light flashings and thunderclaps frighten her puppy, but “her senses relish this abrupt awakening.” Shark’s tooth #3. Finally, “Jazz Notes” circles me back to Seamus Heaney’s dictum: “A poet is someone who feels, and who expresses her feelings through words. This may sound easy, but it isn’t.”

After a hard day, art, in the form of jazz captures a “mood,” brings the poet to herself within herself . . . where 

A lone horn sings out
Edgy and soulful
Leading the session several
Golden shimmering moments 
before backing off
To allow a bebop
walking bass line solo

Notes wrap around one another
Entwined in a dance
for the auditory sense

Jazz beat lines up with heartbeat
I relinquish myself to
the new pulse                                                                                                        

This poem, akin to unearthing that coveted shark’s tooth in the sand, the quest for something deeper, sparkles as she revolves its sharp edges in her fingers.




MICHAEL ESCOUBAS REVIEWS SILENT MARSHES BY TOM MORAN

Silent Marshes by Tom Moran 24 Poems ~ 36 pages Cyberwit.net ISBN #: 978-81-19654-67

For a moment Tom’s title, Silent Marshes, had me fooled. The title took me back to my Cajun roots in south Louisiana. There, “marsh” or “swamp” conjured tales of 15-foot alligators, a legendary swamp creature named “Monster Rougarou,” snakes, frogs, pirogues being poled down the bayou, cypress trees, hanging moss, and golden sunrises. These notions were soon disabused by the author. Tom was born and raised in the south side of Chicago, in a tough neighborhood. Tom’s “marsh” resembles gray, pock-marked concrete and families which cling to traditional values: hard work, church-going and loyalty. Marsh also means that invisible, often silent, space where one lives and navigates life’s challenges. 
     
My goal in this review is to highlight the heart of a mature poet whose latest collection gives voice to similar silent marshes many face in life. 

“Dialogue with a Muse” is about Tom’s feelings as he prepares to attend the prestigious Iowa Summer Writing Festival: “I’m inspired on the way. / Open up and feel again. / You pave over yourself / to hustle a buck. // What if the well goes dry? / Dig deeper. // How will I know if I’m any good? / A lump in your throat / before you speak.” Who among us hasn’t felt a twinge of self-doubt before we read our work? 

“Departure” returned me to my own mother’s bedside as her life slowly ebbed away . . . his airplane lifting off, is a poignant example of Tom’s silent marsh theme:

The heart monitor alarm beeps.
Skycaps rush in to
check her luggage.
Her flight is boarding.
She passes, chalk white.
White as the sheet
they cover her with.
White as the page
I write on,
white as the vapor trail
of her jet
than angles upward.
White as the spaces
in my life
when she would leave home
for months at a time.

The poet’s flight metaphor is perfect. By my count, five variations of “white” coalesce as Tom processes his loss. With a touch of irony he recalls times . . . “when she would leave home / for months at a time.”

Stylistically, Moran writes a relatively short line. This suits him. I was taught to use short steps when walking through wetlands, lest I sink into uncertain terrain. Within his lines, the poet treads carefully, searching for the right words to guide his next steps.

Speaking of steps, “Hitchhiker,” harmonizes both style and theme:

I pierce pinholes
in a piece
of black construction paper.
Hold the paper up
to the sunshine
because as a child,
I was told
that the stars
at night
is light
shining through from Heaven.
I pull away the paper,
smile at
the newness
of love
on my face.
I live
on the cusp
of two worlds,
one spiritual,
one Earth bound;
a hitchhiker
in the rain
who can’t run,
can’t hide,
and can’t make
it stop raining.
A soul in
a concrete world,
waiting on the day
I cut loose,
fly free.

Just as “Hitchhiker” reveals the poet’s journey down two roads “one spiritual / one earthbound,” he invites me to join him through the silent marshes of my life. “Vacancy” opens the heart of a youth who, “would play / in the bare spot / where her (his mother’s) car / should have been parked . . . a room vacant / in my heart / just in case / she returns.”

“Thanksgiving” captures the secret ruminations of a small boy. The poem opens a book of memories about how Tom’s father took him to a turkey farm to “pick one out.” Moments later, the turkey’s neck was snapped off, the bird, now in in a white box slides down a chute ready for the ride home. The poet wonders:

how will I
find my place
in this cement world,
where something
once alive is
butchered, boxed, and
laying in a back seat.

Silent Marshes is a thin volume consisting of twenty-four poems. Yet, it is pregnant with one man’s studied wisdom about life. That study is a journey ever-fresh, ever-renewing itself in truth. Gift yourself, order your copy today.

Etiuda (An Etude) by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas.


TWO POEMS FROM THE RAINY BREAD BY MAJA TROCHIMCZYK

The Rainy Bread: More Poems from Exile is an expanded version of a poetry collection first published in 2016 and honored with the Creative Arts Prize by the Polish American Historical Association. The book includes 63 poems about forgotten stories of Poles living under the Soviet and German occupations during WWII, especially in the Eastern Borderlands of Kresy. They were killed, deported, imprisoned, or oppressed after the invasion of Poland by Germany on September 1, 1939 and by the Soviet Union on September 17, 1939. Some of these brief portraits capture the trauma and resilience, ordeals and miraculous survival stories of the author’s family, typical of Polish civilians. These fictionalized memories are coupled with depictions of survival of other Poles deported to Siberia, the Arctic Circle, or Kazakhstan; those left the Soviet Union with the Second Corps of the Polish Army under the command of General Władysław Anders; those who were transported to refugee camps in India or Africa; and ended up in Argentina, Canada, Australia or the U.S. The Polish version of 2024 includes 40 poems.


https://moonrisepress.blogspot.com/2024/08/deszczowy-chleb-polish-version-of-40.html


Sisters Maria and Jadwiga Wasiuk, later Wajszczuk and Hordziejewska.

≡ ASTERS ≡

       ~ for my Great Aunt, Jadwiga Hordziejewska, neé Wasiuk    
         (1910-1997)

Her mother’s aunt, Ciocia Jadzia works in a kiosk in Oliwa
selling papers and razor blades in a ruined city 
of charcoal buildings and five-year plans 
She hides the best blades for her faithful clients 
in the kiosk on the way to the Cathedral 
 
where angels with puffy wooden cheeks 
triumphantly blow their golden trumpets 
walls and benches shake with the majesty of Bach
the gold-starred ceiling shimmers 
in summer evening cold 
 
The music of the seaside vacation heals the grey hours 
of the girl, sitting in the kiosk, selling matches and tickets 
after Ciocia Jadzia goes home to cook dinner 
for her silent husband, drunk artist son
 
She works — Uncle Dominik, a proud nobleman 
in a top hat and a black Sunday coat 
walks through Oliwa’s parks 
with his last, prize-winning Holstein cow
He grieves the loss of his estates — the life he had had 
before that fateful train ride from the East
 
He still sees the red-roofed manor with a white porch 
bronze oak leaves scattered on the gravel path
silver gray of Lake Świteź 
golden rye fields before the harvest
 
He walks home to rusty bricks  pocked by bullet holes,
smoke-dark hallways,  and a burst of color
in the courtyard  where asters tremble 
in last evening breeze —
a bouquet of fallen stars



≡ ASTRY ≡

~ Dla Ciotecznej Babci Jadwigi Hordziejewskiej z.d. Wasiuk

Ciocia Jadzia mojej Mamy ma kiosk w Oliwie. 
Sprzedaje gazety i żyletki w zrujnowanym mieście 
pełnym osmalonych budynków i planów pięcioletnich.
Chowa najlepsze ostrza pod ladą dla wiernych 
klientów w kiosku przy drodze do katedry. 

Tam drewniane aniołki z wydętymi policzkami
triumfalnie grają na złocistych trąbkach.
Tam mury i ławy trzęsą się w majestacie 
organów Bacha a złote gwiazdy na suficie 
migoczą w chłodnym powietrzu wieczoru. 

Muzyka to cud szarych godzin wakacji 
nad morzem, straconych godzin 
dziewczynki w kiosku, sprzedającej 
zapałki i bilety, gdy Ciocia Jadzia 
jest w domu i gotuje kolację dla milczka-męża,
pijanego syna-artysty z Bożej łaski.

Ona pracuje – a wuj Dominik, dumny szlachcic  
w cylindrze i niedzielnym tużurku spaceruje 
po parkach Oliwy z ostatnią, medalową krową
rasy Holstein. Wuj w milczeniu ubolewa 
nad utratą włości – i życia jakie pędził 
przed tragiczną jazdą pociągiem ze wschodu.

Stoi mu przed oczami czerwony dach dworu, 
biały ganek, brązowe liście dębu rozsypane 
na żwirze podjazdu, głęboka woda Świtezi, 
srebrne pola nieskoszonego żyta w środku lata. 

Wraca do mieszkania, do rdzawych cegieł
pokrytych ospą dziur od kul, przez korytarz 
osmalony dymem. Czeka go wybuch koloru 
w podwórku – astry tańczące na wietrze —  

bukiet upadłych gwiazd 




Letters of Father Feliks Wajszczuk (brother of Stanisław Wajszczuk, Maja Trochimczyk’s grandfather) from NAZI German camp for the clergy in Dachau to his mother in German-occupied Poland. One of the letters included his request for food to be sent in packages: slices of dark rye bread saturated with lard and individually wrapped. Nutritious, high-calory, and too ugly to be stolen. Helping the resistance since the beginning of the war, Feliks Wajszczuk was arrested after being denounced by a Polish traitor. He survived five years of incarceration, while being a subject of cruel and illegal “medical” experiments on lung capacity. Too ill to return to his parish after the war, he retired to a monastery in France.  Private collection of Barbara Miszta, Poland. 


≡ THE RAINY BREAD ≡

~ for Grandma Nina and Grandma Maria, 
because they baked delicious bread

Even if it softened, it fell into the mud
you need to rinse the slice. When it dries out —
it can be eaten.

And this round, fragrant loaf,
which Grandma baked with sourdough?
One bread loaf for a week — it was the best
with cream and sugar crystals.

And this moist, whole-rye bread baked with honey? 
Delicious with butter and — more honey.
After each bite, take a sip of cold milk.
And the war bread, made from leftover, dirty flour?
Worms removed through a sieve. With bran,
sawdust — even a pebble can be found
among grains of sand. But, there it is.

Finally, the bread from the parcels sent 
to Father Feliks, Mom’s uncle in Dachau.
It’s so ugly — no one would steal it.
Whole rye flour, thick slices saturated with lard — 
Today we know: microelements and calories, 
A guarantee of surviving five years of torture.

Give us today our daily bread —
    the daily bread —
            the rainy bread —
                    the bread of life —
                                      bread




≡ DESZCZOWY CHLEB ≡ 
 
   ~ dla Babci Niny i Babci Marii, bo piekły pyszny chleb


Nawet jeśli rozmiękł, upadł w błoto
trzeba kromkę wypłukać. Jak wyschnie —
da się zjeść.

A ten okrągły, pachnący bochenek,
który Babcia upiekła na zakwasie? 
Jeden chleb na tydzień — był najlepszy
ze śmietaną i kryształkami cukru.

A ten prawie wilgotny, razowy na miodzie?
Przepyszny z masłem i miodem — właśnie.
Po każdym kęsie, łyk zimnego mleka.

A ten wojenny, z resztek brudnej mąki?
Robaki odsiane przez sito. Z otrębami,
trocinami – nawet kamyk się trafi
wśród ziaren piasku. Jednak jest.

Wreszcie ten chleb z paczek wysłanych 
do Ojca Feliksa, Wuja Mamy, do Dachau. 
Szpetny — więc go nikt nie ukradł. 
Z pełnej żytniej mąki, grube pajdy
nasycone smalcem — dziś wiemy: 
mikroelementy i kalorie, gwarancja 
przeżycia pięciu lat tortur.

Chleba naszego powszedniego daj nam dzisiaj —

Deszczowy chleb — 
             codzienny chleb —
                          chleb życia — 
                                           chleb












Wednesday, October 16, 2024

Poetry Letter No. 3 of 2024 - Autumn, Part I, with Monthly Contests Winners Jan-July 2024

Sen (A Dream) by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas

This issue of the Poetry Letter presents prize-winning poems from seven Monthly Contests of 2024, selected by the Monthly Contest Judge, Alice Pero. These poems fill the majority of its pages, complemented with two book reviews by Michael Escoubas including extensive poetry quotations which make the reviews even more enjoyable. I interspersed poetry with illustrations taken from artwork by Polish painter Maria Wollenberg-Kluza (b. 1945) whose paintings feature many literary inspirations and, in turn, have inspired many Polish poets and writers.  I attended her exhibit at the Warsaw Library Gallery in September 2024 and found these paintings to be both inspired and inspiring, so I decided to share this souvenir from my travels with the CSPS poets and poetry lovers. 

The Poetry Letter's book reviews and poems from my book The Rainy Bread in English and Polish will be published in the next part of the blog.

~ Maja Trochimczyk, CSPS President

Camino by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas (2013)

Monthly Contest Winners of 2024 

Alice Pero, the CSPS Monthly Contest Judge selected the following poems from submissions received each month. The first prize is a minimum of $10. Congratulations to all the winners!

January (Nature, Landscapes):  

♦ 1st Prize: 1st Prize Colorado Smith, “SkyFire” 

♦ ♦ 2nd Prize: Kathryn Schmeiser “Last One Standing” 

♦ ♦ ♦ 3rd Prize: Paula Appling,  “Cognitive Dissonance" 

February (love): 

♦ 1st Prize: Richard T. Ringley, "The Parts of You I Cannot Name" 

♦ ♦ 2nd Prize: Jeff Graham,   "Nocturne 31" 

March (Open, Free Subject): 

♦   1st Prize: Sean McGrath, "hunger for eternity"

April (Dreams, Mythology, Other Universes):   

♦ 1st Prize:  Lillian Liu, "Sphinx Riddle" 

♦ ♦ 2nd Prize: David Anderson, "The Next Eucatastrophe" 

♦ ♦ ♦ 3rd Prize: Thomas Feeny, "Icarus"   

May (Personification, Characters, Portraits):  

♦   1st Prize: Thomas Feeny, "The Bolder Brother" 

♦ ♦ 2nd Prize:  Paula Appling, "Still Life"

June (The Supernatural):  

♦ 1st Prize: Jane Stuart, “Into the Light” 

July (Childhood, Memoirs): 

♦ 1st Prize: Carla Schick, "On the way to the library" 

♦ ♦  2nd Prize: Susan Florence, "Where Bach Takes Me" 


Ad Infinitum, by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas, 2018


SKYFIRE                               
            

 

Hard by the willows

    over granite sand

     slants a gray rain.

 

Black cumuli part;

    sunburst ricochet off a lower cloud

        onto the gray underbelly of the upper.

             I drop to my knees in the sagebrush:

 

that cloud          

                     in the darkness

                                                   shimmers—  

 

 a thousand

                       tiny rainbows

                                                  pearlesce

 

twenty minutes

                              till thunderheads merge

 

Hat in hand

      I give my face

                 to the rain.

  

Colorado Smith, First Prize in January

              

             LAST ONE STANDING

 

Grass shoots slumber

among weed stalks,

their dried seed

heads bowed

 

But one miracle

Grows

Blooms

Stands tall

 

A daisy, her

white ray florets

embracing

a smiling sun-yellow

disk balanced

atop a slender stem,

 

refuses

to abandon

life

 

Marguerite ~

She loves me

 

Did no one tell 

her

it is

winter?

 

Kathryn Schmeiser, Second Prize in January


COGNITIVE DISSONANCE

       The Grand Canyon

 

Described as a

"big hole,"

the overlook understated

the unimaginable emptiness that confronted me.

I stumbled backwards.

 

Found myself seated,

crying; its borders, its walls,

so illimitable,

my mind could only conjure wallpaper.

 

Irony twisted my gut.

Two dimensions

could never capture

this enormous void or contain

these otherworldly reds and oranges,

this harsh glare.

 

Paula Appling, Third Prize in January


Zagubieni (The Lost Ones) by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, 2018


THE PARTS OF YOU I CANNOT NAME

  

I love the parts of you I cannot name.                           

I seek to find the means; and yet poor words,

I ask too much of you; for I have seen

the unseen light in you that brightens cold

and often haunted nights.  I have no name

for this; it’s you I know, the non de plume

of soft and certain moments that will quell

an uncertain heart; it only beats for you.

 

Be my sunlit heart; shine from grace within.

How dark is life when I am not with you.

How cold, how empty; the light drains from me

as if I were a ghost lost in a ghost’s

unwanted dream; a demon dwells within

a place in Hell for those who love you not.

 

Give me your heart, I’ll add my soul to yours

and thank the gods again for nameless joy.

We’ll grace the world in children named from cats.

We’ll grace the world – unnamed and yet so known.

 

Richard T. Ringley, First Prize in February


NOCTURNE 31                             

 

Patch of red mums  

(which have always been                             

 

your favorite)                                        

that in this night’s lack of light

 

are still white,        

still feel white to the touch.

 

Of the moon’s slow steps.

Of my body tossed along and across Earth’s curve.             

 

Of the chrysanthemum’s faint murmur.                                 

Of my voice’s tinge of blushing and blushing.          

 

 Jeff Graham, Second Prize in February


Zamki z piasku (Sand Castles) by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas

              HUNGER FOR ETERNITY

  

you ever miss something

even when you are beholding it

right there in your dumbstruck eyes?

 

it had been close during

the goldfleeced autumns in Massachusetts,

the sunsets in Redondo,

the winters from a balcony in Palos Verdes

when snow had just started to top the distant Angeles

 

but never so distilled,

not until this little monster

crash landed on my pumping heart

and looked back at me with my own eyes—

 

then, as before, every moment felt worth holding onto forever

then, like never, each moment felt like it was rushing away

 

so this is how you fall out of love with the ordinary,

I thought,

this is how the hunger for eternity grows



Sean McGrath, First Prize in March

Published in “Untitled Baby Project” (2023)


Cisza krajobrazu (Silence of a Landscape) by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas

 

         SPHINX RIDDLE

 

Beaming chariot for the sun,

his laugh prods the sphinx awake.

My four-legged

watchtower completes the acropolis,

carved out of living rock,

her sprawling limbs squeeze the marble, Thebes implausible.

 

Flare and ichor fall!

highlighted golden. Tumbling

gravity reversing for the sky to yellow,

gelatinous blond sprays across his canvas

Midday.

 

Lemon sun shocks

corn fields bake their leaves,

stalks slowly to the gate.

Day or night?

 

Eye of newt, toe of frog?

Tragic hero, tongue of dog.

City had a spill

wronged sun slinks behind the calamitous clouds

evening, Oedipus,

The answer is man.

 

Civilizations for my three epiphanies.

 

 Lilian Liu, First Prize in April 


Tryptyk II. Pokonani - Niepokonani (Triptych II. Defeated - Undefeated)
by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas

THE NEXT EUCATASTROPHE

                                                                               

Causa latet vis est tomissima [While the cause is hidden,  the force is very well known] Ovid, Amores IV, 287


                                                                                             Vires acquivirit emodo [It gains strength as it goes] -- Virgil

 

In    a     cross-step,    slow-step     dance      each      galaxy
calls out to choose a partner

and their pas de deux accelerates

 

through stellar winds and waves of space.

The dances turn in upon themselves.

Inside each universe, the stars increase in mass

 

and inward fly, faster and faster: the dances widen

draw    to    themselves    all    outward     

mass,

recidivate, and would obliterate—

 

but    none    can     cease,     each    arises,
renewed from the swallowed energy,

then outward flies — new stars, new universes, new galaxies ——

 

the    pace    continues    in    and     outside    each    dimension
and    gyrates    as    our    stars    rotate:    the     ox     becomes    an    ass,
the Pleiades, new polar stars,

and the southern cross, a moving mast.

 

Eucatastrophe. Coined by  JRR Tolkien, it refers to the sudden turn of events at the end of a story  which results in the protagonist's well-being. From the Greek prefix eu- (good) and catastrophe, traditionally used in classically-inspired literary criticism to refer to the "unraveling" or conclusion of a drama.

David Anderson, Second Prize in April 


              ICARUS

 

I, a mere boy, yet

so much to keep in mind.

The danger of salt spray

upon my wings. The mist's
obscuring treachery. And above all
the soft kiss of the sun.

 

Now, when I recall your warnings,
Father, as we paced the long beach,
I think: Foot I should have spoken.
But who dare talk of fear

to one whose dreams already draw him
far beyond the stars

 

And in the end, can I deny
ecstasy was worth its price?
The rise, the thrill of flight,

my giant bird-shadow cast
over battered rocks below.
The shrinking coastline, earth's
silvery curve. Then, from

the corner of my eye

a glimpse of pink wax

weeping along my wings.

How I watched in wonder

as the tiny plumes fluttered
down, to fall like snow

upon the out-islands.

 

Truly, Father, the sun's breath
felt every bit as sweet as yours
when, lifting me up in

loving arms, you

dare thrust me skyward. 


Thomas P. Feeny, Third Prize in April


Nokturn (A Nocturne) by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas


           THE BOLDER BROTHER

 

You stand in night, the hard

darkness.  Taking it all in.

With barely a shrug for

the vast drape of constellations.

 

Off on the sidelines,

I finger pocket change

and look on in silence.

 

Small eyes watch as

you turn on your heel,

crunch gravel,

kiss off the stars.

 

Thomas P. Feeny, First Prize in May

published in “Night Into Day” (Canada, 1992)


            STILL LIFE

 

Seven red pears

lined up just so,

atop grey-weathered oak board,

four inches wide.

One stands apart.

Pear-orating?

 

Pontificating.

Three attend,

three scoff.

The artist laughs.

 

Paula Appling, Second Prize in May


Postacie z blekitu (Figures from the Azure) by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas, 2015.


            INTO THE LIGHT

 

As bold as winter but restless as spring

perched on a silver cloud that has no lining

he waves his wand—and the moon climbs higher

lighting a dark moaning night that cries

for its release!  The vault of heaven

unlocks to let him pass, taking old stars

with him down the turning path that sizzles

at sunrise when sudden heat

wraps the universe,

cold fire that sends

Uriel on into the light

making his way from cloud to cloud—

the world above a distant world

floating on into the light,

           into the light.

 

Jane Stuart, First Prize in June 2024


Nihil Novi by Maria Wollenberg-Kluza, oil on canvas, 2013


ON THE WAY TO THE LIBRARY

 

I did not collect

dust laden pennies.  I went towards reading

rooms   Sealed fate   Lips glued

to sound storms.    Trans-

formations of body between starched

pages.   A NY City block-long    hard

pavement road to song.   Scrappy

pencils.  A brown paper bag

filled with poetry, tinged with blue

hues of bleeding

pens.   I loved    Nights

Hidden beneath blankets with a flashlight

Stalking sentences

Ignoring TV gloom

cast out from the living room. Specks

of ink.

               The first card with my name

typed out     like a warrior. I pierced

dust clouds with syllables, 

robbed the coffers

of rhythms   reframed syntax

from street fights. A cat clawed

at closed fences. Endless interruptions.

Blasts of sound. 


Tongues tripping over 

each new idea. 


A pile of books 

I learned  


to etch 

my mark in the margins.  

 

 Carla Schick, First Prize in July 2024


WHERE BACH TAKES ME: CONCERTO #5

 

On the strings of the harpsichord

I return and settle in

to the off twang of f minor’s

deliberate and steady sounds.

 

The notes play me back

to the plain convent room

where I practiced Skaters’ Waltz

and found a place for my internal rhythm

and a certain joy.

 

It happened here in my girlhood

of plain wool uniform, white blouse and beeny

that I knew I needed more

than home and school and hopscotch

more than the Virgin Mary.

 

It was not without effort to go the distance

of the keyboard over the black and white

the mesh of major and minor,

it brought an escape

and a return

 

like the music this morning

traveling me back

forty-five years.

 

Susan Florence, Second Prize in July 2024


Maria Wollenberg-Kluza with her paintings, September 2024, Warszawa


ABOUT THE ARTIST - MARIA WOLLENBERG-KLUZA

Maria Wollenberg-Kluza was born in 1945 in Puławy. From 1967 to 1973 she studied painting at the Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw. In 1973, she graduated with honors in painting and also received a diploma of textile art. In the years 1973-1975 she was an Assistant Professor at Academy of Fine Arts in Warsaw. The first individual exhibition of her works was organized in 1967. So far, she organized around 130 individual exhibitions in Poland and abroad: in Spain, Sweden, Czech Republic, Bulgaria, India, Ukraine, Turkey, Russia, Italy, Lithuania, and Georgia.  She also participated in over domestic and international group exhibitions as well as in international presentations of Polish art (e.g., in France, Germany, Holland, Denmark, Hungary, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, Sweden, USA). She paints mostly monothematic cycles of 20 - 30 works such as: "People in the City", "Man and machine", "Cathedrals", "Art inspired by music", "Impressions of poetry - Images of Norwid", "Game of imagination" "Impressions from Spain", "Polish landscapes", "Confessions of mother", "SALIGIA - seven cardinal Sins", "He and She", "Ver sacrum", "Images of Turkey", "Notes from Norway", "Meditations and Prayers", "Chopin in Painting and Musical Motifs", "Old Polish Music," etc.  

More information: www.wollenberg.pl