Carolina Quarterly 62.2

F E AT U R I N G A D D I T I O N A L W O R K BY Ben Purkert

Eleanor Leonne Bennett

Stan Sanvel Rubin

Willy Conley

Greg Schutz

Anya Groner

Elizabeth Weld

Stuart Nadler

Corrie Williamson

Seth Perlow

and more THE

Caitlin Bailey

FA L L 2 0 1 2 | V OL. 62 , N O. 2

J E S S I C A H E N D RY N E L S O N

T H E C A R O L I N A Q U A RT E R LY

I remember that phrase, cracked his head open, which the grown-ups repeated, and which seemed both more and less than what really happened. Sharper than a blow, say, or a thump. Something razor-edged and irreparable.

Cracks are small and insidious, the start of some unforeseen disaster, like the cracks in the earth’s surface from which volcanoes erupt, craggy and molten. Or even the sidewalk in front of the Shop Rite, that was now upended, churned through with dirt and dry, dead earthworms and rotten tree roots; to be avoided, circumvented, dangerous. As if, having been weakened by that first fissure in his soft skull, the whole rickety job could come undone at any moment.

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CAROLINA QUARTERLY

F A L L 2 0 1 2 I S S U E | V OL. 62 , N O. 2

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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

FALL 2012 ISSUE | VOL. 62 , NO. 2

CHRONIC VAGABONDAGE SINCE 1948

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The Carolina Quarterly €¾ €Â?YbĂŠbY €Â? ½}b ‘‘† *bĂˆÂ€bÉ Â?YbĂŠV (‘bŠ €Â?Yb²V Â?YbĂŠ ½‘ (b²€‘Y€O8‡ €O½€‘Â?V Š8Â?€½€bÂľ Â?½b²Â?8½€‘Â?8‡ ‘ŠÂ?‡b½bV 8Â?Y ½}b Ă?Â?Â?Ă‚8‡ Bibliography of English Language and Literature. Member Coordinating

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ABOVE | Wind Breaking an Umbrella Eleanor Leonne Bennett COVER | high simple

O N L I N E AT

www.theca r o l i n a q u a r ter l y. co m

Eleanor Leonne Bennett

FICTION EDITORS

ASSISTANT EDITORS

POETRY EDITOR

(}€‡ +8�Y€O†

Bhumi Dalia

Lee Norton

Lindsay Starck

Heather Van Wallendael

NON-FICTION EDITOR

COVER DESIGN

WEB EDITOR

€O† ��Yb²Š8�

(}€‡€� O bb

�Y8Š �ub‡

Matthew Hotham | E D I TO R- I N - C H I E F INTERNSU +}8Â?Â?‘Â? b8Š‘Â?V €²¾½bÂ? }8Â?uV 8Y€¾‘Â? ŠFbbV +O‘½½ 8ĂˆÂ€ÂľV Ă?‡bĂŠ €Ê‘Â?V 8Â?Â?8} ‘O†b²ËV 8Â?YĂ‹ €Y¾‘Â?V bu8Â? 8²‡bĂ‹V ²€¾½bÂ? ‘}Â?¾‘Â?V Ă?‡€Ob 8²½€Â?V b‡€¾¾8 (8²†b²V (b˽‘Â? *€‡bĂ‹V €8Â?8 *‘ÂÊV Nathan Vail, and William Wright FICTION READERS: 8²8 bÂ?Â?b½½V ‘¾}Ă‚8 ²8Y‡bĂ‹V b‡¾bĂ‹ ‘¾½b²V Ă?‡€Ob 8²½€Â?V Â€ĂˆÂ€8 b‡¾‘Â?V 8Yb‡€Â?b Raskulinecz, Jerrod Rosenbaum, L. Lamar Wilson, and Nate Young POETRY READERS: Jasmine V. Bailey, Emily Banks, Melissa Birkhofer, Matthew Harvey, Rachel Kiel, and Liana Roux NON-FICTION READERS: Š€‡Ë 8Â?†¾V €²¾½bÂ? }8Â?uV Ă?‡bĂŠ €Ê‘Â?V 8Â?YĂ‹ €Y¾‘Â?V 8Â?Y ²€½½8Â?Ă‹ +Â?²Â€‡‡

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

3

CONTENTS FA L L 2 0 1 2 | V OL. 62 , N O. 2

P O E T RY 9

STAN SANVEL RUBIN | Celebration

A Brief History of Music 12

CAITLIN BAILEY | Grete Asks the Hard Question

This is the House 32

CORRIE WILLIAMSON | Scala Naturae, or Southern Vivisection

The Mole, The Sweet Potato, and the Possibility of Allegory 44

SHELLEY PUHAK | Guievere, Facing Forty in Baltimore, Writes

to Lancelot Guinevere, After Arthur’s Appointment with the Specialist The Court Physician Interrogates Guinevere 48

DAVID MOOLTEN | The Robber Bridegroom

78

SETH PERLOW | ² n² Dear Future Self

82

MATT ZAMBITO | ½

95

BEN PURKERT | Slow Accretion of Color in a Mind

Ob8 *bqbO½µ ½}b + Ë

Borderless but at the Very Edge of Things Disassociated Self-Portrait from Ten Thousand Feet Shown an Image of an M&M Wrapper, a Subject Salivates

FICTION 7

ELIZABETH WELD | Primary Education

36

ANYA GRONER | Gorilla and the Protégé

57

GREG SCHUTZ | The Sweet Nothings

84

STUART NADLER | Airplanes

NON-FICTION 14

JESSICA HENDRY NELSON | If Only You People Could Follow

Directions

REVIEWS 100

CHRISTOPHER ARMITAGE | Inward of Poetry George Johnston & William Blisset in letters

102 EVAN GURNEY | That Was Oasis FË O}8b O bb

A RT 6

ELEANOR LEONNE BENNETT | an electric s

26

WILLY CONLEY | Human Sign Language Series

49

ADITYA SHRINGAPURE | µ uµ ? (8²8Y u µ

77

ELEANOR LEONNE BENNETT | high simple

94

ELEANOR LEONNE BENNETT | rekinde

106

Contributors

ELEANOR LEONNE BENNETT

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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY

| an electric s

E LIZA B E T H W ELD

Primary Education ÐFb 3 Yb bËb² É8µ Ë µbO Y u²8Yb ½b8O}b²¢ ˵ µ8½ ½}b left, girls on the right. Crayons and pencils were waiting inside each of ² Ybµ µ ½}b o²µ½ Y8ËV É ½} 8 µ 8 ¾Êp YbÊ O8²Y ½}8½ µ8 YV u²bb ink, “These are for you to keep—Sincerely, Mr. Windenmeyer.” }8Èb bÈb²Ë b¯µ 8½½b ½ ¨­ }b µ8 Y Ob ½}b Fb }8Y ²Â u¢ Èb²Ë b YYbY bÊOb ½ n ² +8²8} ½b²V É} ¯Y u ½½b }b² o ub² µ½ÂO in a furious knot of brown hair on the back of her head. ¬ ²u Èb bV­ }b µ8 Y ½ +8²8}V É} µb n8Ob ½Â² bY ²bY 8µ }b }b8YbY down the row toward her desk. “Girls have a harder life than boys,” he 8  ObYV 8 Y ½}b }b u8Èb +8²8}¯µ ɲ µ½ 8 §Â O µ§ÂbbÎb Fbn ²b µ½8²½ing right in on the knot in her hair. “How they manage to keep such long }8 ² ½ YË µ FbË Y b¢ b²µ 8 Ë 8Y ²b u ² µ Èb²Ë ÂO}¢ µ½ ½²Ë ½ to cry, my dear,” he said to Sarah, whose eyes were closed against fat, embarrassed tears. “Kids, this will just take a minute,” he said to the rest of us, who took his kindness as an invitation to forgo our own seats and crowd around him and Sarah, our arms touching, all of us breathing on b8O} ½}b²¯µ bO µV ½}b F Ë n² ½ n b nbb u ½}b F8O n } µ }b8Y µË 8½}Ë n ² +8²8}¢ ¬ b½¯µ µ½ n²bb  ½} µ o ub²V­ ²¢ 3 Yb bËb² said to Sarah, who was now looking cautiously at the group of us.

“My name is Mr. Windenmeyer,” he said from the front of the room oÈb ½bµ 8½b²¢ ¬ É ¯Y b ½ bb½ b8O} n Ë Â¢ b É8Ë ½ }b b ²b b Fb² µ ½ ɲ ½b Ë Â² 8 b ½}b F8O n ½}b YbÊ O8²Y ¯Èb left inside your desk. ¬(b²}8 µ Ë Â O8 É µbbV­ }b µ8 Y 8µ Éb O b½bY ½} µ ½8µ V ¬É}Ë Éb bbYbY ½ n²bb  bÈb²Ë b¯µ o ub²µ¨­ Quietly, Sarah laughed, and then we all laughed, relieved, at least in my case, to see that her suffering was over, and because we now knew everything we needed to know about Mr. Windenmeyer, which was that he was kind and would not embarrass us.

E L I ZA B E TH W E L D

7

A Brief History of Music +O² 8F É8µ ½µV É}8½ n ½¨ 3b 8 Y²b8 Éb¯²b ½}b bµµ 8}V one time or another.

Suddenly, after months or years of longing, we decide to get Eurydice back, we go searching all over the dark city.

The bells of night ringing in our brain. Ð Y8Ë ½}b²b É8µ ½} u¢ Now there is this. ½ ½8 bµ ½}b ½b b²8 b ½ of a saint, the wanton recklessness n 8 FÂnn ½ o Y É}8½ Ë Â bbY ½}bµb µ½ µ½²bb½µ¢ µ ½}b²b 8 Ë b É} }8µ ½ Fbb 8F8 Y bY¨ Nevertheless, like a hero in the moment of cosmic illumination, all your trumpets blaring, you see her move behind a smoky curtain.

8ËFb ½¯µ ½ b V F½ Ë waiting. Maybe her crude heart

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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY

has not been split like yours into two parts, a tempo for each longing.

Maybe you open the wrong door by mistake, and rush in.

STA N S A N V E L R U B I N

11

J ESSIC A H ENDRY NELSON

If Only You People Could Follow Directions The motel is flamingo pink, stucco walls dripping with humidity; the É} b ²bO½8 u 8² O bÊ nbb µV n² ½}b nbÈb² µÂ µbV b 8 u8 u ½}¢ 8 ½}b Éb½ Ob ½b² n ½}b ½} n 8½ u 8 n tepid water and staring up at the rain clouds that rush by. The muscular white sun squeezes my head like a stress ball. Yesterday, a temperamental Broadway actor leaped from the fortieth floor of a New York City high rise only to land, broken but alive, in the bed of a candy-red Dodge Charger. The story was on every news station. The media psychoana ËÎbY } µ 8ObF 8ub¢ 8u b }b µ½ }8Èb nb ½ ½½b² Ë µÂ ½bY FË the irony of his situation, the soap opera script, which is pretty much } É nbb 8F ½ Fb u ² Y8¢ nbb 8OO µ½bY FË ½}b b O ²µ 8 Y blaring trumpet solos, frenetic sound bites from a nearby highway. Even the foliage is offensive. The leaves are as big as platters and so bright }8Èb ½ µ§Â ½ ½ Y nnb²b ½ 8½b b n² 8 ½}b²¢ ,} µ u 8 ½ 8 µ½ u}½V 8 Ë µbO Y ÉV µ 8 b ½}b n8Ob¢ }b8² 8 n8 ½ µ ÎÎ b 8µ Y Ë }b8Y 8 Y ½ n ½}b É8½b²¢ Ð O ²O b n u}½ }8µ O8Âu}½ 8 O}8 bleon capering around a drainpipe. Curtains wave and draw open on the third floor. ,} µ µ ½ ½}b o²µ½ ½ b }8Èb u ½½b µ O 8 ½ O 8½ n µbb u Ë F² ½}b²¢ }8Èb 8 n² b Y É} O8 µ b unbalanced, always with an apoloub½ O u² ¢ Y ½ 8²uÂbi bµµV n O ²µbV }8Èb ½ Fbb ½8 u Ë bÊ8 ² ¢ ,}b 8²uÂb 8 ½¢ е 8 n8 ËV Éb }8Èb 8 }8F ½ n µbb u b8O} other out at just the wrong time, when one or all of us is about to go over the deep end. My mother, my brother and me. This reminds me of the way my extended family tends to gather only for funerals. We do a lot n µ ½½ u 8²  Y 8 Y b8½ u¢ +½ ² u  V µÂ µbV n ² É}8½ É µbb 8 u É ½b²¯µ F b Ybb O} ¢

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� Ëb‡‡‘É Fbb½‡b q‘8½¾ �8¾½ ŠË O}bb† Fbn‘²b ub½½€�u ½8�u‡bY €� ŠË }8€²¢ É8½O} ¾€Yb‡‘�u ɀ½} ‘�b bËb ¾}½ 8¾ ½}b Fbb½‡b Y‘b¾ 8 n²8�½€O Y‘uuË �8YY‡b¢ €Š8u€�b ŠË¾b‡n €� ½}b ‘Ob8� O8Âu}½ €� 8 FbY ‘n O‡‘Ë€�uV b�Yless black kelp, choking and sputtering, a monstrous pale hand suddenly wrenching me free, tossing me across millions of miles of space into a different hemisphere, a different planet, then a second of shimmering exultation before the break.

My mother smears cream cheese onto a bagel at the wobbly glass table next to the pool and worries aloud about my brother, Eric, alone in our motel room. ÂŹ }€Y ŠË Ă?Â˝Â€Ăˆ8Â? €Â? ½}b O²½8€Â?ÂľV­ Âľ}b Âľ8Ă‹ÂľV O}bɀÂ?u¢ ÂŹ5‘ ½}€Â?† }b¯‡‡ oÂ?Y €½ ½}b²b¨­ ÂŹĂ?F¾‘‡Â½b‡ËV­ Âľ8Ë¢ q‘8½ Â‘Ăˆb² ½‘ ½}b ¾½bÂ?Âľ 8Â?Y ‘Â?bÂ? ŠË Š‘½}V }‘Â?€Â?u Âľ}b¯‡‡ ¾½€O† ½}8½ F8ub‡ €Â?¾€Yb¢ She does.

Eric was recently kicked out of the sober community he has been living €Â? n‘² ½}b Â?8¾½ b€u}½ Š‘Â?½}Âľ 8n½b² ²b‡8Â?¾€Â?u ‘Â? ĂŠĂ‹ ‘Â?½€Â?¢ ,}b O‘Â?Âľ searched his car outside of a 7-11 after a friend was caught trying to swipe a seven-dollar bottle of sparkling rosĂŠ. That was six months ago, F½ ŠË Š‘½}b² 8Â?Y Y€YÂ?¯½ }b8² ½}b ¾½‘²Ë Ă‚Â?½€‡ Éb 8Â˛Â˛Â€ĂˆbY €Â? ‡‘²€Y8¢ Â? ‘½}b² ɑ²YÂľV Éb Y€YÂ?¯½ †Â?‘É 8F‘½ ½}b ²b‡8Â?Âľb Ă‚Â?½€‡ Éb u‘½ }b²bV É}€O} €¾ Â?8²½€8‡‡Ë É}8½ Šb8Â? É}bÂ? Âľ8Ă‹ Éb 8²b ½²8u€O8‡‡ËV O‘¾Š€O8‡‡Ë bound. +€Â?Ob ½}bÂ?V }bÂŻÂľ FbbÂ? Â‡Â€ĂˆÂ€Â?u ɀ½} }€¾ u€²‡n²€bÂ?YV b‡¾bĂ‹V €Â? }b² O‘‡‡bub dorm room, where they like nothing better than to huddle together on ½}b F‘½½‘Š FĂ‚Â?†V ½€b b8O} ‘½}b² ‘nn 8Â?Y Âľ}‘‘½ FŠÂ?Âľ ‘n ‡€§ÂbobY ĂŠĂ‹Âľ

J ESS I C A H E N D RY N E L SO N

15

WILLY CONLEY

28

THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY

| Poretto Beach

WILLY CO N L E Y | Old Kart Track

29

The Mole, the Sweet Potato, and the Possibility of Allegory ½}b ½8F b 8 }b8 n µÉbb½ potatoes, a hole chewed through the skin of some, wedge of orange meat where a mole encountered ½  Yb²u²  YU µ½8² qbµ} at the end of his nose bumping straight into that subterranean mother lode, blindly caressing the tuber with the branched mitts of his hands, scenting out its complicated rough contours, Yµ Ë Y ² n ½}b ² ½µ¯ snarl, gnawing into the soft oFb²µ É} O} }b O8 ¯½ É are the shade of a harvest moon low on the horizon. He eats awed, but when he leads the other moles here to share ½}b u n½V b n ½}b µ}Ânq u in the tunnel, vein teeming with dark

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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY

blood towards a heart, there is only an empty socket, a room whose walls are soil, faintly fragrant.

CO R R I E W I L L I A M SO N

35

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ADIT YA SHR IN GAP U R E

| Paradigms: Six 53

A DIT YA SHR IN G APUR E | Musings: Urban Spaces 4

G REG SCHUT Z

The Sweet Nothings Valerie met Mack thirty years ago. She was studying elementary education at North Carolina State, and he played right tackle—second string—for the Wolfpack football team. They were partners in a chemistry lab, a required science credit Valerie had overlooked until this, her senior year. Mack, meanwhile, was a freshman, a hulking, overgrown boy from the western part of the state. He had a stiff brown brush of hair and a face b 8 ½} F¢ (b O µ µ 8 bY } µ oµ½¢ +8nb½Ë u uu bµ F ½ ² uµ ½ } µ forehead and cheeks.

Still, he was an athlete, and on Tuesday and Thursday mornings she watched him navigate the crowded hall and narrow classroom aisles É ½} ½}b }bbY bµµV u8  } u u²8Ob n 8 F u Y u¢ 3}b ½}b o²µ½ µ½² u tackle graduated, Mack would be promoted to starter—if he maintained his grades. Valerie suspected that she, trained to cajole children into learning through charm, trickery, and force, had been made his partner in order to protect him. (b²}8 µ 8O µb µbY ½} µ 8µ Éb ¢ ² u 8F bÊb²O µbµV } µ 8½½b ½ to her bordered on reverence. He wrote down measurements as she called ½}b ½V } µ qµ}bY n8Ob µ§ÂbbÎbY ½ u}½¢ н ½}b b Y n ½}b ½b² V }8È u earned a B-minus, he asked her to a movie. ˵ Y Y ½ 8µ 28 b² b ½ È bµ¢ 28 b² b¯µ ½}b²V Y 8 Y O Âb bµµV had once described her as an ample girlV É ²Yµ ½}8½ µ½ µ½Â u¢ 8O Y Y ¯½ µbb ½ Y¢ Ð Ébb Fbn ²b }² µ½ 8µV ½}b O8 µ ½}b8½b² É8µ µO²bb u Miracle on 34th Street¢ b8² ½}b b Yi¬ 8 ½} µ Fb bÈ u É}b O µb µb ½b µ Ë Â ½ ½ V­ 8²bb ¯ 8²8 É8µ µ8Ë ui 8O µ} n½bY Fbµ Yb her and covered her hand on the armrest with his. His palm was warm, heavy, and damp. + }b O ²½bY }b² } µ b8² bµ½V µ½Â F u 8 b²¢ ² 28 b² bV ½}b experience was new and disorienting. What did Mack see that other boys }8Y µµbY¨ “Tell me what you love about me.”

G R E G SC H U TZ

57

Ð F8Y }8F ½i8YY²bµµ u } b 8 Y noO ½ µ½ÂYb ½ É} bbYbY ½ be coaxed into speaking through clear commands. Still, the request was sincere.)

“Hey now.” He plucked at his lower lip as if trying to draw out the 8 µÉb²¢ ¬ ¯ ½ ½ u Y É ½} É ²YµV uÂbµµ¢­ True.

But he was good at other things. His hand at the small of her back u YbY }b² ½}² Âu} Y ²µ¢ н b8 µV } µ F u n ½ ²bµ½bY Fb½Ébb }b²µ b 8  ˢ b ½ } µ ½ uÂb }b² F YË¢ b µ bY } µ o ub²µ between her thighs with a gentleness so unlike yet so necessary to the }8 ËV u²Â ½ u É ² ½}8½ n ÉbY¢ +}b }8Y ¯½ Fbb 8 È ²u É}b ½}b˯Y b½i½}b²b¯Y Fbb 8 F Ë }b² n²bµ} 8 Ëb8²V 8 µb² bµ n F² bn 8 Y µ½ Ë Â µ8½ µn8O½ ²Ë µOÂnqbµ Fb b8½} Y ² ½ ²Ë F 8 b½µiF½ 8O É8µ }b² o²µ½ ²b8 Èb²¢ Lover. That word, its ponderous romanticism, had a way of sneak u  28 b² b¢ ½ É8µ Y noO ½V µ b ² uµV ½ F8O Y Ë }b² b8ub² bµµ ½}b Y8² ¢ Ð ½}8½ qbµ} O Y uV ½}b µ  Yµ ½}bË 8Yb together, the smells. Ample lover, she thought.

Her parents, Diana and Ned, lived in nearby Cary and approved of Mack in the same simple way they approved of nearly everything Valerie O} µb¢ 8O ¯µ 8²b ½µ ²b 8 bY Y µ½8 ½¢ b O8 b n² 8  ½8 ½ É called Saluda, the son of a machinist and grandson of a logger. He rarely mentioned his family.

“She wants to talk to you.” He held the phone out to Valerie. ½ É8µ } µ ½}b²¢ ¬ Y ¯½ µÂ µb Ë Â¯Èb Fbb F8 ½ ÎbY¢­ ¬ ÊOµb b¨­ ¬Ð u ² ½}8½¯µ Y b ½}b YbbY É ½} 8 F Ë µ}b F8²b Ë Éµ¢ Y ¯½ µÂ µb Ë Â¯Èb Fbb F8 ½ ÎbY¢­ Mack, hovering over her shoulder, stole the phone away. ½²Â½}V 28 b² b n  Y ½} µ bÊO}8 ub FµO²b Ë bÊO ½ u¢ ,}b ½}²b8½ of trouble bound them together somehow.

That summer, Mack tore ligaments in his knee during a blocking Y² ¢ Ðn½b² ½É µÂ²ub² bµV }b Fbu8 }˵ O8 ½}b²8 Ë ½ Îb ½}b

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½}8½ É Â Y Y u } ½}b ²bµ½ n } µ nb¢ ½F8 É8µ ½ n ½}b §Âbµ½ ¢ 3 ½} ½ } µ 8½} b½ O µO} 8²µ} V }b É Â Y }8Èb ½ ²b½Â² ½ +8 ÂY8¢ Y ¯½ ÉV­ }b µ8 Y n É u b ½}b²8 Ë µbµµ V µ½ 8 ½ u 8n½b² ½}b É8 O²Â½O}bµ n² 28 b² b¯µ O8² ½ }b² ½ Ë u8²Yb bÈb bnoO b OË¢ ¬ O  Y µ½ ²Â 8 b½8 ²bµµ ²b½½Ë u Y¢­ Valerie placed her hand on his thigh. Love was a new muscle sewn ½ }b² O}bµ½· ½ µ§ÂbbÎbY 8½ ½}b YYbµ½ b ½µ¢ ² Y8˵ 8½ 8 ½ bV Mack was simply there, as steady and unremarkable as the summer heat. Ð Y ½}b V É ½} ½ É8² uisqueeze.

“Stay with me,” she said. ,}b Y µ8 ² È8 n² +8 ÂY8i8 Y 8O ¯µ ²bµb Ob 8½ }b² µ Yb ½}² Âu} ½}b q²²Ë n } b O8 µ 8 Y ½}b F² bnV  8  ObYV 8 Y ½½b² Ë µ µ È µ ½ n² } µ 8²b ½µi Ë }8²Yb bY 28 b² b¯µ ²bµ Èb¢ bY 8 Y Diana were less inclined to judge. They were easygoing, affable people, well-matched. “He makes you happy,” Diana said at Thanksgiving. She ²b ÈbY 8 ²}ÂF8²F O² µ n² ½}b Èb ¢ ½}b Yb V bY 8 Y 8O Éb²b watching a football game. Something had happened. They pounded each other on the back, whooping.

“He does.” Valerie dug a corkscrew into a bottle of gooseberry wine. ½} µb o²µ½ Yb O8½b Y8˵V ½ 8½½b²bY ²b ½ }b² ½}8½ µ}b O  Y say this with apparent conviction than that she actually feel convinced.

Later, Valerie would recall her early years with Mack as the happiest of her life; at the time, however, they rarely seemed so. There was, for bÊ8 bin ² ½}b o²µ½ Ëb8²V 8½ b8µ½i½}b 8 8²½ b ½ ½µb nV µ 8 ½ Fbu with and made smaller still by their shared bulk, their inability to pass from the kitchenette to the closet-like bathroom to the futon sofa that doubled as their bed without brushing one another. There was the terrible anxiety that overtook her each morning as she left for work, to stand alone before a room full of kindergartners, the rows of little upturned n8Obµ¢ ÐF Èb 8 V ½}b²b É8µ ½}b bµO8 8F b ½ 8OË n 8 nb µ}8²bY¢ ½} u ²b 8 bY } YYb n ² u¢ n µ}b É8µ O²8 ËV µÉb8½ËV ² }8Y u8µV }b É Â Y É¢ Ð Y µ}b É Â Y 8 É8˵ É ½}b µ8 b 8F ½ } V whether she cared to or not.

G R E G SC H U TZ

59

STUART NADLE R

Airplanes b µbbµ ½}b 8 b² ½}8½ }b² 8 8²½ b ½ µ n ² µ8 b¢ b¯Y F Âu}½ ½}b Sunday copy of the Times on a lark at a grocery near his home in the South End. Hers is the featured home in the Sunday section devoted to ²b8 bµ½8½b¢ ,}b²b 8²b ½}²bb O ² } ½ u²8 }µ 8½½8O}bY ½ ½}b ½bʽ¢ b n ½}b ½O}b V b n ½}b FbY² V 8 Y b n ½}b F Y u¯µ bʽb² ²¢ But none of her. This, even now, is surprisingly disappointing. ÐO² µµ n² } V 8O V n ² Ëb8²µ YV 8 Èb²µ n } miniature, does his best to understand the comics. He reads slowly, haltingly, but with a sense of determination that leads Marc to believe the boy will be bright. Jack enjoys the old classics, the same strips that Marc enjoyed at the same age, before his interests were consumed by sports, and then girls, and then, apparently, the real estate section.

Garfield. The Far Side. Spiderman. The boy reads with his fingers against the paper, tracing the dialogue bubbles up and along as the story Èbµ ¢ OO8µ 8 ËV }b ²bµµbµ } µ  Y n + Ë (½½Ë ½ ½}b paper, and shows off how the ink can be bled away, like a printing press in reverse. Even after hundreds of applications, the boy still finds this process fascinating. ÐO² µµ ½}b ² V ½}b ²8Y 8˵ ½}b } ½µV 8 Y µ b} É ½}b F Ë Éµ b Âu} ½ } 8 ½}b b Y bµ¢ ,} µ µ } µ ½}b²¯µ Y uV 8²O thinks. While he is at work, the two of them sit around here, at this table, listening to the stereo, dancing in the kitchen. Now, Janet is sleeping in. ½¯µ } µ u n½ ½ }b² ½}b Ébb b Yµ¢ µ F 8µ 8 ½²8Yb² bb µ } ½ n ½}b } µb µ½ n ½}b Ébb ¢ b µ  8½ ½É n ² ½²8Y u Y ¢ Ð Y   ½ Y u}½ n ² ½²8Y u е 8¢ 8µ½ Ébb µ}b O 8 bY ½}bË Éb²b roommates sharing a child, a statement she levied without any theatrics ² 8 8²b ½ 8 ub²V F½ É ½} 8 Ybµ½ µb µb n ²bÈb 8½ }b² È Ob¢ е n µ}b¯Y µ½ µ½Â F bY 8O² µµ ½}b n8O½V F² bY Fb b8½} 8 b n } µ µÂ ½µ 8 Y ½ bµ¢ µ½ Ébb b YµV µ}b Y bµ ¯½ O b ½ ½}b n8 Ë Â ½ n ²¢ This is his gift to her: time away. Still though, he has everything ready for

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pancakes, so that if she emerges ahead of schedule he can fall swiftly into 8O½ ¢ ,}b É8Ë }b ou²bµ ½V ½}b˯ Fb µ ½  FË ½} µ ½ b bʽ Ëb8²¢ Both of them seem to know this. ¬Ð²b Éb u u ½ b8½ }8 F²ub²µ¨­ 8O 8µ µ¢ The boy asks this because Marc is wearing the apron Janet gave him Ëb8²µ 8u V Fbn ²b ½}b ² µ É8µ F ² ¢ b¯µ n ²u ½½b V } µ bÊ}8µ½ V to remove it. ¬ 8½b²V­ }b µ8˵¢ ¬ ½¯µ µ½ b8² Ë¢­ ¬ F Y˯ É¢ 3b O8 }8Èb }8 F²ub²µ n ² F²b8 n8µ½¢ 3b O8 have hamburger pancakes.” ¬ ¯ ÉV­ 8²O µ8˵¢ н ½} µV 8O u² µ YbÈ Âµ ËV 8 Y b8 µ 8O² µµ ½}b ½8F bV 8µ n ½ µ}8²b 8 µbO²b½¢ ¬ F YË ²½8 ½V b8 ¢­ This makes Marc laugh, but then, hearing in his head the strenuous tone his wife assumes when trying to be the disciplinarian, he stiffens, 8 Y o Yµ } µb n É8uu u } µ o ub²¢ ¬3b Y ¯½ bb µbO²b½µV­ }b µ8˵¢ ¬ 8˨ µ bO 8 Ë n² Ë Â² ½}b²¢­ ¬ bÈb²¨ ,}8½ Y bµ ¯½ µ  Y Èb²Ë ½b²bµ½ u¢­ ½b²bµ½ u µ } µ bÉ É ²Y¢ ² } µ bÉ O Ob ½¢ н ½} µ ½V ½¯µ Y noO ½ ½ Y µOb² É}b½}b² ½}b²b µ 8 Ë b8 u Fb} Y É}8½ ½}b F Ë µ8˵¢ OO8µ ½}b O O}cµ 8²b ² Èb ½²ÂbV 8 Y } µ F Ë µµbµµbµ µÂO} a cunning ability to incisively diagnose some nagging psychic itch of his that Marc has wondered if he can train the boy to see through the fog and F µ} ½ n ½}b ½b² 8½ 8 8² b½¢ b O  Y ½8 b } ½ ½}b noObV give him his own small desk and his own bank of small monitors. Late ½ 8 b u}½bb } ² Y8ËV }b 8O½Â8 Ë o Yµ } µb n Y8ËY²b8 u 8F ½ this. But then, there are other moments, such as what he awoke to this ² ui} µ F Ë µ b8² u b8 ½ F½½b² ½ ½}b ² Y u¯µ ½}V } u somehow to get the poor thing to move its lips like the talking animals on television—when the opposite is proven true. ¬3}8½ 8²b Ë Â u 8½¨­ 8O 8µ µ¢ “Houses in the paper.” ¬3}˨­ ¬+ b½ bµ ½¯µ Ob ½ ½} n È u µ bÉ}b²b b µbV uÂbµµ¢­

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Shown an Image of an M&M Wrapper, a Subject Salivates the mind is so easily }8YV ½¯µ b8µ Ë ½}b o²µ½ O bY off deer from a herd, the one the herd guessed É Â Y u o²µ½ but never said anything & they let the mind be ravaged, this way they might stand a chance & it was so freeing to look on with no mind! the parts being eaten in

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sequence, the jaws closing on the very little bones of the mind & when the herd left to roam they fell sideways, their mouths oh-so-close in the grass

B E N P U R K E RT

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C H R I STOP HE R A RMITAGE

Joyous Feasting Inward of Poetry: George Johnston & William Blisset in Letters (‘²OÂ�€�b¯¾ )€‡‡ 432 pages; $29.95 paperback

‘É Y‘b¾ 8 �‘bŠ O‘Šb ½‘ bʀ¾½¨ ‘É Y‘b¾ €½ bŠb²ub n²‘Š ½}b inward mind of the poet into a visible form, and eventually become a pub‡€O �²‘YÂO½¨ Inward of Poetry, which documents the 50-year friendship between George Johnston and William Blissett, illuminates this process.

The two men met as doctoral candidates at the University of Toronto in 1945-46, and advanced together to become professors. Despite this shared history, they differed greatly in lifestyle. Johnston spent most of World 38² 8Âľ 8Â? * Ă? F‘ŠFb² Â?€‡‘½¢ ‡€¾¾b½½V 8n½b² ÂŹn‘²½Ë Ă‹b8²¾ ‘n }b¾€½8½€‘Â? bought a car,â€? with which he could eventually “do everything but park & [was] nearly ready to take the Testâ€?! Their lifelong exchange of letters— ²bÂ?²‘YĂ‚ObY €Â? ½}€¾ oÂ?b ĂˆÂ‘Â‡Ă‚ÂŠbi€¾ €Â? ‡€Â?b ɀ½} ½}b Fb¾½ bÂ?€¾½‘‡8²Ë bĂŠO}8Â?ubÂľV 8Âľ bĂŠbŠÂ?‡€obY FĂ‹ ½}b Ăˆb‡ËÂ? 38Ă‚u} 8Â?OĂ‹ €½n‘²Y O‘²²bÂľÂ?‘Â?YbÂ?Ob¢ ,}b F‘‘†¯¾ o²¾½ oĂˆb O}8Â?½b²¾ Â?²‘ObbY O}²‘Â?‘‡‘u€O8‡‡Ë n²‘Š ½}b ˜ŽpĂ?Âľ to 1972, while the remaining chapters are organized into distinct themes.

}8Â?½b² ¾€Ê n‘OĂ‚ÂľbÂľ ‘Â? ‡€¾¾b½½¯¾ YbbÂ?bÂ?€Â?u 8Â?8‡Ë¾€¾ ‘n +Â?bÂ?Âľb²¯¾ Fairie Queene, which he had read eight times by the 1950s and on which he ɑ‡Y u‘ ‘Â? ½‘ Â?Ă‚F‡€¾} ¾€uÂ?€oO8Â?½ ɑ²†¢ }8Â?½b² ÂľbĂˆbÂ? Yb½8€‡¾ ‡€¾¾b½½¯¾ 8YŠ€²8½€‘Â? n‘² 8ĂˆÂ€Y ‘Â?b¾¯¾ ɑ²† 8Â?Y n²b§ÂbÂ?½ ĂˆÂ€ÂľÂ€Â˝Âľ ½‘ }€Š €Â? ²€½8€Â?¢

}8Â?½b² b€u}½ YbÂľO²€FbÂľ ‘}Â?¾½‘Â?ÂŻÂľ bÂ?½}¾€8¾½€O €ŠŠb²¾€‘Â? €Â? 8Â?Y ½²8Â?¾‡8½€‘Â?Âľ ‘n Ob‡8Â?Y€O 8Â?Y 8²‘bÂľb Â?‘b½²Ë¢ }8Â?½b² ÂŽV ÂŹ b‡‡‘É (‘b½¾V­ Âľ}‘ɾ the expanding recognition of Canadian poetry; the tenth details “Travelsâ€?

FĂ‹ ½}b ½É‘ 8½}‘²¾¡ ½}b Â˜Â˜Â˝} u‘bÂľ Â‘Ăˆb² ÂŹ 8Š€‡Ë­ Š8½½b²¾V ¾ÂO} 8Âľ O‘Â?Ob²Â?Âľ 8F‘½ 8u€Â?u Â?8²bÂ?½¾¡ 8Â?Y oÂ?8‡‡Ë ÂŹ+b8¾‘Â?Âľ 8Â?Y OO8¾€‘Â?ÂľU Â˜ÂŽÂ¸Ă Ă Ă?Ă?Ă?V­ ‘nnb²¾ 8Â? Â‘ĂˆbÂ˛ĂˆÂ€bÉ ‘n ½}b€² 8O}€bĂˆbŠbÂ?½¾¢ ,}b F‘‘†¯¾ bY€½‘²V +b8Â? 8Â?bV who studied under both men, serves as a narrator, providing helpful links, analyses, and notes at the end of each chapter.

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Johnston, who became a professor at Carleton College (later Univerµ ½Ë ½½8É8V ½8Âu}½ Y u µ} 8 Y Y ²µb¢ b É8µ 8 O²8n½µ 8 n carefully shaped poems, usually short and rhymed. Many of them he sent, ²b ÂF O8½ V ½ µµb½½¢ ,}bµb 8²b µ} É n V 8 u É ½} µµb½½¯µ µÂuubµ½ µV µ½ n ½}b 8 O8F Ë 8Y ½bY¢ 3b 8 µ É ½ bµµ } µ½ ¯µ increasing immersion in Scandinavian languages and dialects, and his adaptation of their skaldic verse forms, such as the dróttkvætt, in his É É ² ¢ н µµb½½¯µ ²u uV } µ½ ²b8Y b Oµ FË + b µb²V Âu}½ËV 8 Y , b V 8 Y µ½b bY ½ b²8V bµ bO 8 Ë 38u b²¯µ¢ b }b bY ½ persuade Blissett that writing short stories was not his forte.

Blissett headed the English Department at Huron College in the - Èb²µ ½Ë n 3bµ½b² ½8² n² ¹Ï ½ ¹pV Fbn ²b È u ½ ½}b - Èb²µ ½Ë n , ² ½ ¢ b É8µ 8 ² oO 8O8Yb O 8 ¢ 8YY ½ ½ } µ wide-ranging and distinguished record of published books and articles, he edited the University of Toronto Quarterly from 1965 through 1976, contributed papers at conferences and supervised numerous theses. His ²b8Y u É8µ b ² µU ¬ É8µ 8 8F È 8 Ëb8²µ Fbn ²b Lolita K8 YL have read every book by D.H. Lawrence with the exception of Lady Chat (sic).” His many reading recommendations to Johnston include Her Privates We FË ²bYb² O 8 u 8 Y Lord of the Flies by William Golding. He was also an inveterate traveler to England and Europe; in one sabbatical year he 8½½b YbY sg b²8µ ½}b²b¢ b²bV 8µ b µbÉ}b²bV } µ É ½ µ bÈ Yb ½V b¢u¢ +½²8µµ¯µ Electra “left me a nervous wreck, but otherwise unmoved.”

Inward of Poetry has been meticulously produced by The ( ²O b¯µ ) V 8 ½b²8²Ë ²bµµ ² V ½8² ¢ ,}b n² ½ O Èb² ²b ² YÂObµ } µ½ ¯µ b8½ O8 u²8 }Ë¢ b µµ b µ (² nbµµ ² ,bY 8 Y *½} McVey as “McVeigh” after meeting them during a visit to Huron, where }b b Ë Y Y ¯½ µbb ½}b ² 8 bµ ɲ ½½b Y É ¢ 8 } ½ 8ub Á¸sV µÂ²b Ë } µ½ V ½ µµb½½V µ µ½8 Y u Fbµ Yb b8 b } µ½ Ob 8 Y¢ 8 ½}b² } ½ µµb½½ 8 b8²µ Y²bµµbY b 8 b ¯µ Ð ub F b²V } µ 8Fµ ½b 8 ½ ½}bµ µ¢ } µ½ ² YÂObY 8 ½² F½b ½}b b ¬ ² 3 8 ²8 µµb½½V­ ½ 8 ¬n² b Y n u Y nb ɵ} V u Y ½8 V º u Y µ½ ² bµV º 8 Y 8n½b² 8 F bµµbY n8µ½ º Ë Âµ nb8µ½ u¢­ } µ½ Y bY ÁÏÏsV 8ubY Ï¢ Blissett, now 90 himself, continues to publish and present papers on a regular basis.

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No Desert of Dry Verse That Was Oasis by Michael McFee

8² bu b b - Èb²µ ½Ë (²bµµ gg 8ubµ· _ p¢ p 8 b²F8O

n Ë Â¯²b 8 ˽} u b bV Ë Â¯ nbb ½}b µ u}½bµ½ F ½ u ½Ë ²b8Y u O}8b O bb¯µ b u}½} n b u½} È Â b n b½²ËV That Was Oasis.

No matter how enlightened or liberated your reading habits, it still feels odd, even a little disconcerting, to have so much fun reading poems. Conµ Yb² ½}b n É u }²8µbµ b b²bY ½}² Âu} ½ O bb¯µ F U n² 8 Yb ½ ½}b µ8 ½ bV ¬½}b ²bY bO ¯µ }8²Y½8O V º ½}b O²8O b²¯µ O²8O b²­· ² the sublime heights of his paean to pork skins, “the apotheosis of the epidermis”; cigarette butts as “used-up hyphens fallen out of conversa½ ­· ½}b §Âbb Ë b½½b² )V ¬½}b O b º n ² 8 }8Fb½¯µ 8²O}­· 8 Y b8½}V ½}b Fb8²b² n F8 Y }b8YµV b²µ obY 8µ ¬½}b µ ½} (² Ob n Ð bO 8¢­ ,} µ µV ½} V ½}b 8Ob ½ µ½8²½ É}b ²b8Y u That Was Oasis. bn ²b Ë Â ub½ µ½ ½}b F ¯µ µb µ ²Ë 8 Y bµ bO 8 Ë uµ½8½ ²Ë Yb u}½ (as in “Salt” or “Gravy”) or its persistent musicality (with homages to Earl Scruggs and Thelonious Monk, among others), be sure to revel in its riotous personality, its verbal experimentation, its sheer pleasure in 8 uÂ8ub¢ O bb¯µ b µ ½}b } ² n 8 u Y u½½Â²8 8Âu}V ² 8½ b8µ½ 8 É²Ë µ bV FbO8µb ½}b²b¯µ ub½½ u 8²  Y ½i½}bË 8²b seriously funny. b8 ½}8½ }²8µb ½µ n bµ½ µb µb¢ ² 8 ½}b ² Yb O8½b É ½ 8 Y whimsy, these are poems with weight and heft to them, many of them sad and profound, others intensely lyrical, and all of them artful in their 8½½b ½ ½ ½}b O²8n½ n Èb²µb¢ n O bb }8µ 8 8O n ² µ b u nË phrases, they work so well because he folds them into otherwise tight and ²bo bY Èb²µb¢ ,}8½ µV }b ½8 bµ } µ b½²ËV F½ ½ } µb nV µb² µ Ë¢ ,} µ u Èbµ } µ ɲ ½ u 8 §Â b½ O oYb Ob¢ b ½}b² µ8È8ub ² µ u}½V O bb¯µ

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O O  µb Y bµ ¯½ b8Èb 8 Ë È O½ µ ½µ É8 b¢ µ½b8Y }b ½8 bµ 8 at the inevitable griefs of life, his deft touch with irony capturing the fullness of human experience. Much of this counterpoint is achieved by a (sometimes irreverent) spiritual vocabulary that infuses the work with a sense of the sacred. Tinged with melancholy, and haunted by a familiar specter of mortality, That Was Oasis possesses an urbane humor that is knowing but not analytical, wise without condescension, born of a deep love and understanding of people, their quirks and psychoses—even, or bµ bO 8 ËV ½}b b½¯µ É ¢ The poems themselves are often centered on some small domestic 8ub ² }²8µbV b 8 Èb²F8 µ½ nbV F½ O bb O ÂYbµ 8 µ ²½µ n action on the periphery, gesturing at a larger narrative. His perspective is at once acute and insightful, alive to the lyrical moment, mining the psychological depths of the everyday while also spanning a lifetime. His b µ 8²b n²b§Âb ½ Ë ½bʽ²bY É ½} } µ½ ²ËV É}b½}b² ½¯µ ½}b b½Ë uË of “bunk” or references to spooked copperheads creeping down into е}bÈ b Fbn ²b ½}b b ²bµµ ¢ ,}bµb ²bnb²b Obµ u Èb ½}b F 8 µ8½ µfying breadth and encyclopedic fullness. Unhurried but never slow, the È Â b }8µ 8 µb n 8µµÂ²bY µb µb n 8O uV 8 YV Ybµ ½b ½}b F ¯µ ½ ½ bV the reader never feels the need for an oasis. Each poem refreshes in its own way; this is no desert of dry verse. *b8Yb²µ É }8Èb ½}b ² ²bµ bO½ Èb n8È ² ½bµV Y ÂF½¢ o Y Ëself returning to the beautiful “Bibliotaph,” with its tight quatrains in short measure stacked up like a pile of thick tomes, bound together by 8 8ËnÂ Ë ² n  Y ²bn²8 U ¬ Â²Ë b É ½} Ë F µ¢­ ½ n Éb²b n ²ObY ½ O} µb 8 µ u b bÊb 8² n O bb¯µ É ² V ¯Y ²bO b Y reading “Hydrotherapeutical,” a testament to his tonal range and thematic texture. The poem is composed of a single, melodic, languid µb ½b ObV É} O} O bb Y È Ybµ ½ µ b Yb² O  b½ µ½8 Î8µ ½}8½ u}½ ²b ²bµb ½ ½}b µ b8 b²¯µ F YË µ½²b½O}bY ½ ½}b } ½ ½ÂFV ²V ²b b ËV ½}b 8 bµ ¬ Èb² ½}b²b ½}b 8Y ½ V­ É}b²b ¬µÉ b²µ 8½ b ½ Ë º plow back and forth...slowly laying open the same long slippery furrow.”

Note the casual gesture at boustrophedon here, as laborers turn their É FË ¬É ² u ½­ ½}b ²8½}b² ½}8 ½}b ob Yµ¢ ,}b µ b8 b²V

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½}b ½}b² }8 YV µ 8 Yb² Y8Ë Ð 8O²b µ ½½ u 8 µ 8 8 Y O µ u ² O ub ²u OµV É µ} u ¬½}8½ ½} µ uË µb²ÈbY O} bY O}8 8u b º µ could toast the brothers Jacuzzi.” The poem might have ended there in ½µ µË µ 8µ½ O u bbV F½ O bb ² ObbYµ ½ O O ÂYb É ½} 8 8ub n ½}b µ b8 b²¯µ }b8²½ µ 8 ½ n ² 8 b 8F ½ bÊb²O µb ¬µÂµ b YbY b 8 n8½ µbbY º µ Yb ½}b 8ub F²Â µbY n²Â ½ n 8 F YË º µ½ F Ë8 ½ n ² ÉV ½ Ëb½ µ É 8 ² É¢­ bµ ½b ½}8½ É Yb²n  ®n8½¯V ½}b 8u² O tural conceit has suddenly shifted into a somber register, and though the speaker remains buoyant in his water and his wine (“age-bruised fruit”), }b }8µ ²bO O bY } µb n ½ 8 n½²b É}b }b¯ Fb 8 ½bY } µ É row of earth. Ð n ½} µi½}b YË 8 O b²µ 8 ½Ë 8 Y } 8 b ² ËV ½}b µb µ tive portraits of domestic relations, the witty celebration of language, the ½bO} O8 8µ½b²ËiO 8½bµ ½}b F ¯µ o 8 µbO½ V ½}b µ u b b ¬ O ² O b Y¢­ ½ bÈb ½} Âu} ½}b bOb ½µ 8 bÊO 8 8½ 8² on the rest of the volume, it feels set apart somehow, a new project, its É 8OO µ} b ½¢ - 8F8µ}bY Ë 8 F ½ µV O bb¯µ 8 bµ½ O µb§Âb Ob n Á¸ µbO½ µ µ 8 ²b8½ 8µbF8 ( b ¢ 8 µ n ½}b µ ²½ É ½b ½}8½ he has included the same number of sections as batters faced by a pitcher who throws a perfect game. He shows off an impressive command of pacing and a formal versatility as he makes his way through the sequence, mixing in the occasional changeup for balance (a gangly, mawkish Thomas Wolfe as batboy!), and weaving a rich chronological tapestry ½}8½ F b Yµ ½ ub½}b² 8 Ob ½Â²Ë n µ ²½ е}bÈ bV 8 nb n É8½O} u F8µbF8 µ}8²bY Fb½Ébb ½}b b ¯µ µ b8 b² 8 Y } µ n8½}b²V 8 Y ½}b µ u b u8 b ½}8½ u ½bµ 8 ½}bµb b ² bµ¢ ,}b ½O}b² 8µ b½ µ ¯½ §Â ½b ½}b ² u}½ b½8 } ² ½} µ O8µbV } ÉbÈb²¢ n8O½V ½}b }b² n ½} µ b 8 Y ½}b b½¯µ ² b² 8 8 uÂb Y bµ ¯½ O b n² ½}b 8²²8Ë n F8 8Ëb²µ ½}8½ 8µµ ½}² Âu} е}bÈ b¯µ Y 8² i 8Fb *½}V F * Fb²½µ V ,Ë Cobb, Dock Ellis, Willie Stargell, Nolan Ryan, and others—but instead the bright-eyed old man in the stands who keeps a precise box score.

8µbF8 µ 8 u8 b ½}8½ 8 bµ µ O ½ n µ½8½ µ½ OµV n8O½µV 8 Y ou²bµV and here the aged scorekeeper transforms into a bardic surrogate: “he watches closely, then he writes”; he lisps in numbers, for the numbers

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O b¢ n O bb 8 b ½µ } µ 8F ½Ë ½ 8½O} } µ n8½}b²¯µ 8½ b Ob bb u 8OO  ½µV ¬½}b b8µÂ²b º n ½ u bÈb²Ë ½ Èb b ½ º n ² 8 few hours, for a few months,” his own verse is a worthy stand-in for a F Ê µO ²b¢ Ë ½}b ½ b ½}b b b Yµ É ½} 8 o 8 q ² µ} n ½}²bb }b² O O  b½µ ¬n ² ½¯µ bV ½É V ½}²bb µ½² bµ Ë Â¯²b ½h­ V ½ µ O b8² ½}8½ ¬ O ² O b Y­ µ ²b ½}8 8 Èb µ u n ² F8µbF8 V 8 ½} Âu} ½ µ ½}8½ ½ V F½ 8 µ 8 8 uË n ² ½}b b½¯µ b² }b²8 ² b ½} µ u²b8½ cosmic game of life, sitting there in the bleachers, watching, watching, marking down our errors and our triumphs, preserving it all, “part of a neatly-tallied sum.”

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CONTRIBUTORS FA L L 2 0 1 2 | V OL. 62 , N O. 2

CHRISTOPHER ARMITAGE, who joined the UNC-Chapel Hill faculty in 1967, specializes in seventeenth- and twentieth-century English and

8 8Y 8 ½b²8½Â²b¢ в ½8ub b8² bY 8 Ð É ½} } ²µ ps 8 Y 8 Ð pg n² Ên ²Y - Èb²µ ½Ë¢ b b8² bY 8 µbO Y Ð n² ½}b - Èb²µ ½Ë n 3bµ½b² ½8² 8 8Y8 ¹sV 8 Y 8 (} n²  b University in 1967. His recent publications include The Poetry of Piety: An Annotated Anthology of Christian Poetry, which he compiled with UNC alumnus Rev. Dr. Ben Witherington; and “Blue China and Blue YµU µO8² 8µ} u µb n 8½ Ên ²Y­ Oscar Wilde: The Man, His Writings and His World, edited by Robert N. Keane.

CAITLIN BAILEY µ 8 ÁÏ Á еµ µ½8 ½ ( b½²Ë Y ½ ² n ² Water~Stone Review. Her work has previously appeared or is forthcoming from Bateau, Lumina, Paper Darts, Poetry City, USA, Vol. 2, and elsewhere.

She is learning to live in the woods after many years in the city.

ELEANOR LEONNE BENNETT is a 16 year old internationally award winning photographer and artist. Her photography has been published in the Telegraph, The Guardian, BBC News Website and on the cover of books and magazines in the United States and Canada. Her art is also exhibited globally.

WILLY CONLEY¯µ ɲ ½ uµ }8Èb Fbb ÂF µ}bY Deaf American Poetry, Modern Haiku, Urbanite, Kaleidoscope, American Theatre, The Deaf Way II Anthology, Deaf World, The Washington Post, The Baltimore Sun, The Tactile Mind, and No Walls of Stone. His most recent book was Vignettes of the Deaf Character and Other Plays. He is currently a professor of ,}b8½²b в½µ 8½ 8 8ÂYb½ - Èb²µ ½Ë 38µ} u½ V

V ½}b É ² Y¯µ Ë liberal arts university for deaf and hard-of-hearing students.

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THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY

ANYA GRONER¯µ ɲ ½ u }8µ 8 b8²bY Ninth Letter, The Rumpus, JukedV 8 Y b µbÉ}b²b¢ +}b Èbµ bÉ ² b8 µ É}b²b µ}b ²bOb ½ Ë É b Âu} bË 8 O8µ ½ ²O}8µb F²8 Y bÉ q q µ¢ ½ É8µ Ë her second time gambling.

EVAN GURNEY µ 8 (} O8 Y Y8½b u µ} ½b²8½Â²b 8½ ½}b - versity of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. He is the former editor of The Carolina Quarterly.

DAVID MOOLTEN¯µ µ½ ²bOb ½ F V Primitive Mood, won the T.S. ½ (² Îb n² ,²Â 8 +½8½b - Èb²µ ½Ë (²bµµ 8 Y É8µ ÂF µ}bY 2009. He is a physician specializing in transfusion medicine. He lives, ɲ ½bµV 8 Y ²8O½ Obµ (} 8Yb } 8V (b µË È8 8¢ STUART NADLER is the author of the story collection The Book of Life and the novel Wise Men, which will be published in early 2013.

JESSICA HENDRY NELSON µ ½}b oO½ bY ½ ² n ½}b ½b²8²Ë journal, The Fiddleback. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in The Threepenny Review, Crab Orchard Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Drunken Boat, Alligator Juniper, Fringe, and elsewhere. She was a o 8 µ½ n ² ½}b ÁÏ } ÂË ½b²8²Ë (² Îb b½ ½ 8 Y ²bOb ½ Ë É o²µ½ 8Ob Alligator Juniper’s 8½ 8 O ½bµ½ oO½ ¢ +}b lives in Vermont.

SETH PERLOW¯µ b½²Ë 8 Y ½b²8²Ë ½²8 µ 8½ µ }8Èb 8 b8²bY 8 variety of journals and anthologies, including Horse Less Review, The Common, elimae, Opium, The Cortland Review, TextSound, Revista Respiro, and New Pony: A Horse Less Anthology. His chapbook, Robot Portrait of Homo FuturusV 8 b8²bY n² (¢+¢ µ ÁÏÏ ¢ b µ 8 doctoral candidate in English at Cornell University, where he studies Ð b² O8 b½²ËV bÉ bY 8V 8 Y O² ½ O8 ½}b ²Ë¢ µ O² ½ O8 ɲ ½ u }8µ appeared in Mantis, The Wallace Stevens Journal, In Media Res, and Convergence.

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107

SHELLEY PUHAK is the author of Stalin in Aruba, winner of the 2010 ,‘ɾ‘Â? (²€Îb n‘² €½b²8½Â²bV 8Â?Y ½}b O}8Â?F‘‘† The Consolation of Fairy Tales, ɀÂ?Â?b² ‘n ½}b Ă Ă?˜˜ +½bÂ?}bÂ? Ă‚Â?Â? (²€Îb €Â? Â?‘b½²Ë¢ b² Â?‘bŠ¾ }8Ăˆb appeared in Alaska Quarterly Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Southeast Review, and many other journals.

BEN PURKERTÂŻÂľ Â?‘bŠ¾ 8²b n‘²½}O‘Š€Â?u ‘² }8Ăˆb ²bObÂ?½‡Ë 8Â?Â?b8²bY in The New Yorker, Denver Quarterly, The Awl, Spoon River, New Orleans Review, DIAGRAM, and elsewhere. He holds degrees from 8Â˛Ăˆ8²Y 8Â?Y 5-V 8Â?Y €¾ O²²bÂ?½‡Ë O‘ŠÂ?‡b½€Â?u }€¾ o²¾½ Š8Â?Ă‚ÂľO²€Â?½V One Good¢ b É8Âľ ²bObÂ?½‡Ë Â?8ŠbY 8 oÂ?8‡€¾½ n‘² ½}b €Â?b Ă?²½¾ 3‘²†

bÂ?½b² €Â? (Â˛Â‘ĂˆÂ€Â?Ob½‘ÉÂ? b‡‡‘ɾ}€Â?¢ STAN SANVEL RUBIN }8Âľ Â?Ă‚F‡€¾}bY oĂˆb O‘‡‡bO½€‘Â?ÂľV €Â?O‡ÂY€Â?u Hidden Sequel, a Barrow Street ‘‘† (²€Îb ɀÂ?Â?b²¢ b }8Âľ ²bObÂ?½ ‘² n‘²½}O‘Š€Â?u work in Poetry Northwest, Agni Online, The Laurel Review, Superstition Review, Cider Press Review, and Hubbub¢ b Â‡Â€ĂˆbÂľ ‘Â? ½}b ‡ËŠÂ?€O (bÂ?€Â?¾Â‡8 8Â?Y ²bĂˆÂ€bɾ Â?‘b½²Ë n‘² Water~Stone Review.

GREG SCHUTZ €¾ 8 u²8YĂ‚8½b ‘n ½}b -Â?Â€Ăˆb²¾€½Ë ‘n €O}€u8Â?ÂŻÂľ Ă? Â?²‘u²8Š 8Â?Y }8Âľ ²bObÂ€ĂˆbY nb‡‡‘ɾ}€Â?Âľ n²‘Š ½}b (Â˛Â‘ĂˆÂ€Â?Ob½‘ÉÂ? €Â?b Ă?²½¾ 3‘²† bÂ?½b² 8Â?Y ½}b €ŠŠb‡ 8²Y€Â?u b‡¾‘Â? bÂ?½b² n‘² ½}b Ă?²½¾¢ His stories have received special mention in both Best American Short Stories and Best American Mystery Stories, and his recent work can be found in Ploughshares, Sycamore Review, and New Stories from the Midwest¢ bÂŻÂľ O²²bÂ?½‡Ë ɑ²†€Â?u ‘Â? 8 O‘‡‡bO½€‘Â?¢ ÂŹ,}b +Ébb½ ‘½}€Â?u¾­ is the title story.

ADITYA SHRINGARPURE É8Âľ F‘²Â? €Â? ˜Ž¸g €Â? ‘ŠF8Ă‹V Â?Y€8¢ b is a mixed media artist and his focus is on urban decay, renewal, and architecture. He has a BS degree in Telecommunications from the University of Bombay and a Masters degree in Computer Engineering from NC State University. His works have appeared in various exhibits 8Â?Y u8‡‡b²€bÂľ €Â?O‡ÂY€Â?u ½}b €8O‘Fb½½€ (8‡ 8‡‡b²ËV ²‘‘†‡ËÂ?V bÉ 5‘²†¡

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bb 8�¾‡bË 8‡‡b²ËV ‡‘O† 8‡‡b²ËV 8‡‡b²Ë Ž�¯V 8�Y ‡8�Yb²¾ 8‡‡b²Ë €� *8‡b€u}V ‘²½} 8²‘‡€�8¡ ½}b ²}8Š �²½ €‡Y €� ²}8ŠV ‘²½}

8²‘‡€Â?8¡ 8Â?Y *Ă? 8‡‡b²Ë €Â? }8Â?b‡ €‡‡V ‘²½} 8²‘‡€Â?8¢ Ă? ŠbŠFb² ‘n ½}b Ă?²½¾Â?8Ob Ă?²½€¾½¾ Ă?¾¾‘O€8½€‘Â?V +}²€Â?u8²Â?²b O²²bÂ?½‡Ë Â‡Â€ĂˆbÂľ 8Â?Y works in Brooklyn, New York and is an active member of Madarts.org, an arts collective.

ELIZABETH WELDÂŻÂľ ¾½‘²€bÂľ 8Â?Y b¾¾8Ă‹Âľ }8Ăˆb 8Â?Â?b8²bY €Â? the Gettysburg Review, Crazyhorse, Arts & Letters, Fourth Genre, Shenendoah, and The Writer’s Gym Â&#x;(bÂ?u€Â? ¢ Ă?Â? bĂŠOb²Â?½ n²‘Š }b² Â?Â‘Ăˆb‡ 8Â?Â?b8²bY €Â?

The Southern Review. She is a writer and editor who lives in Tempe, Ă?²€Î‘Â?8¢ CORRIE WILLIAMSON €¾ 8 Â?8Â˝Â€Ăˆb ‘n 2€²u€Â?€8 8Â?Y 8Â? Ă? O8Â?Y€Y8½b €Â? Â?‘b½²Ë 8½ ½}b -Â?Â€Ăˆb²¾€½Ë ‘n Ă?²†8Â?Âľ8ÂľV É}b²b Âľ}b }8Âľ ÂľbÂ˛ĂˆbY 8Âľ €²bO½‘² ‘n ½}b 3²€½b²¾ €Â? ½}b +O}‘‘‡¾ (²‘u²8ŠV }b‡Y ½}b 38‡½‘Â? b‡‡‘ɾ}€Â? €Â? (‘b½²ËV 8Â?Y O²²bÂ?½‡Ë ½b8O}bÂľ O²b8Â˝Â€Ăˆb ɲ€½€Â?u¢ b² Â?‘bŠ¾ }8Ăˆb ²bObÂ?½‡Ë appeared or are forthcoming in The Southeast Review, Fourteen Hills, cream city review, 32 Poems, and elsewhere.

MATT ZAMBITO }8Âľ ²bObÂ€ĂˆbY 8É8²YÂľ n²‘Š ½}b }€‘ Ă?²½¾ ‘ÂÂ?O€‡V ²b8½b² ‘‡ÂŠFĂ‚Âľ Ă?²½¾ ‘ÂÂ?O€‡V 8Â?Y Ă?O8YbŠË ‘n Ă?Šb²€O8Â? (‘b½¾¢ bÉ poems are forthcoming in Crazyhorse, Arts & Letters, Barrow Street, and Birmingham Poetry Review. He writes from Spokane, Washington.

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P O E T RY

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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¢

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This publication is funded in part by student fees, which were appropriated and dispersed by the Student Government at UNC-Chapel Hill.

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I remember that phrase, cracked his head open, which the grown-ups repeated, and which seemed both more and less than what really happened. Sharper than a blow, say, or a thump. Something razor-edged and irreparable.

Cracks are small and insidious, the start of some unforeseen disaster, like the cracks in the earth’s surface from which volcanoes erupt, craggy and molten. Or even the sidewalk in front of the Shop Rite, that was now upended, churned through with dirt and dry, dead earthworms and rotten tree roots; to be avoided, circumvented, dangerous. As if, having been weakened by that first fissure in his soft skull, the whole rickety job could come undone at any moment.

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