Inklette The Club Inkers’ Newsletter V O L U M E
VIDEOS OF INK POETRY SLAM ORGANISED BY CLUB INK ON MARCH 8– NOW ON YouTube! HAPPY VIEWING!
TODAY’S INKER Join Club Ink at Swami Vivekanand Library from 12:30p.m. on April 6, Sunday, 2014 for a tinge of Poetainment, an orientation cum activity session on Haiku and for sharing dollops together during an Inkers’s Discussion on ‘Tearing The Bind: Censorship in The Literary World’. GROUP DISCUSSION ON ‘ROADMAP FOR INTRODUCTION OF INTERNET MATURITY IN THE CURRICULUM’ with Mr. Raghu Pandey was organized in the Swami Vivekananda Library on 23rd March, 2014. Sincere thanks to all Club Inkers’ for making it a grand success. Also, Club Ink launched the first issue of Inklette which has now been uploaded on www.issuu.com
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CALL ME HAIKU. On a particular sultry afternoon lost somewhere on the bleak calendar, I was introduced to a queer little man from Japan. “Call me Haiku,” he said. At Brown’s café the other day, Haiku sat in silence, sipping his demitasse. I slipped into the chair next to him watching those ruffled ripples successively hide themselves behind the blinds of that onyx liquid. Haiku loved the weather. He could talk about it for what seemed to be a life span. There was something mysterious about his tongue, though. It used to pass like blunt tools lightly embracing all the corners of his papery mouth. He was an esoteric bloke. Somehow his short whistles used to pass between curfews and the unintelligible arena of freedom. Nevertheless, this man of distinction, would somehow delve deep into shallow waters. When well provided with a pen, he would move its soft tip penning syllables that somehow coincided with his shoe size which used to fluctuate in an uncanny manner of 5-7-5. When H was spotted in town, he sometimes sauntered along the river. Sometimes he missed a step, sometimes he crept stealthily and sometimes his footsteps would evanesce into the thin shafts of the sun as well. Haiku had to leave, however. But since he had so little to carry, it felt as if he had left all his thingamabob behind. Haiku toured the world. The English loved him, the Europeans too
and the Americans and Asians welcomed him. H remarked in his previous letter that he’s got no homeland now except a cottage in Henley which he calls Cardboard Castle and described it in refreshing blots of ink as: When the brick layered cardboard castle laments the sun, ice stings me too. P.S. I think he wrote this with his loafers. DEVANSHI KHETARPAL
INSIDE Page 2 Alicante Lullaby The Editor’s Bottle Of Ink Page 3 Best Sellers @ NY Times Excerpt from ‘Desert’ by J.M.G. Le Clezio Page 4 Ghost by Molly Lovett Photo by: Vikram Kushwah Page 5 Voices and Pens by Maria Bauer-Rowe Page 6 Photo by: Jordan Klein Submission Guidelines
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ALICANTE LULLABY by Sylvia Plath In Alicante they bowl the barrels Bumblingly over the nubs of the cobbles Past the yellow-paella eateries, Below the ramshackle back-alley balconies, While the cocks and hens In the roofgardens Scuttle repose with crowns and cackles. Kumquat-colored trolleys ding as they trundle Passengers under an indigo fizzle Needling spumily down from the wires: Alongside the sibliant narhor the lovers Hear loudspeakers boom From each neon-lit palm. Rumbas and sambas no ear-flaps can muffle. O Cacophony, goddess of jazz and of quarrels, Crack-throated mistress of bagpipes and cymbals, Let me be your con brios, your capricciosos, Crescendos, cadenzas, prestos and pretissimos, My head on the pillow (Piano, pianissimo) Lullayed by susurrous lyres and viols. SYLVIA PLATH(1932-1963) was an American writer who received the Pultizer Prize posthumously in 1982. The Bell Jar is Plath’s semi-autobiographical novel. She was married to Ted Hughes. However, Plath suffered from depression during adulthood and committed suicide.
THE EDITOR’S BOTTLE OF INK Dear Club Inkers,
Poetry Slam on YouTube. Happy viewing!
Welcome to the pages of the second issue of Inklette. In this issue, you will espy immense talent from all over. Also, do have a look at our Submissions Guidelines on Page 6 should you intend to contribute.
We thank our contributors– Vikram Kushwah, Jordan Klein, Molly Lovett and Maria Baeur– Rowe.
A big thanks and dollops of ice cream to all Club Inkers who made our previous Readers’ Discussion on Internet Maturity with Mr. Raghu Pandey a grand success. Club Ink has uploaded all the videos of the Ink
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We hope you enjoy today’s Inker and relish all the activities we have lined up for today. Plus, enjoy reading our darling newsletter– Inklette! Your Editor-‘Ink’-Chief, Devanshi Khetarpal
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BEST–SELLERS @ New York Times April 6, 2014 PAPERBACK MASS-MARKET FICTION
PAPERBACK NON-FICTION
Daddy’s Gone A Hunting by Mary Higgins Clar (Pocket Books) Alex Cross, Run, by James Patterson (Vision) The Hit by David Baldacci(Grand Central) The Heist by Janet Evanovich and Lee Goldberg (Bantam) Thankless In Death by J.D. Robb (Berkley)
Heaven Is For Real by Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent (Thomas Nelson) Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell and Patrick Robinson (Back, Bay/Little, Brown) The Monument’s Men by Robert M. Edsel with Bret Witter (Little, Brown) Proof Of Heaven by Eben Alexander (Simon & Schuster) The Power Of Habit by Charles Duhigg (Random House)
DESERT by J.M.G. Le Clezio AN EXCERPT Then Lalla tries once again to hear the stranger’s voice singing very far away, as if from another country, the voice that goes up and down agilely, clearly, like the sound of fountains, like the sunlight. The sky before her grows slowly dim, but night is a long time in coming because it is the end of winter and beginning of the season of light. Dusk is first gray, then red, with huge clouds like flaming manes. Lalla remains stretched out in the hollow of sand between the dunes, without taking her eyes off the clouds and the sky. She really does hear, in the whoosh of the sea and the wind, in the sharp cries of the gulls seeking out a beach for the night, she hears the soft voice repeating its lament, the clear, yet somewhat shaky voice, as if it already knew death was coming to silence it, the voice which is as pure as the water you can never drink enough of after long scorching days. It’s a music born of the heavens and of the clouds, it bounces off the sand of the dunes, spreads out and resonates everywhere, even in the dry thistle leaves. It’s singing for Lalla, just for Lalla, it envelops her and cleanses her in its fresh waters, it runs its hand through her hair, over her forehead, across her lips, it declares its love, it descends upon her and gives its blessing. So then
“Yet the stranger’s voice makes her warm tears flow, it stirs up images deep inside of her that have been still for years.”
Lalla turns away and hides her face in the sand, because something inside of her has come undone, has broken and tears come silently. No one comes to put a hand on her shoulder and ask, “Why are you crying, little Lalla?” Yet the stranger’s voice makes her warm tears flow, it stirs up images deep inside of her that have been still for years. The tears run into the sand and make a little wet spot under her chin, make the sand stick to her cheek, her lips. Then suddenly it is gone. The voice deep in the sky has grown silent. Night has fallen now, a lovely, dark blue, velvet night in which stars sparkle between the phosphorescent clouds. Lalla shivers as if with a passing fever. She wanders down along the dunes amidst the blinking lightning bugs. Because she is afraid of snakes, she goes back to the narrow path where she can still see her footprints and walks slowly toward the Project where the feast is still going on. J.M.G.Le Clezio was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2008. He is the author of over forty acclaimed books, while his work has been translated into thirty six languages.
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GHOST POEM BY: Molly Lovett Molly Lovett is a student at Palisades Charter High School in Los Angeles, California. Besides writing, her interests include dramatic arts and music. She attended the Oxford Prep program at the University Of Oxford, where she majored in Creative Writing and attained enough inspiration to last a lifetime
You were a ghost. Crystalline eyes and paper skin drifting ethereally, I saw your translucency. You morphed into someone concrete, someone who shattered walls only to erect stronger ones in their place. Built bridgesonly to burn them down. Lost in the synthetic reality you created, I am a ghosta shadow of who I used to be. You relentlessly haunt me. You are a ghost.
PHOTO BY: Vikram Kushwah Vikram Kushwah lives and works as a commercial art photographer in London. His work has been published in Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Elle and many others. Last year, his campaign for a Singapore based advertising agency won a bronze at Cannes in the best photography section. Vikram did a PG diploma at London College of Communication and finished his MA in Photography from UCA, Rochester, UK. His work has graced walls of art galleries and art fairs in England, Europe and the USA.
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VOICES AND PENS It was a safe haven Before everything, spilled. Me and my words, My words and I. We were best friends; we protected each other. Then something Happened. I don’t know where she came from. I don’t know where any of them originated. They must have caved in.
I’m here. She can shoo me all she wants. I am the best side, And she will learn. I scream for help with my newly painted wrists, but if a tree falls and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?
It seems that they are stronger than my words and pleading. They won’t leave. They forced me to do horrible things. Red ribbons decorated my skin. “Just so long as the red shows,” They said. “Less but deep is more.” And I listened to them. Feelings of anger and anguish flowed with adrenaline in my veins. But my attitude refused to show itself against them. Especially her. She is the queen, and they are her pack. Every night, she would whisper in my ear, hypnotizing me with her words. How am I supposed to fight this demon if she uses the same weapon? I am outnumbered. The pretty little girl Doesn’t know a thing about herself. She wishes she could be Me. She’s a freak alright. But I will tell her. She won’t get anywhere In life, But not to worry,
POEM BY: Maria Bauer-Rowe Maria Bauer-Rowe is a thirteen year old girl who currently lives in Connecticut, USA. After failing to attempt writing a full length novel, she started out with short stories and poems in which she pours her heart out. When she isn’t bleeding words onto paper, she loves to dance or read a good book or clicks photos with her camera.
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PHOTO BY: Jordan Klein Jordan Klein is a high school student and a passionate photographer. She currently lives in California, USA. She is an attendee of the Oxford Prep Experience 2013 by OxBridge Academic Programs at Corpus Christi College, University of Oxford where her subjects were Photography (Major) and Philosophy (Minor). Jordan’s photos are appreciated by all alike, which is the reason behind her huge fan following!
SUBMISSION GUIDELINES Thank you for showing interest in Inklette. We are currently publishing short stories, poems, essays, book reviews and art work, which includes photographs or paintings. Inklette intends to publish the best examples of art and writing from established and emerging artists from all over. Each piece should be single spaced and typed in Times New Roman Font 10 on either side of the page. Please include your piece and a short bio (about 50 words) separately as .doc attachments to club.ink13@gmail.com. The subject of the email should be: First name_Last Name_Type of Submission (For eg: Casey_McCormick_Poetry). Simultaneous submissions are discouraged. Please send us your submission in any one category. Do not send us more than 5 poems, 5 photographs or 5 paintings or 2 short prose pieces at a time. Multiple submissions are not accepted. Inklette accepts submissions on a rolling basis, i.e. all year round. However, we do keep fixed deadlines for each issue. Submissions received after the deadline of a particular issue will be considered for the next issue. We would request you to go through our previous issues to get acquainted with the kind of work that we seek. We have no definite time period for sending a response to your submission. However, you may send us an email regarding the status of your submission after the termination of a month. Inklette is an e-newsletter which has an extensive circulation through Club Ink’s facebook group as well as through www.issuu.com. For more information, feel free to contact us at club.ink13@gmail.com. We look forward to reading your work! Devanshi Khetarpal Editor-In-Chief Inklette
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