For wide is the gate, and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
The Holy Bible
Matthew 7:13
There was an eastern town, and an old man watched the rain from the window, his Bible on a small table beside. He sometimes wore a brimmed hat in the outdoors but only went out to get food from the grocery store. He had a little Christmas Tree, a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, small enough to go on a little table. Each year it came out. I liked this tree.
He had very few visitors but sometimes a soul would show up, someone from the old days. These people, most of them, grew up poor. It was nice that their children wanted more, wanted to succeed. There is no harm in that. But some of their children’s generation went crazy w/it, and took it all too seriously, breaking relationships, family bonds, trust, even any measure of happiness, over monetary gain. The world of others didn’t laugh outwardly at him but didn’t respect him, for his worldly accomplishments were not great or even pronounced. The affluent wanted to keep their money and get more and the poor wanted to be wealthy. The man wanted me to shave his face because he couldn’t do this any longer as he was getting shaky at ninety three years of age.
So he sat in an old chair, I think one of the very chairs I used to sit in as a child when he fed me lunch. I carefully shaved his face. Outside it rained. I could hear it against the glass and knew it was making its way into the earth here, mixing with the soil, disappearing somewhere there, but in some places went through gravity to fall down industrial grates built into the roads. He had chosen to never grow a beard. That choice in a man has always been strange to me. Though an orphan or mystery at birth in actuality, my people must have had beards, and there must be some spiritual or genetic memory of such, somewhere, somehow. But to each his own. Some people are like that, and most all people have their ideas about what is the right way to dress, to look, to speak, et cetera, and what is not. Each secretly and not no secretly thinks they are right. When I was a child he made me soup, and there were many cans of soup in the cupboard.
One day his wife said, ‘Where is the child’s drink,’ to which he replied, ‘Soup is liquid he doesn’t need a drink.’ This was a mistake. The woman scolded him and was vexed. That’s a word they used, ‘vexed.’ She said, ‘Get him a drink, and this child is never to be served a meal without a drink again.’ Time passes. He used to tell me stories of a ranch where someone is stealing in the night. But the ranch owner stayed up and watched and caught the person. It was determined the thief needed some livestock so the ranch owner gave it to him, gave him some livestock. Cormac McCarthy the old man was not. When I finished shaving the man he said thanks. He said once in those late life days, ‘It is lucky you are here.’ That was nice. I didn’t mind. His wife had long left the world and he was not long for the earth as is said.
Now, I suppose someone else lives there. Some soul or souls. That’s the way it goes. The man had fashioned his own necklace to help his soul. It was a piece of yard and on it were medallions of various Catholic Saints. And he had received the last rites two or three times, even in the days when he was healthy if elderly. One’s soul is their own responsibility in a way. I wonder if that saint necklace still exists somewhere. I wonder whatever happened to it. I wonder what happens to things, and to souls and old chairs and even cans of soup.
Paul Edward Costa is an award-winning poet, spoken word artist, organiser, and teacher. He is a former Poet Laureate for the City of Mississauga and has published many poems in journals such as NoD Magazine, DarkWinter Literary Magazine, and Blank Spaces Magazine. He’s released a book of poetry, “The Long Train of Chaos” (Kung Fu Treachery Press – 2019) and a book of flash fiction, “God Damned Avalon” (Mosaic Press – 2021). As a spoken word artist, he’s featured at many poetry series across Canada. He currently organises the monthly Outer Haven Poetry Series in Toronto’s Imperial Pub.
*** Getting to know silence The clouds in the sky burst silently The veins on the arm burst silently The dead cry silently Thunder rumbles without any unnecessary sounds Fish heads don’t scream Even mosquitoes don’t squeak A military pilot prepared to drop a quiet (but only for the time being) air bomb
*** the existence of clouds for the sake of the existence of rain the creation of man for the sake of the creation of god I know everything in the world except the truth
*** The future is water The future is a spit I collect spit and tears I pretend that the cemetery is a space rocket I pretend Im going to the stars But in fact Im picking mushrooms in the forest after an explosion in the forest near Hiroshima
*** Religion was invented for those Who have not yet died Each of us dreams of being Jesus Christ Each of us is a baby Вut where are the Magi
*** БОГ ГОГ LOL LOLA LOL A LOL Æ LOL ГОГ ВАН ГОГ ONE GOG VAN GOGH VAH GOG AH GOD A DOG AD OG АД ОХ ЛХ ОХ ХХ ХХ ОО ОО Zero Nothing
***
Chorus.
Silence.
Silence kills.
Silence is a source of information,
And the deader it is,
The more valuable it is.
Music.
The choir repeats the same thing,
Nailing silence to the emptiness.
Creepy, fascinating.
Chorus is loneliness.
It is unbearable to hear
How insanely lonely
Each individual voice is.
All voices arise from silence.
All voices arise from loneliness.
All voices are singing.
Singing is the twin of music.
Music is made up of sounds:
Silence and stillness.
Sound is a movement
That moves towards
The one who hears it.
Hear the silence while waiting
For the end of life.
Listen to silence
During your own apocalypse.
And sing.
Almost die.
Life is almost dead.
Death is almost beautiful.
Death is silence.
Death is a song
Without words,
Without a voice.
Chorus.
Silence.
Silence kills.
***
Blind people do not interfere with those who are happy. Night with silence. Occasionally there is the sound of cars on the street. Steps on the stairs. The noise of neighbors voices and the clatter of dishes.
A blind man is looking for a roof. The stars are shining and there is nowhere to hide from the shine. Its not snowing. There is no access to the roof.
A blind man is looking for a basement. A blind man plays hide and seek. The door to the basement is closed.
A blind man is looking for a home. A blind man does not want to live in a house without color. There is a sharpened knife on the table. The soul turns into a bird. The door is open.
***
I teach the lights to light up
I learn from people about combustion
Matches have no soul
Matches can break
You can build a house and death out of matches
The flowers in which the cemetery is floating are fake
(TIME) …as time flies fast – unless GOD cuts its wings. But then time seems to simply start to run out of space. Time sometimes only brings slow-motion sighing from the setting sun. Yes, time can heal; but time can also kill like a wind blowing out candles. When a rain- storm starts, you feel all you can feel until you come to find out if it is in vain… …as time flies fast – unless GOD cuts its wings. But then time seems to simply start to run out of space. Time sometimes only brings slow-motion sighing from the setting sun. Yes, time can heal; but time can also kill like a wind blowing out candles. When a rainstorm starts, you feel all you can feel until you come to find out if it is in vain… January 2004
(LEAF IN THE WIND) …the sun sets and the time pauses in a pantomime like an old black and white photograph of the night in the window. You dream of snow that tastes like cream. In the light of a moon- shaped plate, a silver spoon mixes sugar and salt inside your restless soul. Each time you lose control over the steering wheel of your life, you may feel as helpless as a torn leaf in the wind. For a brief moment, your memory lane turns into a free- way of living without regret or fear. Inside your head,… …the sun sets and the time pauses in a pantomime like an old black and white photograph of the night in the window. You dream of snow that tastes like cream. In the light of a moon-shaped plate, a silver spoon mixes sugar and salt inside your restless soul. Each time you lose control over the steering wheel of your life, you may feel as helpless as a torn leaf in the wind. For a brief moment, your memory lane turns into a freeway of living without regret or fear. Inside your head,… October 2010
(IN THE AFTERGLOW) …also known as the sun. This day is married to that night. Does anyone think that it isn’t true? Some words seem not to mean anything. Others – even less. You look at their lean letters while the evening skies are starting to grow dark as the easiest thing to sow in the afterglow of the day’s wedding ring… …also known as the sun. This day is married to that night. Does anyone think that it isn’t true? Some words seem not to mean anything. Others – even less. You look at their lean letters while the evening skies are starting to grow dark as the easiest thing to sow in the afterglow of the day’s wedding ring… July 2018
(AROUND A WORD) …in the Beginning when there wasn’t a single man. GOD created the World. So, every single word that may be found in It can also be seen as a word that has got to be coming from GOD. Whenever a word is found, it is bound to be around a word and, of course, the Word that was… …in the Beginning when there wasn’t a single man. GOD created the World. So, every single word that may be found in It can also be seen as a word that has got to be coming from GOD. Whenever a word is found, it is bound to be around a word and, of course, the Word that was… February 2021
This four session virtual workshop will provide poets and writers of all levels, genres, and backgrounds with the tools to write from their experiences with atrocity, the traumas produced by atrocity, and the healing (personally, communally, nationally) your words can make of it. Featuring Ellen Bass, Jacqueline Osherow, Joy Ladin, Geoffrey Philp, Jehanne Dubrow, among others. Moderated by Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum. Four consecutive weekly sessions (January 7, 14, 21, 28 ).
Each session includes content from the forthcoming book The Wounded Line: A Guide to Writing Poems of Trauma (“ethical concerns and helpful craft elements for writing poems [and other writing] that engage with trauma”) presented by the author Jehanne Dubrow, and session related writing prompts and open review of selected flash fiction, poems, etc. as submitted by attendees. Each registrant receives New Voices: Contemporary Writers Confronting the Holocaust suggested readings from which coordinate with the workshop series. Session recordings will be made available to registrants unable to attend specific sessions upon request. Registration fee includes all four sessions. Limited registration closes December 30. Presented by the New Voices Project, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. newvoicesproject.org and you may sign up for the workshop here.
Now for our issue’s theme, Plumbing the Depths. We look into the varied aspects, not always visible at first glance, of people’s interior and social lives, human societies, the natural world, and our artwork, history, and culture.
Chuck Taylor’s story reminds us about the complex layers of each person’s life, that we are more than our most obnoxious moments. Paul Tristram explores everyday human feelings and interactions in his “street poetry,” claiming them as a worthy literary subject.
Gabriel Kang speaks to the important issue of men’s mental health by illustrating men’s struggles passed down through generations. David Sapp delves into Middle American family life in the 1970s through a cascade of shifting perspectives.
Daniel De Culla laments relationships inside and outside of the church which are exploitative rather than nurturing.
Ivan Pozzoni brings a comically psychoanalytic perspective to digital and analog aspects of modern life. Mykyta Ryzhykh illuminates the internal and external destruction of total war with a landscape suffering from PTSD. Alexander Kabishev evokes the displacement of civilians during wartime in his continuing epic of the siege of Leningrad. Muheez Olawale’s dramatic tale of escape and survival highlights the tragedy of human trafficking and the slave trade. Nicolas Gunter evokes the hopelessness of a person displaced and oppressed within a cruel climate.
Daniel De Culla’s fragmented near-death dream vision excoriates the political and economic power structures of the modern Western world. Noah Berlatsky illustrates the grotesque nature of hate and vitriol through his consciously repulsive imagery. Patricia Doyne excoriates the rising tide of racist and anti-immigrant sentiment in the U.S. Jake Cosmos Aller lambastes the political climate of the United States. Howard Debs preserves the words of and speculates along with the hosts of The View, wondering about Trump’s recent victory. Christopher Bernard suggests that America’s unique mix of cultural values and priorities helped to produce a leader akin to Trump. Bruce Roberts registers disgust at Trump’s voice, attitude, and behavior.
Turgunov Jonpolat describes how he stopped his peers from bullying him by reminding them that they were not all that important in life. Ivanov Reyez crafts vignettes of people determined to live and thrive despite the small and larger cruelties of the world around them.
Nuraini Mohamed Usman’s tale of enemies-to-lovers takes place within a secondary school. Ahmad Al-Khatat describes two broken people finding and healing each other in an unexpected love story. Mesfakus Salahin offers his gentle love to someone for whom he cares very much. Lan Qyqualla poetically immortalizes his late wife Lora in his mythical verse. Taylor Dibbert conveys continuing grief over the loss of a beloved canine companion. Kodirova Barchinoy Shavkatovna mourns the loss of her grandfather’s kind and poetic soul. Faizullayeva Gulasal reflects on how her love and respect for her parents helped her get through sheltering in place during the Covid-19 pandemic. Cameron Carter describes a love that inspires him to become a better version of himself.
Harinder Lamba presents a love story between a couple, their baby, and the Earth as they help our planet navigate climate change.
Michael Robinson leans on the poetic voice of Rumi to describe his spiritual intimacy with Jesus. Brian Barbeito evokes the mystical feeling that can come with staring into the deep daytime or nighttime sky as Sayani Mukherjee offers up a sensuous take on fallen leaves.
Sidnei Rosa da Silva gently chronicles a ladybug’s climb up a sand dune as Muslima Murodova relates the tender tale of a beautiful but short-lived butterfly.
Kylian Cubilla Gomez zooms in on bits of nature and culture from unusual angles, cultivating a sense of childlike wonder. Isabel Gomez de Diego’s work accomplishes something similar with scenes of cultivated nature: sheep on a hillside and seaside lookouts. Raquel Barbeito also gets up and close with nature, sketching outdoor scenes as well as a closeup of a person’s eye.
Duane Vorhees’ poetic speakers merge with nature in their own way in his descriptions of passion and indigestion.
Sarvinoz Quramboyeva highlights the beauty of Uzbekistan and its people’s optimism. Nilufar Anvarova celebrates the beauty of her Uzbek village and the kindness of its people while Ilhomova Mohichehra highlights the goodness of Uzbeks. Mansurova Sarvinoz Hassan, an Uzbek writer, relates her educational and professional accomplishments and thanks those who have supported her.
Zafarbek Jakbaraliyev outlines the language and distribution of the world’s Turkic-speaking peoples. Irodaxon Ibragimova relates the history of the Bekobod area of Uzbekistan. Sarvinoz Tuliyeva elucidates the history and importance of Uzbekistan’s Shaikhontohur Ensemble. Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna highlights the elegance and history of the Uzbek language as Farangiz Abduvohidova explores proverbs in Uzbekistan’s culture and Shamsiyeva Gavhar celebrates the beauty and rich history of the Uzbek language and its integral role in Uzbek culture. Maftuna Rustamova praises the wisdom of the Uzbek constitution.
Z.I. Mahmud draws out themes of nationalism and civilization vs wild nature in his analysis of Ted Hughes’ poetic works. Ari Nystrom-Rice illuminates the sheer force of nature, rainwater crashing into the sea. Kass evokes images of nature and plant life overtaking cities. Olivia Brody revels in melding with the beach, merging with wind and sand and ice plants.
Niginabonu Amirova blusters about the power of wind to transform a day and a landscape. Federico Wardal celebrates the lush landscapes and many talents of emerging Egyptian painter Nour Kassem. Nathan Anderson highlights the pure blunt force of Rus Khomutoff’s new poetry collection Kaos Karma as John Dorsey celebrates the soft and tender melodies of jazz. Jacques Fleury’s poetic mishmash twists and turns syntax around into a kerfluffle.
Joshua Martin weaves biological and mechanical images into his elaborate syntax-adventurous poetry. Mark Young’s “geographies” adjust, alter, and repurpose images and style elements. Texas Fontanella also probes the edges of conscious thought with his stream-of-consciousness text-message dialogues.
Also through a stream-of-consciousness form, Abigail George recollects personal struggles and a lost love in a poetic and descriptive essay. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa shares her own journey through poetry, towards balancing compassion for self with that for others. Bill Tope’s short story calls attention to the silent suffering of many with misophonia, sound sensitivity, through its depiction of a person’s quest for outer and inner peace.
J.J. Campbell speculates through vignettes from his own life on our place in the world, among time, history, and other creatures, and whether we are learning and growing as time passes.
Mahbub Alam compares the cycles of life to stops along a train route, as our world continually moves and changes. Through the tale of good clothes hung up and set aside, Faleeha Hassan reminds us not to save our entire lives for some amorphous special occasion.
Richard Stimac comments on the rhythms of life and human experience through the metaphor of Argentinian tango as Sara Goyceli Serifova rejoices in the look and feel of a long-awaited hopeful night.
We hope this issue will help plumb the depths behind the surface of the headlines and wring some hope from the sodden fabric of the world.
