CSPS Poetry Letter No. 3, Autumn 2023, Part I - Reviews of Books by Kolodji&Kitakubo, Turco, and Sheibli&Pieczka

Photo by Iga Supernak

A HARVEST OF BOOKS POEMS AND PHOTOS

n time for the fall harvest—a crop of great poems and three book reviews. [...] The three book reviews present Distance by Deborah P Kolodji and Mariko Kitakubo (reviewed by William Scott Galasso), Shimmer: An Ekphrastic Poetry Collection by Paulette Demers Turco, reviewed by Michael Escoubas, who also reviewed Gathering Sunlight by Silvia Scheibli & Patty Dickson Pieczka. Our illustrators are photographers Beverly M. Collins (whom we know as a poet often published in the California Quarterly and elsewhere), and Iga Supernak, both based in the Los Angeles area. 

Maja Trochimczyk, CSPS President

WILLIAM SCOTT GALASSO REVIEWS DISTANCE by MARIKO KITAKUBO & DEBORAH P KOLODJI

Distance. Tan-ku Sequences and Sets by Mariko Kitakubo and Deborah P. Kolodji, Shabda Press, Duarte, CA www.shabdapress.com. 2023, 93 pp.$18.00 U.S (softcover), print 2023932505, ISBN:978-1-7377113-6-0 

Deborah P. Kolodji is the longtime Moderator of the Southern California Haiku Study Group, a member of the board of directors for Haiku North America, and the inaugural recipient of The Science Fiction & Fantasy Poetry Association’s Presidents’ Lifetime Service Award. In addition, her highway of sleeping towns haiku poetry collection was awarded a Touchstone Distinguished Book Award from The Haiku Foundation.  Mariko Kitakubo of Tokyo, is renowned for seven tanka collections, three of which are bilingual Cicada Forest, On This Same Star, and 2016’s Indigo. Needless to say, given their combined literary pedigree, their collaborative work Distance sets a high bar concerning one’s expectations. 

Fortunately, Distance, subtitled Tan-Ku Sequences and Sets (for tanka and haiku), not only meets but exceeds these lofty expectations. These longtime friends, one might suggest (twin daughters of different mothers) have esteemed one another’s work for years. Each sharing their work and experiencing travels back and forth from the U.S and Japan between 2007-2019. 

Then the pandemic struck and most conversation frequently expressed in verse (haiku by Deborah and tanka by Mariko), became their modus operandi. The first of seven sections, we hold virtual hands illustrates how these gifted poets formulated their dialogue. One would text, the other would respond and bridging the time and distance between them literally and figuratively. They did more than cope with different time zones, they excelled in creating unexpected connections. 

The still waters of their call and response formula regardless of the specific subject matter inform each other and grow with each reading. Each of the seven sections is distinct in focus, yet they achieve synchronicity when considered as a whole. Here are some samples of their sets and sequences. I’ve chosen shorter pieces (primarily the sets) as examples due to limitations of space. However, the reward of reading the sequences contained this work is equal in terms of consistent quality.

Photo by Deborah P Kolodji

This piece is from the initial section, we hold virtual hands:

                                    Connecting Souls

                                    there is 

                                    an invisible thread

                                    between us…

                                    quietness of

                                    the pearl oyster

                                    closing my eyes

                                    I see your face

                                    Vermeer’s earring

And this from the second section the eternal wind focused on Deborah’s battling illness:

                                     Cancer

                                     wind will bring 

                                     the summer storm

                                     my garden

                                     bordered by living

                                     cadmium yellow

                                     wild mustard

                                     growing out of control

                                     clinical trail 

 And section three presents us with a classical Japanese reference:

                                      Forest Bathing

                                      uphill path

                                      I slow down to breathe

                                      the pine scent

                                      she perches

                                      at the edge of                                                        

                                      my straw hat

                                      a butterfly’s siesta

                                      in emerald breeze

Each section gives us a deep sense nature’s healing power and inherent beauty, a part of Gaia’s treasured gift to us, her children. Hence, reminding us of our own responsibility as stewards of the earth. Here are two more samples that conjure two very different strands of the emotional spectrum the first derives from traces of us, the second from the section entitled my words drift.

Photo by Deborah P Kolodji

                                       End of the Tunnel             

                                       no one knows…

                                       I escaped from 

                                       his violence 

                                       silent night

                                       holy night

                                       no more scarves

                                       to hide the bruises

                                       New Year’s resolution

In contrast with the celebratory…

                                       9th Inning

                                       losing streak

                                       the crack of his bat

                                       hits a foul ball

                                       every motion

                                       stops and restarts

                                       slowly…

                                       we catch our breath

                                       Gyakuten Sayonara!

The final line means “coming from behind,” a “goodbye,” a homer with the bases loaded that give a team the lead. 

Photo by Deborah P Kolodji

Finally, I would be remiss not to include a sequence, from as the road bends: 

                   First Blanket

                   behind

                   pale cloud face

                   the dignity

                   before perfection

                   chestnut moon

                  waiting, waiting

                  the slow rise

                  of the sun     

                                     

                  previously…

                  what do you

                  remember?

                  smiles for the sky

                  newborn baby

                  first blanket

                  your face peeking out

                  from its folds                                                                                                                                                       

This collection Distance is full of quiet beauty and a wide range of subject matter comes Highly Recommended.

~ Book review by William Scott Galasso,

 author of Saffron Skies

                                 

MICHAEL ESCOUBAS REVIEWS SHIMMER BY PAULETTE DEMERS TURCO

Shimmer: An Ekphrastic Poetry Collection by Paulette Demers Turco. 24 Poems ~ 25 art images ~ 81 pages.  Kelsay Books. ISBN: 978-1-63980-317-0.    ISBN: 978-1-63980-333-0

Shimmer, by Paulette Demers Turco, excels on two fronts: First, it is a superb work of art; second, and perhaps more importantly, it is a work of the poet’s heart. Turco’s professional resume  includes a career in both clinical and academic optometry. Her  life has been about vision, about helping people see the world with clarity. I have no idea whether Turco associates her career endeavors with her art. What stands out to me is Paulette Turco’s visual sense with both brush and pen. My goal in this review is to juxtapose both the “art” and the “heart” accomplished in Paulette Turco’s latest collection.

          

Design — The book is organized into six sections: I. Waves, II. Wishes, III. Flight IV. Flow, V. Beacons, and VI. Home. These economical section headings add to the charm and simplicity

 of design. Each heading contains between three and five poems. The book stays within its prescribed lanes. That is, both design and content are like a well-trained athlete: no fat or flab, just energy and precision.

       

Nuances in Forms — Most of Turco’s poems rhyme. This is a  maturated skill. I found the music of her rhymed sequences delightful to the ear. Even her non-rhyming poems resonate with internal rhymes together with excellent end-line decisions; all strong compositions. Shimmers features four triolets, numerous sonnets and even a double-sonnet. Her free verse poems remind me of Emily Dickinson’s style, particularly in her use of the em dash.

Heart and Art Juxtaposed — I lead with Shimmering Plum Island Dawn, the collection’s title poem. It is one of several triolets which the poet judiciously places within the whole. Triolets feature prescribed line-repetitions and rhyme-schemes. These spare poems pack a creative punch while leaving room for expansive sounds and visual effects. I felt “time” melting as if I were present as the tide came in, castles disappearing. Is the poet’s heart conveying a subtle life-lesson?                                                         

Shimmer, Acrylic on Canvas

Shimmering Plum Island Dawn

Sunrays shimmer in the air,

Time melts as foam-topped waves crash down

on sparkling sand as on a dare.

Sunrays shimmer in the air.

At high tide, castles disappear.

My child’s towel becomes a gown.

Sunrays shimmer in the air.

Time melts as foam-topped waves crash down.

In section II, the poet turns her attention to family. I sense her heart in these poems which feature a young girl’s aspirations for ballet. Visually challenged, the youth must cope with whether to wear eyeglasses on stage. Two graphite drawings of a ballerina’s feet combine perfectly with sonnets that chronicle her inner conflict.

In the same section, the artist draws February Lilies, a combination which offers valuable insights about Turco’s artistic process:

                                                                   

Sepia ink on Bristol paper

February Lilies

Lilies in a vase,

lit with morning light

through a mullioned window,

beside drawing paper

with pen and ink supplies

to try—one stroke, then more,

strong and gentle, curved.

Accentuations, shadows

extend across a sheet

of thick white Bristol paper.

After a quiet hour,

lines transform to stems,

leaves, alabaster

blossoms, vase, translucence—

fragrant scent of spring.

Section III. Flight, features color photographs of sand dunes, ice-glazed holly berries glistening red, waiting for, “cedar waxwings / flitting in, / grasping orbs, / crisp and sweet, / sharing in pairs, / beak to beak.” You won’t want to miss the other lovely images and poems in this section.

Those who love lighthouses will delight in an entire section devoted to them. Orange Sky on Charlevoix is among my favorites:

Orange Sky on Charlevoix

She never could imagine this Great Lake,

illuminated by the setting sun,

bright as a centenarian’s birthday cake—

candles all aflame. This day’s not done.

This lighthouse, water surface, cloud-filled sky,

capture this slant of light for moments here—

before the lighthouse beam will blink its eye,

as if afloat, for mariners to veer

their ships around threats hidden by the night.

For now, the miracle of waves of light

meanders through the surfaces she’ll view

without him—pleased to be among the few

to capture this collage of orange red.

It will not last, nor change what lies ahead.

 The term “Ekphrastic” derives its meaning from a Greek root meaning “Description.” However, there is more to it than mere description. At her best, the ekphrastic poet pours her heart into description. After the Lightning Storm speaks volumes:

After the Lightning Storm

Thunder shakes the air, the ground, the oaks,

as bulging, smoke-gray clouds spew giant glops

that soak the withered garden-yellow sundrops,

while jagged light from cloud to cloud now stokes

fear among some families. We help coax

some to shelter with their beach bags. Shops,

though closed, are havens till the lightning stops,

the gusting northeast wind abates. Like strokes

of brush, the late day rays are swept through mist,

lightning clouds that fill a brightened sky

with purples, pinks, and apricot, and gold,

while tall oaks appear as silhouettes

in filigree—surreal to the eye—

a bold celestial canvas to behold.

I close my review, as the author does, with her acrylic 

on canvas creation: Dusk in Marblehead Harbor. 

The curtain falls ever-so-gently with this excerpt 

from Turco’s sonnet, “On the Edge of Light,”:

The harbor surface holds the rim of day,

Reflected in each ripple, every ray

Remaining in an iridescent sky,

Dimming as a gull or term coasts by.

 

 

Excelling in both brush and pen, in art and in heart, Shimmer: An Ekphrastic Poetry Collection 

shines with excellence.

                                                                             ~ Reviewed by Michael Escoubas

MICHAEL ESCOUBAS REVIEWS GATHERING SUNLIGHT BY SHEIBLI & PIECZKA

Gathering Sunlight by Silvia Scheibli & Patty Dickson Pieczka  104 Pages ~ The Bitter Oleander Press ~ ISBN: 978-1-7346535-7-1 To Order: www.bitteroleander.com or www.spdbooks.org

In Gathering Sunlight, two poets from divergent backgrounds and contrasting styles, combine their skills. The result is an engaging and wise collection which sheds fresh light on the human condition. The book is all about the hard work of “gathering.” Scheibli and Pieczka, have something to say. 

They are realists. Their poems face life with all its challenges, failures, and sufferings. Poetry is a sanctuary of sorts. Poetry can and should be enjoyed for its magic show of language. However, I hasten to point out that poetry, for Scheibli and Pieczka, is also useful. My goal in this review is to share the harvest Gathering Sunlight has had in my life. 

Backgrounds — Among the standout features of Gathering Sunlight are interviews with each poet by the publisher The Bitter Oleander Press, (BOP). Digesting these educational interviews prior to reading  the poems increased my enjoyment. From the interview I learned about Scheibli’s love for tropical areas of Mexico and Ecuador. I learned that she is an avid “birder” having compiled a listing of over 500 exotic birds during her intercontinental travels. I learned about a real-life mystical figure named “Chakira,” whose influence permeates much of Scheibli’s work.

Patty Dickson Pieczka’s interview with BOP is no less interesting and brings out both similarities and differences between the two artists. “Beyond These Poems There Be Dragons,” introduces Pieczka’s superb contributions to Gathering Sunlight. I was fascinated by her response to why she chose those particular words. Additionally, Pieczka like Scheibli, is a woman of the earth. She spends time in Shawnee National Forest near her native southern Illinois home. She avers, “Nature has always been important to my sanity and spirituality and is often woven throughout my poetry.”

My favorite part of the interviews is when each poet discusses her unique views on the writing process. I found their practical insights helpful.

 Diamond Net, Photo by Iga Supernak

Poems by Silvia Scheibli. Part I—Duende poems

Chakira, tell me once again

Oh, tell me how the moon

opened your eyes and showed you

a change in consciousness

How you wished that every coyote

should have a black-tipped tail

How the oriole’s hood

was dark until you changed it

to reflect indigo sunlight

Nothing appears natural now—

Now you dream the raven in silver.

How do you dream only in silver, Chakira?

Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca has described the duende form “as a force not a labour, a struggle, not a thought.” Further via Lorca, duende is “an upsurging, inside, from the soles of the feet.” The duende, new to this reviewer, allows the muse to basically take over and drive the poem. One more example:

 

Seascape in Blue, Photo by Iga Supernak

My friend, Chakira, gave me her chisme  

                            

“Listen,” she said.

Pelicans glide on wings

as straight as paddle-boards.

Aero-dynamic frigates ascend

immense, azure skies.

Supplicant, boat-tailed grackles

seek verdant, queen palms.

Caffeinated kiskadees

exclaim an immanent sunrise.

You need to visit Nayarit—

opaline goblet of barefaced dreams—

more often.

             Editor’s note: “Chisme” is Mexican slang for gossip.

Such is the mystical nature of much of Scheibli’s work, utilizing as it does, tropical surroundings, feathery creatures and an innate capacity for dream. In all, twenty-five poems comprise this section with titles that drew me in: “Ode to Iguanas in Nayrit,” “Jaguar Crossing,” “Under the Palapa,” and “Song of the Orange-fronted Parakeet.”

Photo by Iga Supernak

Part II—Ecuador Poems

Without a doubt Silvia Scheibli loves the people of Ecuador. This hospitable land with its “lush corn fields & many-colored roses, / ruby bromeliads & golden bananaquits, / scent of cocoa & coffee plantations” holds a large fragment of her heart. Six poems comprise this section. “Echos on the Road to Babahoyo,” reveals the poet’s heart for the land and its people:

Geese & dozens of jungle chickens

scratch endlessly on hillsides

of banana trees.

Escaped sugar cane & emerald mist

engulf abandoned houses.

Bromeliads perch on telephone wires

like mourning doves.

With partially opened wings

black vultures cast a shadow

over yellow hibiscus.

Delicate roof ferns

volcanic rock & golden bamboo

fade into midnight

with our café

con alma socialista.

Poems by Patty Dickson Pieczka: Beyond These Poems There Be Dragons

Like a child, I’m captivated by dragons. Pieczka “Had Me From Hello,” with her title poem which I share in full:

Drifting on an ocean’s

silk and shells, sea-foam

lacing pearls along the shore,

I follow a dream back

to its home in the dark,

unlace the night

to find forgotten things:

half-vanished thoughts, time

curled within my roots,

words melted by a long-ago sun.

I drift to the ceiling

to watch you sleep.

Your dream breaks

over shoal-bound rocks,

shaking loose a school

of silver fears

and familiar strangers

who sail angel-winged ships,

read the 16 points

of a wind rose to navigate

through the moon’s veil

and ghosts of fog

to the farthest edge

of the subconscious.

                                                              

 Unity by Iga Supernak

I found, within the dreamy cadences of alternating tercets and quatrains, challenges to my conventional ways of thinking. Did I note above that poetry should have an element of practicality? Gently, the poet prods me to probe life “to the farthest edges / of my subconscious.”

       

Pieczka’s poems are preceded by a quote from Dante Aleghieri: Nature is the art of God. With that as a baseline, the poet skillfully weaves nature and human spirituality into a seamless and coherent whole. Her practical mind gifts readers with down-to-earth titles: “Misplaced” is about her father’s question which indicates that he does not know his own daughter. He asks, Who I am? With a family member suffering from Alzheimer’s, this poem speaks to me where I live.

       

A distinctive feature of Pieczka’s work is the “linked poem.” These poems utilize the last line in the previous poem as a springboard to the following poem. This formulation, as far as I know, is unique to Pieczka. At least, this reviewer has not encountered it before. There are a total of four linked poems in the collection; each superbly conceived and written.

Pieczka’s final poem, “At Horseshoe Lake,” shows both the mind and heart of a poet at the height of her craft:

I pull sunlight from your hair

to make our shadows pour

into the cypress swamp,

where rivulets spill back

to the time we met.

Tupelo leaves brush the colors

left by secrets barely whispered—

words beyond flight

and dream, strung to

neither root nor bone,

words tumbling in shapes

never recognized before.

We unbutton the hours

until day and night

meet briefly at the horizon;

they kiss, still making

each other blush

after so many years.

                                   

Gathering Sunlight, taken as a whole, is poetry that satisfies this reviewer’s mind and his soul. Scheibli and Pieczka have created a triumph of the imagination.

~ Reviewed by Michael Escoubas 

 

To Capture the Dawn, Photo by Iga Supernak

The Pushcart Prize Nominations from the California Quarterly 2021

The editors of California Quarterly published in 2021 - Bory Thach, Maja Trochimczyk, Konrad Tademar Wilk and William Scott Galasso have selected the following poems for nominations to the Pushcart Prize, a tradition of small presses and poetry journal publications. 

Vol. 47 no. 1: Sheer Optimism by Lavina Blossom

Vol. 47 no. 1: Blue Fantasia by Ruth Holzer

Vol. 47 no. 2: Providence by Diana Donovan

Vol. 47 no. 2: Tree Songs by Dana Stamps II

Vol. 47 no. 3: Quantum Birds by Ida Marie Beck

Vol. 47 no. 4: Intention by Mike Sprake

The nominated poems are reproduced below.  Congratulations to all the nominated poets!

CALIFORNIA QUARTERLY 47 NO. 1

EDITED BY BORY THACH

BLUE FANTASIA

Blue that dwells in larkspur and iceberg,

in herons, little and great,

in swaying lupine, and wood thrush eggs

nestled on the forest floor;

on the magisterial covers

of the Oxford English Dictionary

and in faded hydrangea petals

pressed between its pages;

in first prize ribbons,

copper sulfate crystals 

and the iridescent wings

of the morpho butterfly.

The hue of lobelia and gentian,

of faceted sapphire,

wild chicory at summer’s end 

and juniper berries in fall,

is the color of mussels clattering in a bucket,

not dreaming of steam, of eyewash cups,

varicose veins, surgical scrubs,

cigar smoke, gas flames, exhaust;

the color of the policeman’s uniform

and his cruiser’s flashing lights;

of bruises, winter prisoners,

the eyes of their guards, tattoos.

Ruth Holzer

Herndon, Virginia

SHEER OPTIMISM

All endings temporary.  The very idea

shunned.  Pauses become the new edge,

more fender, cushion, and curve, so that

the minute and second hands swerve slowly

and always return.  What were once breakdowns, now

commas, naps, momentary gaps in a sub-category

of continuum.  Words like

death, fail, cease, redefined to synonyms of

seam, open shining doorway, soft lifting kite.

 

Consternation become akin to

mixing bowl, with an alternate meaning

of swirling multi-colored lights.  And dread

conveying a type of shivering that warms.  All

prophesies, except those that equate with

everlasting joy--gathered up and tossed.  Zero

re-assuming its role as place-holder for those

vacationing, still in touch.  Done, done with.

Loss, a beloved pet, ever young.  Gain

and renewal, inevitable as the rising sun.

A chorus not unlike birdsong or bees

foraging, joined by hopeful amens,

hope having been raised up

many rungs to become far less

tentative, much nearer to certainty.

Lavina Blossom

Riverside, California

CALIFORNIA QUARTERLY 47 NO. 2

EDITED BY MAJA TROCHIMCZYK

PROVIDENCE  

 

This evening when you were tuning your guitar

and the dog began to howl from his spot on the Turkish rug 

I drifted back to our grad school days in Providence

 

before everything started coming down—the Berlin Wall

the Twin Towers—each memory a burst of color

our pale pink Victorian on Hope Street

 

the lavender mailbox with its duct-tape roof

the flock of escaped green parrots on the telephone wires

their bright hues flashing, rising into an indigo sky

 

and the yellow velvet couch on the porch

beckoning neighbors to stop by with tomatoes and lettuces 

from their gardens, musical instruments, and bourbon

 

those warm summer nights before grievances had hardened

when the world was ripening before us

and anything—everything—was still possible.

Diana Donovan

Mill Valley, California

  

 

TREE SONGS

Alive, the California forest knows

how to orchestrate itself, curate, permeate, and germinate,

a permanent, sly installation,

yet every faithless flower has reverence for the air,

and I would swear an oath, John 

Clare, that I’ve heard the voluptuous trees sing, members

of the adagio Earth Choir,

contributing with the birds, frogs, a great hawk ballet,

and this music is a per diem Art work, naturally

I listen, agog, in Yosemite to redwood General Sherman’s arias, 

and others, nameless, participate, too, 

and the forest invites this bohemia, this perfection 

of trees, and I know if I were undeniably one

of them, strong rooted, I’d sing to cultivate an audience stand-

still … in bluesy Gaia’s auditorium.

Dana Stamps II

Riverside, California

 

CALIFORNIA QUARTERLY 47 NO. 3

EDITED BY KONRAD TADEMAR WILK

QUANTUM BIRDS

It lies beneath.

You get to it by digging

to the drumroll of hummingbird wings.

I sought it deep

in the quantum realm, the wave

function, the answers

to the galaxy of starling murmurations,

to the kotuku in that faraway lagoon,

an apparition in nebulous plumage from the spirit land.

That elusive oracle tells all the truth, but slant,

metes out mere probabilities

to even the most meticulous mind,

entangles me in the duality of

defeat and awe.

But a bird is greater than the sum of its parts

 

—the bluebird that fashions his cloak

from a piece of sky, the green heron

stealing a ray of sun to iridesce between the reeds.

In the quantum world, a bird

may be alive and dead.

There is no certainty.

When you cage one truth,

the others fly.

Still, the sandhill cranes will alight

on the river basin

and start to dance.

Ida Marie Beck

Livermore, California

CALIFORNIA QUARTERLY 47 NO. 4

EDITED BY WILLIAM SCOTT GALASSO

INTENTION

I have traveled all the way to the rainforest

hoping I might capture some of it 

in line and color. I watch distant thunder clouds 

sweep across the tree canopy until they reach me. 

In the humidity, watch tree branches laden with orange flowers 

become engulfed with strange birds, 

while a hoop-skinned snake sidles its way 

past the indigenous-wood door, flicking its tongue.

Weeks have passed since I first arrived,

the painting set and empty sketchbook remain 

as if held by a tenfold gravity to the pine-top table.

The idea of picking them up and simply walking 

to the edge of the garden where the wilderness takes over, 

is overwhelming. This might have been how artists 

felt who accompanied Darwin to the Galapagos, 

or Amerigo Vespucci to the New World.

But they with pen and ink, gouache and watercolor

brought back images of unfamiliar flora and fauna, 

the lay of the land, something of the people. 

And I’m running out of time, next to this unfamiliar world 

luring me with its beguiling perfumes, its racket of unfamiliar birds,

this unknown nature breathing within its own body -

this symbiotic place that I find so hard to disturb -

this place should I enter, will be changed forever.

                          Mike Sprake                                                                                    

                          Costa Mesa, California

 

 

California sunset photos by Maja Trochimczyk