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I sneak a peek of the world’s greatest actor every minute or so on our drive to the restaurant. On his left hand he wears a gold band, his knuckles show through his skin. I turn off the air conditioner so I can listen to his breathing while I drive. I lean into him and take a deep breath. He smells like cotton candy.
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SPRING /SUMMER 2012 ISSUE | VOL. 62 , NO. 1
B E L L E T R I S T I C A L LY B AW DY S I N C E 1 9 4 8
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FOUNDED IN 1948 AT T H E U N I V E R S I T Y O F N O RT H C A R O L I N A – C H A PAEULTH HO I LRL N A M E
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CONTENTS SPRING /SUMMER 2012 | VOL. 62 , NO. 1
P O E T RY 14
DAN PIEPENBRING | Disruption
And You Can Phone Up Your Mom, And She Is Also Powerless Custodial Custodian Blooper Reel, Purgatory 32
GAYLORD BREWER | The Natural World
33
BARBARA SIEGEL CARLSON | Without Touching
44
JEAN NORDHAUS
| When She Saw an Angel Of Turnips
46
SUSAN MAURER | Martin Ramirez
61
KEN TAYLOR | have you ever extravagantly adored
ash wednesday trading aces & eights close reading 89
AVERY SLATER | Anointed
90
JOHN SUROWIECKI | Mr. S. Is Driven Home
92
SUSAN GOSLEE | The Seagram Murals by Mark Rothko
104
PAUL WATSKY | Santoka Having Visited
Mort de Seymour 108
EDWARD MULLANY | Parade of Rabbits
The Apostle
FICTION 7
AARON SANDERS | I Dream of Alan Arkin
34
BRADLEY COOK | The Moonlight Cruise
47
HANNAH GERSEN | The Honeymooners
73
LAURI ANDERSON | Here Come the Carnivores
94
DANIEL LONG | Homework
NON-FICTION 18
PRIMO VENTELLO | Das Schweinehund
REVIEWS 110
JASMINE V. BAILEY | Dhaka Dust FË ²ÂF8 Ð} bY
112
ZACKARY VERNON | Waking by Ron Rash
A RT 6
JAMES STEWART | Dragon Viewer
26
DUNCAN HILL | North Carolina Beach Series
65
ROGER CAMP | On the Beach Series
93
JAMES STEWART | View of Worthington Glacier
103
JAMES STEWART | Doubles Jeux
107
JAMES STEWART | Beluga Point
116
Contributors
JAMES STEWART
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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
| Dragon Viewer
A ARON SA N DER S
I Dream of Alan Arkin Èb²Ë u}½ ½}b Y²b8 Fbu µ ½}b µ8 b É8ËU Ð 8 8 Y ²Â u ½}² Âu} ob Yµ n É}b8½V µ} ²½µ nnV }b8Yµ u µ½b u ½}b µÂ ¢ 3b } Y hands and sing my favorite Beatles song, “My Life,” over and over, tapping our thighs to Ringo’s marvelous drum work. When the song ends we act out scenes from The Heart is a Lonely Hunter and Little Miss Sunshine¢ ² ½}b 8½½b² 8µ } ½ Y } µ È8 ²8 ½ 8 Y É}b }b µ8˵ ½}b n É ²Y Èb² 8 Y Èb² u uu b¢ н ½} µ ½ ½}b Y²b8 ²bqbO½ } É n ²½Â 8½b 8 ½ µ}8²b ½} µ b ½ É ½} Ð 8 в i8 Y8 o b actor, yes, but an even better friend. ,}b ² F b µ ½}8½ bÈb²Ë ² uV É}b É8 b n² ½}b Y²b8 V 8 ½} O Yb ²bµµ µb½µ ¢ É ½ É8µ Ë 8 Y²b8 V ½}8½ ½ µ}  Y ¯½ }8Èb µÂO} 8 8µ½ u bnnbO½ b¢ ½ O8 ¯½ O}8 ub } É nbb V 8 Y É}b É8 b  ¯ µb²8F b¢ Y²8u ˵b n ½ n FbYV Y² 8 O n O nnbbV shower, and go to work. Ë É ² µ É}8½ bb µ b u u¢ Ybµ u ½ ² µ½ F² O}²bµ n ² second-tier travel destinations like Cedar City, Utah; Hartford, Connecticut; and Valdosta, Georgia. My job is to convince folks from around ½}b O  ½²Ë ½}8½ ½}bµb µbO Y ½ b² Ybµ½ 8½ µ 8²b ²b8 Ë o²µ½ ½ b²V ½}8½ they can’t say they’ve lived until they’ve visited, say, Hartford. The only problem is that if you’ve ever been to Hartford you know that there is no µÂO} ½} u 8µ È8O8½ u 8²½n ²Y¢ + Ë F µ ½ O²b8½b 8²½ oOb¢ , make up a tourist brochure that feels real and authentic. 5  u}½ µ8Ë Ð 8 8 Y } Y ½} µ O U Éb 8²b F ½} 8²½ µ½µ¢ Oh Alan of the acting world I sing to celebrate you Your expressive hand gestures Your foul mouth 5 ² on½ bµ µ½Ë b FÂÎÎO½ Ð Y Ë Â² on½Ë ½} µ8 Y Y 8² µ b8 u nbb ¢ ¢ ¢ Oh, Alan, I sing. Oh Arkin. A A RO N S A N D E R S
7
Fbu8 µ8È u bÈb²Ë b Ë on½bb Ëb8²µ 8u 8n½b² µ8É Ð 8Ë } Singer, who is deaf, in The Heart is a Lonely Hunter¢ 3b É8½O}bY ½}b o in high school after reading the McCullers novel. My favorite scene is when Mick Kelly and John Singer wave their arms in the air like orchestral conductors to the music Singer can’t hear. When the music ends Mick stops moving her hands and watches in horror as Singer continues to wave his hands because he doesn’t know that the music has stopped. The 8u O µ ½}8½ ¬Ð 8 в V É} can hear, really can’t hear in the scene. н ½}8½ b ½ bÉ }8Y ½ bb½ } ¢ ½ b µ b Ybµ b²8½b n8 V } ÉbÈb²V F½ b ½}b O ½b ²8² bµ Éb 8²b¢ Ð Y }8Y ½ o Y 8 way to create this opportunity for myself like a great artist might create his or her masterwork. Ð Ëb8² 8u ²b8O}bY ½}b on½Ë ½} µ8 Y Y 8² 8² V 8 Y ½ ²² É Ð 8²² Èbµ  FµV b ²u 8¢ ½¯µ ½8 b b 8 u ½ bV F½ ½ É Fb É ²½} ½¢ Ð µ ½}b bË ½b µ b8 b² n ² 8 µ 8 o nbµ½ È8 } µ } ²¢ Ðn½b² O }  n² ½}b 8 ² ²½ Éb É Y b ½ ub½}b²V Y² u É} O} É 8µ } ½ Y b b n8È ² Fbn ²b }b µ b8 µi8 b8µË n8È ² n ² such a gifted actor. Oh, Alan, of the acting world, How do you do it? How do you encapsulate the human condition In a single smirk? You are a national treasure A tribute to the humanity in all of us. Your shiny bald spot Is a symbol Of everything good in the world And I shall rub it to the ends of the earth! Ð µ 8 Ë Â u ¸pV F½ É}b }b µ½b µ ½ ½}b ½b² 8 8½ ½}b  bus airport he is hunched over like my grandfather was before he died. ,} µ É ²² bµ b F½ ½8 b O µ 8½ ½}b n8O½ ½}8½ }b 8Ë ½ Fb acting } µ 8ub¢ (b²}8 µ }b µ ½}b YY b n Y u ²bµb8²O} n ² 8 ½}b² 8 u²Ë b Yb² Ë b²µ ² b¢ +bÈb ½Ë oÈb 8Ë u b u}½Ë oÈbV b²}8 µ¢
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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
He glances about, presumably looking for me. Behind him he drags a petite carry-on, a Hollywood luxury item probably from the 2007 after-Oscar party. ½8 b 8 Ybb F²b8½} É ½} ½}b  Yb²µ½8 Y u ½}8½ ½} µ b ½ µ 8²uer than me, that so many years of preparation simply cannot be distilled ½ ½} µ 8 ² ²½ µOb b¢ ½ É Â Y ½ Fb ½ b Y²8 8½ O ½ µ8Ë ½}8½ ½} µ is the most important day of my life, and yet how can anyone expect me to act ½}8½ É8Ë¢ V 8 Ë b 8 }b²b ½ O  8 ½}b² 8 ¢ 8 ² 8O} ½}b u²b8½bµ½ È u 8O½ ² ½}b n8Ob n ½}b b8²½} ½ Y8Ë and bow my head. “Good day to you, Sir! My name is Lewis Burbank, but please call me Lou. Welcome to Columbus, Georgia!” ,}b bÈb² §Â O É ½½bY Ð ²b bµU ¬ Ob ½ bb½ Ë Â Â¢ ½µ YbV }b µbb µ 8 F ½ ½ nn FË Ë ÁÏÏÁ µµ8 +b ½²8i n O ²µb }b Y bµ ¯½ µ8Ë ½} µ· ¯ ²b8Y u } µ 8u oOb ½ }8 Y ubµ½Â²bµiF½ 8µ Éb Y² Èb Ð ²b½b Yµ ½ Fb ¬½ ²bY µ }b Y bµ ¯½ }8Èb ½ Y µOµµ Ë O8²V which gets great gas mileage. No, he leans his head against the window and closes his eyes. µ b8 8 bb n ½}b É ² Y¯µ u²b8½bµ½ 8O½ ² bÈb²Ë ½b ² µ our drive to the restaurant. On his left hand he wears a gold band, his ÂO bµ µ} É ½}² Âu} } µ µ ¢ ½Â² nn ½}b 8 ² O Y ½ b² µ O8 µ½b ½ } µ F²b8½} u É} b Y² Èb¢ b8 ½ } 8 Y ½8 b 8 Ybb F²b8½}¢ He smells like cotton candy. н ½}b ) ½V Ð bÊOµbµ } µb n ½ µb ½}b F8½}² µ ²Yb² n ² } ¢ ( ² 8½½b²V µÉbb½ ½8½ É ½} ½}b oÊ uµV F8 bY Fb8 µV 8 Y µÉbb½ ½b8¢ 3}b }b ²b½Â² µ ½b } }b¯µ 8 µb½¢ “You ordered for me?” Y¢ He shakes his head then checks his watch. ¬,}b bÈb ½ Fbu µ 8½ µbÈb V µ8Ë¢ b YµV ½}b µ8˵U ¬ ÊOµb bV }8Èb ½ O8 Ë É nb ½ b½ }b² É ¯ µ8nb¢ 3} b }b¯µ u b ² ² 8½½b²µ 8²² Èb¢ ½ 8 8½ n F½½b² } µ µÉbb½ ½8½ 8 YV É}b ½}8½ }8µ b ½bYV 8 µ n n F² É µÂu8²¢ ½bµ½ } µ F8 bY Fb8 µ ½ 8 b µÂ²b ½}bË 8²b ¯½ ½ } ½¢ Ð µbbµ ½}b É ² ¯Èb done when he returns to the table and sighs. A A RO N S A N D E R S
9
26
DUNCAN HILL THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
| Boardwalk Cyclist, Carolina Beach, NC
DU NCA N HIL L | Ice Cream Pier, Kure Beach, NC
27
G AYLORD B REWER
The Natural World 3}8½ Y Y µbb¨ , 8 Ë É uµ 8 Y Fb8 µV an agitation, a violence. Screeching brought me to the window. When the just-hatched chick É8µ q u n² ½}b F Ê É ½ bµµbY ½}b } ²² ² F½ O  Y ¯½ 8 b ½¢ µ½8²½bY ²Â u 8 ËÉ8Ë¢ Unbolted dead lock, leapt yelling-clapping into shaggy clover. By then, three others curled by the pole, bald heads limp on distended necks,  qbYubY É uµV F u u bËbµ bÈb² ½ b ¢ The chickadee parents frantic in the trees, darting and calling, sparrow marauders silent, É8½O}n ¢ }² µ½V } É Ëb8² bY ½ ½}b V O²Âµ} ½} µb ²bb u Èbµ Ë oµ½¢ ²bu²b½½bY ²b½Â² u Ë n8½}b²¯µ ² qbV ubY n ² ½}b O8² 8ub O  Y F² uV ½}b µÉbb½V ½ 8½b ²b½² F½ ¢ µ½b8YV ²8 µbY b8O} ½É ½O} u O ² µb no larger than thumbnail, unlatched the door n ½}b } µb V ˵b nV }8Y µ½8 bYV 8 Y 8Ë ½}b ½}b µµË bµ½ É 8 u²8Èb¢ ² } ²µV b Y bµµV ½}b O}8½½b² ½µ Yb µO²bb i½}b µµV 8 ub²V ½}b ² Yb 8 ¢ O µbY ½}b É Y É 8 Y bn½¢ ½}b ² uV 8 µ u b µ½ F YË ²b 8 bY¢  bY µb ½}b É} b bµµV pointlessly gentle, and carried it to the woods.
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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
BA RBA RA SIEG E L C A R L SO N
Without Touching Sunlight warms my knees. We used to play statue ½}b 8É 8n½b² µÂ b²¢ Ð qË ½8 µ ½}b u 8µµ¢ “Money is everything,” Uncle Ben once said. ½}b bÉ µ} Ob b½b²Ë µ 8Fµ b8 bÈb²Ë Y ²bO½ ¢ ½¯µ µµ F b ½ µbb b8O} ½}b² É ½} ½ ½ ÂO} u a chandelier of human bones. You tap the glass. Do you remember the gypsy girl selling binoculars? “Money is everything,” preached Uncle Ben. Sunlight taps the glass. We played we were statues on the lawn after supper. The earth’s a blue Y ½ ½}8½ } Yµ 8 Èb 8 Y µ½² nb¢ ½¯µ µµ F b to see each other without touching. Do you remember the gypsy girl’s cracked lip? We whirled and then fell on the lawn after supper. Human rocks under a waving branch. The swirling aches. Sunlight a knife through the open door.
BA R BA R A S I E G E L C A R LSO N
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ROGER CAMP | Blue Hats
65
ROGER CAMP
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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
| Crashing the Surf
ROGER CAMP | Floating Reds
67
ROGER CAMP
68
THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
| Orange Hats
ROGER CAMP | Snorklers
69
ROGER CAMP
70
THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
| The Touch
ROGER CAMP | Yellow Snorkler
71
ROGER CAMP
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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
| The Start
AV ERY SL AT ER
Anointed for a wooden statue of Mary Magdalene in the µbb Yb Ëb Ðub, Paris
е µ É 8µ ² O V ½} µ Éb8² u nn¢ Ë ½ Ë YbÈ8µ½8½ µ¢ (} b ¯µ ½ Yb b b²8 µ u Èb Éb8 bµµ¢ +ÂO} µ ² u b ¢ Y8ub µ È µ F b¢ ² bn µb8 µ }b²V qbµ} 8 Y oFb²¢ Her hair: like rotting olive boughs. Her love is turning lung. Sounds, across these centuries, were few. Grain gradually unlatched. е É8½b²¯µ É8² É µO8 8 b²V µ Y Y ½ b 8µµ ½}² Âu} }b² till bodice-fasteners plied back, hewn clavicle to robe-folds. 3 ² bµ Ë8É bY 8½ b F ɵ¢ bÉ qbµ} µ bY ½ ² µ n ² ¢ Her hands revealed keep wrists to prayer. Complete. Beneath their sheathing lids, her eyes are still becoming ½} Âu} 8 ½¯µ ½} }µ q8 bµ n²bb b b½8 µ¢ 8 8OV 8 Fb²V 8 Y q Éb²¢ Sandalwood and hyssop drench her. Like an anchor striking sand, the thud of axes haunts her, crosses through her constant dream where journeys break, branch off. Her carving frays, displays, from skin to pith, its core, like heart itself might surface suddenly, returning from the tree she was. Her most unhurried emptying of that jar.
AVE RY S L ATE R
89
SUSA N G OSL EE
The Seagram Murals by Mark Rothko They make up a volcano’s smallest room. The pyre’s libretto (marked Dulcissimo) ²b8YµU ¬ Y 8µOb YµV µ§Â8²bµV q Yµ¢ Piano) Brown’s picked berries. (Lentissimo) Black’s marooned.” Despair has design and, thus, a deity É ½} µ b u²8Ob¢ (²8Ë¢ +8½Â²Y8ËV +b ½b Fb² light kindled the stone church till it glowed rose. Snared ½}b Èb ¯µ 8ObË É8 bV Éb ½ ½ µË ½Â²ÈË n ² ² n8 OË }8½µV Fb µV q Éb²µV Capri cake, the tuba player, champagne, my cousin’s vest golden as wheat, the neighbor’s llama. Wakened. Cry out to dream again. This room rests companion, sanctuary, but the Thames, no friend, slick, gray, waits for me.
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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY
JAMES STE WART | View of Worthington Glacier
93
J A SM INE V. BA IL EY
Mother/land Dhaka Dust by Dilruba Ahmed ²8ËÉ n (²bµµ gg 8ubµ· _ p¢ÏÏ 8 b²F8O
Dhaka Dust, the 2010 winner of the Breadloaf Writers’ Conference 8 b bµµ (² ÎbV µ 8 ²bµ bO½8F bV O8 8F bV 8 Y µ Ob²b o²µ½ F n b µ¢ µ ½b n ½}b F ¯µ ½ ½ bV ½}b b µ 8²b µb½ ½ Ë 8 u 8Ybµ}V F½ 8 È8² b½Ë n O8½ µV n² ²Âµµb µ ½ µµ µµ ¢ - Yb² Ð} bY¯µ eye, even proximate locations, like Ohio, seem exotic. This book is, gratefully, not a concept or project book, but a more O 8µµ O F n ˲ O b µV É} µb ² O b ²u8 Î u n ²Ob µ ½}b ¬ È Ob¢ , ½}b bʽb ½ ½}8½ Ð} bY µbµ 8 u 8Ybµ} 8 Y ½µ b b 8µ 8 n or source of insight to the persona, her culture and history, it is somewhat predictable. She delivers the expected heady sensory images and ² O} 8 uÂ8ubV ½}b F ½b n Èb²½Ë 8 Y ½}b µb n¯µ O q O½bY ² b 8µ È Ëb²V inheritor, escapee. These poems are strongest when directly political. ¬Ð 8 8V 8 Y²8 8½ O uÂb ½}b È Ob n 8 nb 8 b 8²½ µ8 V ½}b µ b8 b² µ É Yb²nÂ Ë Â µb ½ b ½8 U ¬ b ½}b² µÉb8½ }b²b ²  Yb² a stranger’s weight. So when you / boycott a storefront / you’ll need a louder roar to scare off / our global predator.” The speaker in this poem µ ½ ² 8 ½ O ÎbY¢ b² o ub² µ µ Y ²bO½ Ë ½bY 8½ ½}b ²b8Yb²V ½}8½ we cannot approach this poem with an easy sympathy for the oppressed and reproach for the greed of ambiguous, remote villains. We are made to feel the weight of our hypocritical sympathy. Ð b ½}b µ½Ë b n Ðu}8 +}8} Y Ð V n² É} µ}b 8 µ takes one of the epigraphs of the book, is titled unambiguously “The g½} b ½Â²Ë 3b8Èb²µ n µ 3} µb ,} Fµ 3b²b } bY¢ ,}b title lets us know, without equivocation, who she is talking about with the opening “They became extraneous,” even as it damns the British
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responsible for the barbaric event. Throughout these poems, the voice ²b 8 µ µb8² u É ½} ½ µ8O² oO u ½b ub Ob ² Fb8½ËV É} O} µ 8 ½² umph of the collection. ,}b o bµ½ b µ n ½}b F V } ÉbÈb²V 8²b ½} µb Yb8 u É ½} Èb 8 Y u² bnV bµ bO 8 Ë ½} µb 8F ½ ½}b b½¯µ ½}b²¢ ²b½² µ bO½V ½}b o²µ½ ½É ½} ²Yµ n ½}b F µbb ½ Fb 8F ½ Ð} bY¯µ ½}b²V ½} Âu} ½}b b µ u Èb } ½ n ½} µ¢ ½ É}b µ}b o 8 Ë u Èbµ µ ½}b b ¬Ð½ ½}b Stove-Side,” it is with both surprise and a forced casualness. The poem rehearses the feelings one might have if a dead loved one were to show up in a dream: “What a thing! She arrives just in time / to slice onions for me.” b² bÊ 8 8½ ¬ É8µ u 8Y É}b É b F½ º µ ²²Ë 8 Y8ËV Ybq8½bµ ½}b Éb² n ½}b b u bµ¢ Ð} bY bÈb²½}b bµµ µ8Èbµ ½}b b V 8²½ FbO8µb µ}b o 8 Ë ²b8O}bµ ½}b ²bÈ Âµ Ë Â µ b b ½ 8 O ²b n ½}b O bO½ ¢ b² 8µ½ bV ¬ µ½ }b² ½Éb ½Ë Ëb8²µ 8u ½ Y8Ë O½µ bÈb²Ë bit as deep as it ought and resolves, or at least accounts for, much of the ½b µ ½}b F ¢ ½ 8 µ b µ ² 8½ b8µ½ O²8O µ ½}b q Yu8½bµi½}b mother is a presence in most of the last poems of the book. Only the book’s end seems capable of staunching the grief unleashed FË ¬Ð½ ½}b +½ Èb + Yb¢ ,} µ u Èbµ ½}b F ½}b  µÂ8 §Â8 ½Ë n ½b µ nË u 8² bY Ë ½}b o 8 8ubµ¢ Dhaka Dust ends in a place of b²µ 8 8 Y b ½ 8 µ u oO8 Ob¢ ½} u ½}b F ¯µ ½ ½ bV ² ½}b safe conceits and low personal stakes of its initial poems, prepares us for such a moving conclusion.
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The Poet’s Native Tongue Waking by Ron Rash ÂF ½Ë (²bµµ gÏ 8ubµ· _ s¢ p 8 b²F8O
Ðn½b² 8 } 8½Âµ n² b½²Ë ½}8½ 8µ½bY b8² Ë 8 YbO8YbV * *8µ} has returned to the medium with his latest collection, Waking (2011). bn ²b ÂF µ} u µÂO} O² ½ O8 Ë 8OO 8 bY oO½ 8µ One Foot in Eden (2002), Serena ÁÏÏg V 8 Y Burning Bright ÁÏ Ï V *8µ} É8µ É o²µ½ and foremost as a poet, garnering high praise for the three collections of b½²Ë }b ÂF µ}bY Fb½Ébb g 8 Y ÁÏÏÁ¢ Waking, Rash has not only returned to his native medium; he has also attained a well-honed style and mature poetics that enable him to capture the life and landscape of his native region. b n ½}b µ½² ubµ½ b µ n Waking, “Dylan Thomas,” Rash berates the Welsh poet for abandoning his native language and writing solely in English: “a small people lose their tongue / one poet at a time.” ,}bµb bµ b O8 µÂ 8½b 8 µ u oO8 ½ n8Ob½ n *8µ}¯µ 8²½ µ½ O } µ }Ë¢ 8 Ë ½b²È bɵV *8µ} 8µµb²½µ ½}8½ 8²½ b 8F bµ b b ½ Ob bF²8½b 8 Y eulogize their present and past cultures. Regardless of whether Rash is O µ Yb²bY 8 b½ n ½}b + ½}V n Ð 8 8O} 8V n +O ½O} 3b µ} Ð b² O8V or the ecosystems of the North Carolina mountains, we can say with conoYb Ob ½}8½ b n ½}bµb O  ½ bµ }8Èb µ½ 8 b½V 8 Y Waking, Rash proves that their native tongues are not only alive but thriving. 8 Ë n *8µ}¯µ ²bÈ bÉb²µ ½b Y ½ n Oµ ½} µb 8µ bO½µ n } µ oOtion and poetry that mark it as being distinctly southern or southern Ð 8 8O} 8 ¢ 3} b *8µ}¯µ É ² Ob²½8 Ë É8²²8 ½µ ½}bµb ²bu 8 Y µÂF ²bu µ bO oO ½b² ²b½8½ µV b O  Y 8 µ bÊ8 b ½ É ½} 8²² Éb² O ½bʽµ F8µbY µ bO oO ub u²8 } bµ 8 Y bO u bµ n Ébµ½b² ²½} 8² 8¢ ÂO} n } µ É ² V ½}b bO µËµ½b µ 8F ½ É} O} *8µ}
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writes function as sub-sub-regions, and these ecosystems shape his oeuȲb ²b ½}8 F² 8Yb² O 8µµ oO8½ µV µÂO} 8µ ¬µ ½}b² 8 Y ¬Ð 8 8chian,” which often fail to depict the nuances of a particular life lived in a particular place. 8YY ½ ½ ½b² ²b½ u *8µ} 8µ 8 ²bu 8 ɲ ½b²V Éb µ}  Y 8 µ consider him an important bioregional writer. Contemporary environ b ½8 ½}b ² µ½µ Ybo b ½}b F ²bu 8 O µ uË 8µ 8 É8Ë n 8u u 8 O ½Â²b ½}8½ µ Ybo bY FË 8 Y }8² Ë É ½} ½µ O8 bO µËµ½b µ¢ ,}b²bn ²bV ½}b µ bO oO bO u bµ 8 Y ub u²8 } bµ n 8 8Ob FbO b 8µV n not more, important than socio-historical factors in determining identity formation and community organization. Rash’s poems are obsessed with the desire to know the natural É ² Yi½ ½ ÂO} ½V nbb ½V ½8µ½b ½i8 Y É u 8½Â²bV *8µ}¯µ O}8²acters often come to know themselves and understand both their human 8 Y } 8 O  ½ bµ¢ ¬*bµ ½ V É} O} µb²Èbµ 8µ 8 b graph for the collection, the speaker directly addresses the reader and asks us to look at the world with fresh eyes. The poem functions both as an invocation and evocation, calling for participation and summoning a sensuousness that seems almost mystical. The title of the collection refers to the poem “Sleepwalking,” in which a young boy says that whenever he wakes from sleepwalking he is “always outside.” The outdoors “summon” the boy as if by magic, and he then reckons not only with a human “world to be in” but also, and perhaps more importantly, a natural “world to be in.” This desire to know and become part of the world is also present in “The Trout in the Springhouse,” which depicts with striking detail how Rash’s uncle placed a live trout in their springhouse pool “because some believed / its u µ Éb²b b o ½b²µ¢ е ½}b Ë Â u µ b8 b² µ½ O µ } µ }8 Yµ ½}b V he feels the wimple of the trout swimming by, and he ultimately merges É ½} ½}b ½² ½ 8µ }b Y² µ n² ½}b U ¬ µÉ ² bY ½}b É8½b² º Â Ë palm cup / tasted its quickness / swimming inside me.” н ½}b µ8 b ½ bV ¬*bµ ½ 8 Y 8 Ë ½}b² b µ ½}b O bO½ ²½²8Ë } 8 µ¯ 8F ½Ë ½ É ½}b É ² Y n ˢ ² b ²b8µ ² another, Rash’s characters sometimes fail to experience the natural world
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8 É8Ë ½}8½ µ µ8½ µnË u Ë bY 8½b ² b²µ 8 U ¬ ½¯µ 8 FbË Y Ë Â² reach though it appears / as near and known as your outstretched hand.” 8YY ½ V *8µ}¯µ b½²Ë n½b O Èb˵ 8 µ  ½8 b µ µb µb n É Yb² 8 Y n² u}½ É}b b u8u u ½}b 8½Â²8 É ² Y¢ ² bÊ8 bV ¬ ²µ½ Memory,” Rash describes the awe of looking into a pond and witnessing the teeming life below the surface. Yet, even in this tranquil idyll, “Something unseen stirs the reeds.” Despite these fears and barriers, we need not be discouraged by the state of human and nonhuman interactions. Rash seems to relish the very  É8F ½Ë n ½}b É ² YV ½ o Y ½µ ˵½b²Ë µ b½} u ½}8½ 8 bµ it all the more intriguing, the desire to know all the more poignant and µ8½ 8F b¢ ²b Èb²V *8µ} µÂuubµ½µ ½}8½ ½}b É ² Y µ É ²½} É ui worth the effort that it takes to shed ourselves of the somnolence induced by the sanitized, domesticated spaces we inhabit and, once awake, worth the effort that it takes to seek out a more elemental experience. ² *8µ}V 8 uÂ8ub FbO bµ 8 É8Ë ½ É ½}b É ² Y 8 Y ½ ½²8 µlate the “land [that] / unscrolls like a palimpsest.” Rash’s speakers use language to characterize and categorize the world, and they also utilize linguistic metaphors to bridge the chasm between humans and nature. ² bÊ8 bV ¬+ O ² V b n *8µ}¯µ Y µ½8 ½ ¬ µ b ²b8Yµ 8 book “as the wind reading the trees”; and, in “Waterdogs,” Rash writes, “You can live a life without / knowing they exist if sky / is something glanced out windows, / clouds are spread out scrolls written / in a lost ½ uÂb¢ , o Y µÂO} º µ 8 V b }b b²8 ²8 F ɵ º É}8½ µ 8F Èb µ½ matter…” This life of lost tongues and missed encounters is precisely the life from which Rash has awoken, and his entreaty in this collection is that we awake as well. Rash’s poetry succeeds most often when it is personal, describing his and his family’s formative experiences with the landscapes of southb² Ð 8 8O} 8¢ *8µ}¯µ b µ ½}8½ n8 q8½i8 Y µ b n ½}b Ob²½8 Ë Y i8²b ½} µb Y²8 8½ O 8²²8½ Èb b µ ½}8½ 8½½b ½ ½ ½b O È Â½bY } µ½ ² bµ ½}b µ 8Ob n Ë 8 nbÉ µ½8 Î8µ ² bÈb 8 nbÉ bµ¢ ( ems such as “Rebecca Boone,” “The Code,” “Cold Harbor,” and “The Crossing” are rarely compelling, simply because their characters and
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µ½ ² bµ 8O YbÈb b ½¢ ,}bµb b µ ²b8Y 8µ µ b½O}bµi ½b²8²Ë µO8nfolding that was not afforded the time and material needed to create Fb bÈ8F ½Ë ² Yb ½}¢ Ð ½} Âu} ½}bµb Y²8 8½ O 8²²8½ Èb b µ }8Èb a certain ephemeral appeal in their uses of gothic tone or plot, in the end they are unsatisfying because they fail to do what Rash often does µ Éb iµ ²² u ½}b ²b8Yb² ½ µbb µ b½} u ²Y 8²Ë 8 É8Ë ½}8½ µ unexpected and enchanting. n Éb ½8 b ½}b bµµ8ub n ¬*bµ ½ µb² µ ËV ½}b *8µ}¯µ É ² moves beyond mere literary ecotourism. Waking not only re-enchants us with nature through poetry but also should inspire us to re-experience nature ourselves.
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CONTRIBUTORS SPRING /SUMMER 2012 | VOL. 62 , NO. 1
LAURI ANDERSON¯µ oO½ 8 Y b½²Ë }8Èb 8 b8²bY Willow Springs, Meridian, The Greensboro Review, Bellingham Review, Passages North, 8 Y 8 ² 8½ (*¯µ Ð ,} uµ µ Yb²bY 3bb b Y¢ +}b µ ½}b ²bOb ½ É b² n F ½} ½}b , F 8µ 3 nn ÐÉ8²Y O½ V 8µ Éb 8µ ,}b * Fb²½ 38½µ ½b²8²Ë (² Îb¢ 8² Èbµ ÂFF O V ,bÊ8µV É}b²b µ}b µ 8 (} student at Texas Tech University. JASMINE V. BAILEY } Yµ 8 Ð n² ½}b - Èb²µ ½Ë n 2 ²u 8 8 Y É8µ ½}b ÁÏ Ï ¯ ² b É 8½ u8½b - Èb²µ ½Ë¢ b² O}8 F V Sleep and What Precedes ItV µ 8È8 8F b n² u b8n (²bµµ 8 Y }b² book-length manuscript, Alexandria, is forthcoming from Carnegie Mellon. She is the web editor for 32 Poems. GAYLORD BREWER is a professor at Middle Tennessee State University, where he founded and for 19 years has edited the journal Poems & Plays. His eighth and most recent book of poems is Give Over, Graymal kin *bY b V ÁÏ ¢ 8Ë n ÁÏ ÁV }b¯ Fb ²bµ Yb Ob 8½ ½}b 8² 8O
b ½²b Y¯Ð²½ ²8 Ob¢ µ ÉbFµ ½b µ ÉÉÉ¢u8Ë ²YF²bÉb²¢O ROGER CAMP is a professor of photography and literature. His photographs have been published in over 100 magazines including American Photo, Popular Photography, Harvard Advocate, and The New York Quarterly. His work has been exhibited in over 150 exhibitions worldÉ Yb¢ ÐÉ8²Yµ O ÂYb È µÂ8 nb É 8½ ½}b b в½µ 3 ² b ½b²V (² È Oetown and the Leica Medal of Excellence in documentary photography. BARBARA SIEGEL CARLSON’s poetry and translations have appeared in New Ohio Review, Asheville Poetry Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Ðu V Y Ð b² O8 *bÈ bÉV ( b½²Ë µOb 8 ËV ,}b ½b²8²Ë *bÈ bÉ
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and others. She was the Cutthroat¯µ µO Èb²Ë ( b½ ÁÏ Ï¢ 8² son is the author of a chapbook, Between this Quivering (Coreopsis (²bµµ V 8 Y 8 ½²8 µ 8½ ² n Back, Look Ahead, Selected Poems of Srecko Kosovel from Slovene -u Ë ÂO u (²bµµbV ÁÏ Ï ¢ +}b Èbµ 8²Èb²V Massachusetts. BRADLEY COOK µ 8 ²bOb ½ u²8YÂ8½b n ½}b Ð ² u²8 8½ µb +½8½b - Èb²µ ½Ë¢ b µ O²²b ½ Ë Â½½ u ½}b o 8 ½ ÂO}bµ } µ YbF½ Èb ¢ ²8Y b˯µ oO½ }8µ 8 µ 8 b8²bY The Iowa Review, and his story, “The Gift,” is forthcoming in Cimarron Review. HANNAH GERSEN¯µ oO½ }8µ 8 b8²bY The Chattahoochee Re view, Crab Orchard Review, North American Review, and The Normal School, among others. She recently completed a series of linked short stories and is now at work on a novel. You can learn more about her on her website: www.hannahgersen.com. SUSAN GOSLEE’s poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in West Branch, The Cimarron Review, and Salamander. She is an assis½8 ½ ² nbµµ ² 8½ Y8} +½8½b - Èb²µ ½Ë¢ DUNCAN HILL is a documentary photographer living in Washington, DC. He graduated from the University of North Carolina at Wilming½ ÁÏÏ É ½} 8 Ð +½ÂY bµ¢ b µ O²²b ½ Ë É ² u 8 ² bO½ ½ ½ bY ¬Ð 8 ½8 ½ËV 8 O bO½ n } ½ u²8 }µ Yb O½ u life in the Nation’s Capital. His work has been published in Redivider, Superstition Review, Thin Air Magazine, and Photography Monthly. More of his work can be seen at www.duncanhillphoto.com. DANIEL LONG is an Oklahoman living in New York. SUSAN MAURER }8µ g ½½ b F µ 8 Y }b² n b u½} PERFECT DARK É8µ ÂF µ}bY FË +ÉbYb ¯µ  u Èb² 8F b ²bµµ¢ +}b }8µ }8Y p (µ}O8²½ nominations and been published in 15 countries.
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EDWARD MULLANY u²bÉ Ă‚Â? €Â? Ă?¾½²8‡€8 8Â?Y €Â? ½}b Ă?Šb²€O8Â? €YÉb¾½¢ He is the author of If I Falter at the Gallows Â&#x;(Ă‚F‡€¾}€Â?u bÂ?€Â¾V Ă Ă?Â˜Â˜Â Â˘ JEAN NORDHAUS’ fourth volume of poetry, Innocence, won the Charles ¢ 3}bb‡b² (²€Îb 8Â?Y É8Âľ Â?Ă‚F‡€¾}bY FĂ‹ }€‘ +½8½b -Â?Â€Ăˆb²¾€½Ë (²b¾¾ €Â? November, 2006. Her earlier books include The Porcelain Apes of Mo ses Mendelssohn and My Life in Hiding. She has published work in American Poetry Review, the New Republic, Poetry, and Best American Poetry 2000 and 2007¢ +}b Â‡Â€ĂˆbÂľ €Â? 38Âľ}€Â?u½‘Â?V
¢ Ă? Â?‘bŠ n²‘Š In nocence appears in 2007 Pushcart Prize. DAN PIEPENBRING lives in Brooklyn. He is an assistant editor at Farrar, Straus and Giroux. AARON SANDERS’s recent stories have appeared in Gulf Coast, Quar terly West, and Beloit Fiction Journal¢ b ½b8O}bÂľ oO½€‘Â? ɲ€½€Â?u 8½ ‘lumbus State University, and he is currently working on The Good, Good Darkness, a novel about a terminally-ill academic who drags his daugh½b² 8²‘ÂÂ?Y bʀO‘ €Â? Âľb8²O} ‘n É}8½ }8Â?Â?bÂ?bY ½‘ Ă?ŠF²‘¾b €b²Ob¢ AVERY SLATER €¾ 8 (} ¾½ÂYbÂ?½ €Â? Â?u‡€¾} €½b²8½Â²b 8½ ‘²Â?b‡‡ -Â?€versity. Her work has recently appeared in or is forthcoming from Slate Magazine, Poetry London, Raritan, Missouri Review, Literary Imagi nation, and Meridian. She co-curates the SOON experimental poetry ²b8Y€Â?u Âľb²€bÂľ €Â? ½}8O8V bÉ 5‘²†¢ JAMES STEWART is a self-taught amateur photographer most recently n²‘Š 38¾€‡‡8V Ă?‡8¾†8¡ 8Â?Y n²‘Š bʀÂ?u½‘Â?V bÂ?½ÂO†Ë n‘² ˜g Ă‹b8²¾ Fbfore that. He has been married for 25 years to his lovely wife whom }b Šb½ É}€‡b ½}bĂ‹ Éb²b €Â? ½}b Ă?€² ‘²Ob 8Â?Y ½}b n8½}b² ½‘ ½}²bb ¾ÂÂ?b²F gentlemen sons who continually make him proud. His latest project is to see the world and document his travels in a truly meaningful way. He }8Âľ FbbÂ? 8 ŠbŠFb² ‘n ½}b Â?}‘½‘ Âľ}8²€Â?u ÉbF ¾€½b q€O†²¢O‘Š ¾€Â?Ob Ăˆb²Ë b8²‡Ë €Â? €½¾ €Â?ObÂ?½€‘Â?¢ Ă‚O} ‘n }€¾ ¾†€‡‡ É8Âľ }‘Â?bY ½}b²b¢ ÉÉÉ¢q€O†²¢ com/photos/alphageek
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JOHN SUROWIECKI is the author of three books of poetry, Barney and Gienka (CW Books, 2010), The Hat City After Men Stopped Wearing Hats Â&#x;38Âľ}€Â?u½‘Â? (²€ÎbV 3‘²Y 3‘²†¾V Ă Ă?Ă?š V 8Â?Y Watching Cartoons Before Attending a Funeral Â&#x;3}€½b (€Â?b (²€ÎbV 3}€½b (€Â?b (²b¾¾V Ă Ă?Ă?ž V 8Âľ Éb‡‡ 8Âľ ¾€Ê O}8Â?F‘‘†¾¢ Ă? n‘²½} F‘‘†V Flies, is scheduled for publica½€‘Â? ½}€¾ Ă‹b8² 8½ -u‡Ë Ă‚O†‡€Â?u (²b¾¾b¢ Â? ²bObÂ?½ Ă‹b8²¾V }b }8Âľ ɑÂ? ½}b (‘b½²Ë ‘ÂÂ?Y8½€‘Â? (bu8¾Â¾ Ă?É8²Y n‘² Ăˆb²¾b Y²8Š8V ½}b €Š²‘Y (8F‡‘ b²ÂY8 (²€Îb 8Â?Y ½‘‘† ½}b ÂľÂ€Â‡Ăˆb² €Â? ½}b +Ă‚Â?†bÂ? 8²YbÂ? 8½€‘Â?8‡ ‘ŠÂ?b½€½€‘Â?¢ (Ă‚F‡€O8½€‘Â?Âľ €Â?O‡ÂYbU Alaska Quarterly Review, Mississippi Review, Poetry, Prairie Schooner, Redivider, The Southern Review, West Branch, Wisconsin Review, and Yemassee. KEN TAYLOR’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Volt, Eoagh, The Chattahoochee Review, elimae, MiPOesias, OCHO, Southword, Poet sArtists, Clade SongV 8Â?Y ‘½}b²¾¢ b É8Âľ ½}b Ă Ă?˜˜ ɀÂ?Â?b² ‘n ½}b €¾} (Ă‚F‡€¾}€Â?u (‘b½²Ë (²€Îb¢ €¾ Š8Â?Ă‚ÂľO²€Â?½ Dog with Elizabethan Collar was a oÂ?8‡€¾½ €Â? ½}b Ă Ă?˜˜ Â?bÂ? ‘ŠÂ?b½€½€‘Â? ‘n ½}b 8½€‘Â?8‡ (‘b½²Ë +b²€b¾¢ PRIMO VENTELLO ɑ²†bY 8Âľ 8Â? 8Ă‚Y€½‘² n‘² 8 (}€‡8Yb‡Â?}€8 8OO‘ÂÂ?½€Â?u o²Š ½}8½ FbO8Šb ½}b ‡8²ub¾½ Â?8²½Â?b²¾}€Â? n8€‡Â²b €Â? Ă?Šb²€O8Â? }€¾½‘²Ë¢ “Das Schweinehundâ€? is a companion piece to his essay “The Commuter,â€? which appeared in New Letters 8Â?Y É8Âľ Â?‘Š€Â?8½bY n‘² 8 (Ă‚Âľ}O8²½ (²€Îb €Â? Ă Ă?˜Ă?¢ b ½b8O}bÂľ Â?u‡€¾} €Â? 8Â?Âľ8Âľ €½Ë¢ ZACKARY VERNON €¾ 8 (} O8Â?Y€Y8½b €Â? Â?u‡€¾} 8Â?Y ‘ŠÂ?8²8Â˝Â€Ăˆb Literature at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, where he also teaches various literature and composition courses. Vernon studies Ă Ă?½} 8Â?Y Ă Â˜ÂľÂ˝ ObÂ?½Â²Ë Ă?Šb²€O8Â? ‡€½b²8½Â²bV 8Â?Y }b €¾ O²²bÂ?½‡Ë ɑ²†€Â?u on a dissertation that explores issues of ecocriticism and ecoterrorism €Â? ˜ŽšĂ?Âľ 8Â?Y ¸Ă?Âľ Ă?Šb²€O8Â? ‡€½b²8½Â²b 8Â?Y O€Â?bŠ8¢ PAUL WATSKY is the author of Telling the Difference Â&#x; €¾}b² €Â?u (²b¾¾V 2010) and co-translator with Emiko Miyashita of Santoka Â&#x;( ‘‘†¾V 2006). His work has appeared in such journals as Alabama Literary Review, Asheville Literary Review, Cave Wall, and Natural Bridge. CO N TR I B U TO R S
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P O E T RY
| F I C T I O N | E S S AY S | R E V I E W S
The Carolina Quarterly thrives thanks to the institutional support of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and our generous individual donors. Beyond the printing of each issue, monetary and in-kind donations help to fund opportunities for our undergraduate interns, university, and community outreach ² u²8 µV 8µ Éb 8µ ² Èb b ½µ ½ ² b§Â b ½ 8 Y noOb µ 8Ob¢ n Ë Â would like more information about donating to the Quarterly, please contact us 8½ O8² 8¢§Â8²½b² ËDu 8 ¢O ² O8 sÏg ¸¸g¹¢
G UA RA N TORS Grady Ormsby Tessa Joseph-Nicholas
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² µ Ob²b ½}8 µ u 8 µ ½ ½}b noOb n ½}b (² È µ½ 8 Y 2 Ob }8 Ob ² n ² ÐO8Yb O Ðnn8 ²µV 8² 8 b8Yb²µ} bÈb b ½V ½}b  ¯µ b8Y µ} V ½}b ²u8 8 Ë 3² ½b² *bµ Yb Ob (² u²8 V ½}b -
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ANNOUNCING
SALT HILL’S 1ST
PHILIP BOOTH POETRY PRIZE “The world’s not apt to be resolved by a poem, but a poem can make the world’s landscape more humanly bearable...”
Final Judge: National Book Award Finalist Bruce Smith winning poem receives $500 & publication in Salt Hill contest opens May 15th & closes August 1st more details to come at: salthilljournal.com/booth
15,000 in Awards
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5 000 Fiction $5,000 Poetry $5,000 Essay
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The Missouri Review is now accepting submissions for the 22nd Annual Jeffrey E. Smith Editors’ Prize competition. In addition to the $15,000 awarded to the first place winners, three finalists in each category receive cash awards and are considered for publication. Past winners have been reprinted in the Best American series. Page Restrictions Fiction and nonfiction entries should not exceed 25 typed, double-spaced pages. Poetry entries can include any number of poems up to 10 pages in total. Each story, essay, or group of poems constitutes one entry. Entry Fee $20 for each entry (checks made payable to The Missouri Review). Each fee includes a one-year subscription (digital or print!) to The Missouri Review. Please enclose a complete e-mail and mailing address.
author’s name, address, e-mail and telephone number. Entries must be previously unpublished and will not be returned. Mark the outside of the envelope “Fiction,” “Essay,” or “Poetry.” Each entry in a separate category must be mailed in a separate envelope. Enclose a #10 SASE or e-mail address for an announcement of winners. Go Green: Enter Online! We are also accepting electronic submissions. For details, go to www. missourireview.com/contest Mailing Address Missouri Review Editors’ Prize 357 McReynolds Hall University of Missouri Columbia, MO 65211
Entry Instructions Include the printable contest entry form (available online). On the first page of each submission, include
Postmark Deadline October 1, 2012
Miracle Day: Mid-Life Songs Poetry by Sebastian Matthews 978-1-59709-173-2 / $17.95
Miracle Day: Mid-Life Songs, Sebastian Matthews’ second book of poems, explores the main themes of midlife—sex and death, marriage and parenthood, work and play, friends and foes, travel and staying put. Moving back and forth between couplets and the single-stanza poem, Matthews writes about the world he is immersed in, whether listening in on an impromptu barbershop quartet with his son or driving through urban Philadelphia on a misguided whim. Matthews continues his interest in jazz and musicians but has broadened his palate to include ruminations on everything from the 1948 summer session at Black Mountain College to Jack Benny’s legendary corn-belt comedy routines. “Sebastian Matthews’ poetry has an enviable and light-hearted spontaneity. He has a voice and an eye that act like velcro, picking up all the sights and sounds around him. His way of looking at the world, of observing the world without withdrawing from it, acknowledges and allows itself to be haunted by memory but still expresses and articulates a true gratitude for the present. Taken as a whole, his poetry is a moving record of how music through time, words through time, and people through time connect and console us.” —Jennifer Grotz “Sebastian Matthews has obviously listened with considerable care to great musicians, and he can reflect the rhythm of their art without aping it. He is able to float authoritatively like one of the accomplished soloists of jazz—Sonny Rollins, Bill Evans, John Coltrane. He focuses well, and when he gets rolling, he knows how to turn and ‘do’ things.” —Paul Zimmer, Georgia Review Available from Universit y of Chicago Distribution Center To place an order: (800) 621-2736 / w w w.redhen.org
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AARON SANDERS
Jean Nordhaus
Gaylord Brewer
Dan Piepenbring
Roger Camp
Avery Slater
Bradley Cook
John Surowiecki
Hannah Gersen
Ken Taylor
Susan Goslee
Paul Watsky
Edward Mullany
and more THE
Lauri Anderson
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T H E C A R O L I N A Q U A RT E R LY
I sneak a peek of the world’s greatest actor every minute or so on our drive to the restaurant. On his left hand he wears a gold band, his knuckles show through his skin. I turn off the air conditioner so I can listen to his breathing while I drive. I lean into him and take a deep breath. He smells like cotton candy.
$ 9. 0 0
FREE TO UNC STUDENTS POETRY
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CAROLINA QUARTERLY
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| F I C T I O N | E S S AYS | R E V I E W S
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