Gorky’s Cathedrals

Cathedrals of the city,

that is what Gorky called the many fire hydrants

he would pass in the street.

Ascribing meaning and texture,

the artist’s eye brought to everything.

I’m surprised surly New York 

never got to him,

always how and when he wished

to see it.

An acrobat 

of such fine delusions.

How far out

do you plan on treading

against the twisting 

tides?

I sit

at the back of the house

wondering how the front 

of the house

is doing

and if this makes me paranoid 

or overly sensitive

in some way 

then you’re counting

porcupines 

instead of

quills.

Net of Lemons

The fridge almost empty again,

it is hard to not grow sour.

A single net of lemons.

Pushed back by better options  

and forgotten on the second shelf.

The yellow netting 

every bit as cowardly and sad

as the failing fruit within.

And I stand over the sink.

Squeeze out the last dried dregs

into the bottom of a single malt glass.

Thrown back without toast.

That deep copper mine way I wince with a pain 

everyone can remember.

Standing

in this change 

room

trying on many 

slim fit shirts 

that don’t fit

as half-naked children

run around 

trying to open 

all the doors

not realizing 

their future 

is just

on the other 

side.

What I love

about 

Detroit 

is that it never 

once

tries to be

Paris,

only itself,

which is all 

we can 

ever 

do.

Sub Par

The submarines are on shore leave. 

Playing a round of golf in checkered pants 

that hide their torpedoes.

The submarines are taller than you would think

when they stand up on end.

Waiting for their turn at the tee.

Looking to break even on a difficult Par 4.

Tiny pencils to keep score.

A friendly wager or two before the 6^th green.

While the rest of the submarines are off patrolling the oceans.

With sonar ears and gangly periscope eyes.

Waiting for their shore leave.

An opportunity to hit the links.

Your

life can be in park

even if you don’t drive

that is what

they never tell you

once they get 

around to not telling 

you things.

Steve Jobs 

ate his food raw 

and would always lease a car  

for 6 months 

because anything longer  

required a license and registration  

under California law 

so that every six months 

Steve Jobs would drop off his car 

at the dealership 

and drive a new one 

off the lot  

behind that steering wheel  

that had just been waiting 

for its turn at the helm.

Question

What’s wrong with losing your mind?

You may find it all over again.

And never in the way or place

they told you.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle though his garbage.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, SynchronizedChaos, Literary Yard, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

Rome. An astonishing Mega-Event and Spectacle dedicated to Dante Alighieri on Via Margutta—a Street linked to Fellini, Picasso, Gregory Peck, Audrey Hepburn. Billy Wilder Celebrated in SF and Naples.

By Federico Wardal

Rome. In early December of last year, *Il Messaggero*—a newspaper that frequently reaches one million readers a day—published a massive article about me (https://www.ilmessaggero.it/roma/eventi/wardal_amato_da_fellini_da_hollywood-9232025.html?refresh_ce), an article that would restore my full renown throughout Italy. Around Christmastime, a magical encounter took place between myself and Tina and Teresa Zurlo—the curators of one of Europe’s most important art galleries. 

It is located  at number 90 on the legendary Via Margutta, this street is inextricably linked to my mentor, Federico Fellini (who lived at number 110), as well as to Pablo Picasso; it is also famously known as the setting for the film *Roman Holiday*, starring Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn, which was filmed at number 51. 

Via Margutta also played a starring role during the years of Fellini’s *La Dolce Vita* and the era of his paparazzi—foremost among them the globally famous and celebrated Rino Barillari, known as “The King.” 

During our meeting, the Zurlo sisters and I discussed Fellini, as well as a major exhibition dedicated to him by the renowned painter Mario Russo—an event graced by the exceptional presence of his daughter, the famous actress Adriana Russo, serving as its godmother. However, as I was unable to return to Rome due to filming commitments in Hollywood, I sent a video message offering my greetings and recalling my personal bond with Fellini. The video proved to be a great success, and the brilliant Zurlo sisters subsequently informed me that they wanted me to serve as the absolute star of a grand event dedicated to the “Supreme Poet ” Dante Alighieri—an event that would extend into a subsequent tribute to Pier Paolo Pasolini and Dario Bellezza.

Inspired, I bring forth—from “the strata of the rock of history”—a short theatrical piece titled: *Dante, Pasolini, Dario Bellezza, Wardal: Infernal… all of them*. It is a reverse journey for the poet Virgil, who guides Dante into the contemporary world of Pasolini, Dario Bellezza (a friend of mine), and myself. Enrico Bernard—a playwright and director of exceptional caliber—directs me; the popular flutist Andrea Ceccomori graces the performance with magical musical moments (much like in the film *Anita*); and Antonio Zaru has designed for me a floor-length tunic of “Inferno-red” sequins.

My entrance is planned to take place from a luxurious automobile—naturally, also “Inferno-red.” An event constructed from such elements—never before blended in this way—has already circled the globe before it has even taken place. The glamour enveloping the event serves as a garment through which—with increasing clarity—emerge political, social, and moral issues: questions regarding peace, and the rampant psychological toxicity pervading both personal relationships and fluid modern connections. It feels as though a “Golden Age of Hollywood” has returned—a legacy that belongs to me through my friendships with Alfred Hitchcock and Billy Wilder. Indeed, I am bringing Billy Wilder back into our present times, envisioning him as the potential protagonist of a mega-event spanning San Francisco and Pompeii—the latter being close to Ischia and Sorrento, where Wilder filmed *Avanti!* with Jack Lemmon.

From the Cannes Film Festival, stars are already booking their attendance for the Roman event scheduled for May 22nd; meanwhile, in Egypt, *The Times International*—edited by Ibrahim Shehata—has published a fascinating article on the subject: https://www.thetimesinternational.com/?p=169588. A flurry of activity is currently underway, forging connections between an American film festival—active across California, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and New York State—and the Vesuvius Film Festival in Pompeii, presided over by architect Giovanna D’Amodio. Meanwhile, the film *Anita*—based on a poem by the hero Garibaldi and a winner at both the SF New Concept IFF and the Vesuvius FF—is enjoying special screenings in Brazil at the Gramado IFF, as well as at Andrea Priori’s Cortintelvi IFF (located between Como and Milan); it has also garnered interest in France at the *Festival International du film d’histoire*.

By now, the role of “puppeteer” seems to be taking hold of me—a role I embrace in order to bring to life these cultural and artistic bridges that constitute my lifelong dream. The very latest news concerns the event scheduled for May 22nd in Rome: the occasion will be graced by exceptional patrons—the legendary impresario of Tina Turner, Domenico Modugno, and the longtime head of the Sanremo Festival, Adriano Aragozzini—alongside Francesco Garibaldi Hibbert, a direct descendant of the “Hero of Two Worlds” who is currently making waves in the film world with *Anita* (a film about his famous ancestress, Anita Garibaldi). The event’s distinguished hostess will be the great actress Adriana Russo. Also taking center stage will be prominent ladies such as the Hon. Angela Alioto and *Cavaliere* Silvia Gardin.

We anticipate a veritable flood of VIPs, aristocrats, academics, stars (whose names we will reveal only after the performance), and filmmakers—including, of course, the performance’s director, Enrico Bernard. They will be joined by directors Antonello Altamura (*Ancient Taste of Death: The Sinister Legend of Wardal*)—who has a “top-secret” surprise in store!—as well as Andrea Marfori (*SHEMSU-HOR*), Jason Zavaleta (*Start on Market*), Sherif El-Azma (*Al-Maza*), and Jennifer Glee (*Narcisse Fluid*). All will be there with me, accompanied by the stars of their respective films—my heartfelt thanks to them all! Also in attendance will be director Agostino Marfella, who, like me, shares a theatrical bond with the poet Dario Bellezza.

But hopefully, all of this will be replicated live in NYC, LA, SF, and the Bay Area—and certainly on both Italian (TV programs featuring Maria Luisa Lo Monte) and American television networks.

Beyond the Extraordinary or of Joseph Conrad (Experience, Language, Hard Work, and Genius)

Many of the scholars and documentaries and such rightly claim that numerous things contributed to Joseph Conrad’s highly successful and monumental canon of literature. They point out his multiple languages, plus a passion for the sea and written word, and the study and hard work, plus an immense dedication to craft and truth both. But, though that’s all obviously true, in reading him there is something more, and it’s that he was possessed of genius. And in two ways. 

One part of his genius was in seeing, and he himself said that above all he wanted to make people see. And the other half was in expression, in writing. He saw and he wrote. Many people speak multiple languages, and several are writers and poets, but is there anyone that can turn every sentence into gold like Conrad? Little or few. And in a climate modern where sparseness and brevity is lauded as a fashion for some odd reason, his golden descriptive sentences shine even brighter, turning the idea of telling a story into something immensely valuable. Conrad can show the way back to true storytelling and literature. 

Therefore, it is a sea worker’s life and experience, the languages, the interest, and hard work, but, nature or God also added genius to the mix. If you look closely, even though there are several that can turn sentences that are extraordinary, there are few that can go beyond the extraordinary into something else entirely. 

Salar de Uyuni*

Lee Yeon-su

I turned the desert upside down

I part my lips and let salt bloom

I came face to face between desert and sky

The husks shed by salt-tree fruits on all sides

murmur their sentences

I roll in the salty garment the sea has taken off

Uyuni, in the traces of having collapsed,

gathered the sloughed skins the foam left behind

Forbidden tears ripened and burst — the salt

stacked its body, rising on the tips of pillars

It is an unknowable origin that resembles a mirror

You, who have not evaporated,

are crossing the desert you once swam through

on milk-white ice floes,

drifting, drifting, drifting

I lean my chest back — all night, white grains of sand

keep spilling out from my mouth

With the clouds the sky has spat out,

the loose space between us brings

a lengthened shadow trailing behind —

greetings and farewells in one

In every chest where white sand grains mutter,

a mirror flickers, and a saltiness keeps rising

Where has the face that hung in the sky gone —

even shattered beneath my feet,

I return again,

and even overturned, reflected,

it is a face that cannot be erased

* Salar de Uyuni: the world’s largest salt flat, located in Bolivia

소금사막 우유니*

이연수

사막을 뒤집었다

입술을 열어 소금을 피운다

사막과 하늘 사이 마주했다

사방 소금나무 열매가 쏟아놓은 각질들이 

문장을 웅얼거린다

바다가 벗어놓은 짠 기운 옷으로 뒹군다

우유니는 주저 앉은 흔적으로

포말이 내어놓은 허물을 모았다

금지된 눈물이 익어 터진 소금은

기둥으로 발끝을 세워 몸을 쌓았다

거울을 닮은 알 수 없는 기원이다

증발하지 않은 너는 

헤엄친 사막을 우유빛 유빙으로

둥둥둥 건너고 있다

가슴 젖히니 밤새 하얀 모래알

자꾸만 입으로 흘러나온다

하늘이 뱉어 낸 구름으로

헐렁한 사이는 마중과 배웅으로

길어진 그림자 끌고 온다

하얀 모래알이 주절대는 가슴마다

거울이 반짝이고 간기가 자꾸만 솟아오른다

하늘에 걸린 얼굴은 어디로 가고 

발아래에서 쪼개져도

내가 다시 돌아와

뒤집혀도 반사되어

지워지지 않는 얼굴이다

*소금사막 우유니 : 볼리비아 포토시주(州)의 우유니 서쪽 끝에 있는 소금으로 뒤덮인 사막.

​Blue Hole

Lee Yeon-su

Topaz sapphire pearl jewel-sea of the Red Sea

A blue hole is a cave filled with unusually blue seawater

Somewhere, endlessly — once you enter

A sinkhole in the sea begins, from which you cannot escape

A trap, on the day I must descend into the blue water?

Between the thinned surface, a computer’s power light flickers

Shall I dip my ankle in — I hold my breath, bubbles rise gurgling

The breath I filled myself with swims, transparent ears drift

The diver steadies their breathing and turns toward the bottom

Cobalt-colored shallows and sea urchins blooming like red flowers

Lotte World Gyro Drop, spinning and dizzy

As I rise, the held breath floats up

The moment the crown of my head strikes the sky

A vertiginous 2 seconds of weightlessness on the way down

Gathering my whole body, hoping not to be discarded

I shut my eyes tight and grip my hands hard

The speed of falling

I had a dream — the days I laughed brightly as a child,

The playground seesaw creaking and groaning

I surrendered my body to the children’s cheers and movement

A husky voice flowing from the radio

The film Begin Again, and the song

Lost Stars — guitar notes ringing out

Like a star that has lost its way

A blue sports car racing down the road

Hair streaming above my forehead

It was the day the wind blew and I left home

The underwater cave, like the cut cross-section of a bell pepper

Someone’s hands and feet refracted, rippling

Lifted their head, wagged their tail toward the surface

A cursor blinks in the deep sea —

Click

블루홀

이연수

토파즈 사파이어 진주 홍해의 보석 바다

블루홀은 유난히 푸른 바닷물로 가득 찬 동굴이다 

어디 한 부분 끝없이 한번 들어가면 

헤어나지 못하는 바다 속 싱크홀 시작된다

푸른 물속으로 들어가야 하는 날 함정이라니?

얇아진 수면사이 컴퓨터 전원이 반짝거려 

발목을 넣어볼까 숨을 참는다 기포가 뽀글뽀글 솟아오르고 

가득 채운 숨은 헤엄쳐 투명한 귀는 떠다닌다 

다이버 호흡을 고르고 바닥을 향하여 

코발트 빛 여울과 붉은 꽃으로 피어난 성게들

롯데월드 자이로드롭 뱅글뱅글 어지럽다

올라가는 사이 참던 숨이 떠오른다

하늘에 정수리가 부딪힌 순간

아찔하다 내려오는 무중력 2초

온몸을 모아 버려지지 않기를 

눈을 질끈 감고 손을 꽉 쥐었다

추락의 속도를

​

꿈을 꾸었다 어렸을 적 환하게 웃던 날, 

놀이터 시소는 삐그덕 거린채 

아이들 환호성 소리와 움직임에 따라 몸을 내맡겼다

라디오에서 흘러나오는 허스키한 목소리

영화 비긴 어게인과 노래 그리고

‘Lost Stars’ 기타소리 울려 퍼져 

길을 잃어버린 별처럼

도로 위에 파란 스포츠카 질주하고

머리카락이 이마위에서 휘날리고

바람이 부는 방향으로 집을 떠난 날이었다

물속에 잠긴 동굴은 피망의 잘린 단면처럼

누군가 손과 발이 굴절되어 일렁인 채

고개를 쳐들어 수면을 향해 꼬리를 흔들었다

바다 속 커서는 깜박인다

클릭하기를 

​

The Woman Shelling Beans

By Yeon Myung-ji

When you peel back a Type-B woman,
beans that sprouted upon dust spring forth.
With every sound of a rolling bean, a corner is carved out.
A corner: a place seen only
when you kneel and bow your head.
A place where tilted heads—
those nearly missed—begin to bud.
Therefore, shell the beans gently,
as if stroking them soft.
Such is the counsel of the corner.

Scattered sincerities
are gathered onto the dining table.
Within the husks, hollowed by heartache,
the rank regrets of things that lunged away
lie in a row, once-sunken pits.

Repeating mistakes cast far off in shallow sleep,
she opens her eyes to the morning sun.
From the woman’s listless calves, now a layer lighter,
baby mice flee in a frantic line.

“Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth”—
a fitting night resides within each bean pod.
Beans, born but a moment ago,
leave their hulls one after another
to simmer intimately, bubble-boil.
Every bean is nurturing
its own grain of a corner.

Profile

Poet Yeon Myeong-ji began her literary career in 2013 with the poetry collection 『Gashibi』, published in the Minerva Poetry Series.

Her published works include the poetry collections 『Sitting Like an Apple』 and 『Where would the House of the  Sorry’ be? 』 the e-poetry collection 『Seventeen Marco Polos,』 and the travel essay 『Step by Step, Walking the Camino.』

She has received the Tolstoy Literary Award, the Homi Literary Award, the Cheongsong Gaekju Literary Award, and the Aviation Literary Award. In 2025, she was awarded the Bronze Prize in Poetry at the Literature Asia Awards.

Her poems have been translated and published in local languages in India, Pakistan, Kosovo, Italy, Egypt, the United States, and Belgium,Greece,and Iraq.

In general, the results obtained scientifically confirm that innovative approaches in native language lessons significantly increase the effectiveness of working with a dictionary. This indicates the need to combine traditional methods with innovative approaches in the modern educational process, without completely rejecting them.

CONCLUSION

In conclusion, the process of working with a dictionary in native language lessons is one of the pedagogical areas that is of decisive importance in the formation of students’ speech development, level of thinking and communicative competence. The analysis conducted during the study showed that working with a dictionary is not just a process of teaching new words, but a complex methodological system that shapes students’ attitude to the language, develops their creative and independent thinking.

Traditional approaches – that is, methods of explaining, memorizing and translating words – although useful to a certain extent, cannot fully meet the requirements of today’s education. In a modern educational environment, it is necessary to involve students as active participants, increase their interest and direct them to independent research. In this regard, innovative methods significantly increase the effectiveness of working with a dictionary.

According to the results of the study, interactive methods (cluster, brainstorming, group work), digital technologies (electronic dictionaries, multimedia tools, mobile applications) and gamification elements contribute to the rapid and stable acquisition of vocabulary by students. In particular, these approaches increase students’ interest in the lesson, forming them as active participants and independent thinkers.

Also, the research revealed that when innovative methods are used, students develop not only their vocabulary, but also their speech literacy, level of logical thinking and creative approach. This directly affects the quality of education and the effective organization of the educational process.

In general, organizing work with vocabulary in native language lessons based on modern innovative approaches is one of the important factors in increasing educational efficiency. In the future, teachers should further improve these methods and widely apply them in the educational process. This will serve to form a high level of speech culture, independent thinking and creative approach in students.

REFERENCES

Gulamov A. Methodology of teaching the native language. – Tashkent: Teacher, 2010. – pp. 145–150.

Mahmudov N. Language and speech culture. – Tashkent: Science, 2018. – pp. 98–105.

Matchonov S. Interactive methods in native language education. – Tashkent: Innovation, 2020. – pp. 67–72.

Harmer J. How to Teach English. – London: Longman, 2007. – pp. 120–130.

Small Girl Big Devil

As quiet as I was 

your silence devoured me

I was spit into bits 

fed to pigeons

given a lollipop for this cross 

and left on someone’s door

who didn’t like children

so I became a woman

overnight 

in a back alley 

and you looked at your work 

said thy will be done

and fell into deep slumber 

as I crawled away in shame 

Monsters are made 

not born 

there’s still a monster under my bed 

I hear it deep within the empty night 

when dreams play tricks 

and lovers stop 

loving 

The morning so futile 

where I attempt to redeem 

us 

under the blood sun that rises 

over the arch of our terrace 

that hasn’t been used in decades 

and never will 

Since the city has climaxed 

we are spent within her

Alive 

but dead with guilt 

and old with fear 

Yet 

we sit together

numbly silent 

as a tomb

In Poison We Began

Your breath a siphon

of everything me

those late nights 

we plodded through our deadlands 

as vacant as the wind 

your lips a poison 

never matched 

(and we choose our poisons delicately)

Some burst of cosmic gases

from an unnamed planet 

as it flew apart 

fused us 

there isn’t a fiber 

between our skin 

our poison combined 

threaten

all the surroundings 

When I slink out 

from our skin 

I witness us

white and wrinkled 

posed as humans 

we glow toxic blue

in the moonlight 

We fold back

into each other’s poison

scrimmage until the moon

dies 

because we can’t ever 

leave pure things alone 

Sweet Darlings

There was something off

in my mother 

I’m sure I realized this at a young age

We salt our own wounds

to go back and revisit in some nostalgic way 

never does any good 

There’s a heroic bend to events 

we escaped from 

or got out of unscathed 

but it is bent and strange 

hope can be quiet rage in youth…..in the meek 

There are outliers for reasons 

back then I skirted darkness 

it was so natural 

to turn into those monsters 

the same ones I was born to

and some of us morph 

to become a hybrid 

pulling some old dark legacy 

along with a new creeping addiction

I don’t have to call up the dead

to ensure I’m awake nights 

I’ve been awake for decades 

fearing some floating stigma 

that will get me 

at some future point 

If there’s something off in me

the root goes deep 

my road went dark aways ago

I cry forward 

Kitty

The wind ever so lightly rustles the trees

there’s an egg in the blue jay’s nest

Kitty lights a Newport

blows that mint smoke straight into

the fresh morning air

we sit

sludgy and bent

ogle the simple shit

as if life never existed before

the blue egg

before martyrdom

Christ

dinosaurs

it’s all new today

cuz we heeled she says

Kitty coughs

deep and chunky

phlegm flows

over her lips

she wipes her mouth with a tissue

her potbelly ever so round

tits sag down 

while gravity sucks at her nipples

I light a Marlboro

nothin left to fear

that ain’t already spooked us

the egg

divine and speckly

imperfect

yet so pure

can’t take my eyes off it

almost the color 

of a Tiffany giftbox

Kitty grunts

asks who Tiffany is

I just want the egg to open at its time

without a hungry predator lurking

I want that baby blue jay for my own

some dormant motherhood beam

creeks in my dead womb

as if to ask

what happened to the many eggs

I’ve scrambled at the predator’s foaming jowls

A singular cry from the momma blue jay

the mother’s moan 

dates back to Mary

some invisible clock

that stops a heart

when necessary

as written in the Torah 

and we’ll come to it

Hole (For M.M.)

Your Frankenstein chariot

pieced together

from many dead Harleys

The rides to the beach

salt air sprayed us

from both sides of the bridge

and it was a freedom so epic

it engulfed us

Glittered eyelids

black leather

lust like dogs

hunger eats like a hole

we ain’t filling in this life

The bike on the boardwalk

us

staring into a future

we were unable to feed

sucking at the pure moment 

of innocence and death

too naive to know the difference

Boardwalk now is cracked

ripped and busted up

from the many storms 

I walk it alone from time to time

hungry to get to the point

That tipping point

when you and I meet 

as ghosts