SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN A GREAT TEACHER

Bella brings a love of reading to the family. She comes to campus to become a teacher, but other events intervene and she instead becomes the anchor of the family and its restaurant, where she runs the front of the store while her husband, Stavros, manages the kitchen. It doesn’t take long before she seems to know everybody in town. She’s that kind of person.

But that doesn’t prevent her from usually having an open book close at hand. She always manages to find time to read.

I’d credit both her daughter Nita’s success as a newspaper columnist and daughter Manoula’s founding of an influential small publishing house to her inspiration. The family does buy a bookstore, for one thing, before sending it on its own anew.

~*~

Bella also has enough Greek heritage to pass along some of the tradition. Here’s a bit of interaction between Cassia and her aunt Nita I cut from the final version:

They always called me Koukla, by the way, the same thing I sometimes call you.

What’s it mean, exactly? I know it’s a term of endearment, but I’ve just never followed up.

Thea Nita laughs. Oh, something like beautiful doll or baby doll, but it’s always full of affection. Koukla!

~*~

For many of us, daily life includes a lot of juggling, one activity or interest in contrast to another. Are you a multi-tasker? Or do you look at the term with derision? Tell us two or more things that frequently compete for your time. Do you have any tips for pulling it off?

~*~

A large Queen Anne-style house with a distinctive witch’s hat tower something like this is the headquarters for Cassia’s extended family in my new novel, What’s Left. If only this one were pink, like hers. (Rutland, Vermont)
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POETRY SPRINGING FROM WITHIN ITSELF

Here’s a section from a collection of contemporary American sonnets I’ve done along the lines of those by the late and wonderful Ted Berrigan. It’s one of 60 from Braided Double-Cross.

~*~

As I said at the time …

In defining poetry, Berrigan’s concept of a windup toy serves well for me. How basic can I make it? (A single word? Maybe two?) As well as how extended or elaborate!

I still don’t like poetry that’s written as code, an intellectual equation of meaning.

Also, I prefer lines that are long enough to have something happen within each one.

I love when literature (or any art, for that matter) opens as a state of awareness – or fullest existence – which also expands into epiphanies of dancing or singing or perhaps, well, just imagine. Think twice about the chemically aided experiences – pinot, martini, pot? Yes, the Zone, when it graces. In a continuum, with differing specifics.

A set of skills and disciplined thought and, I would hope, tradition / culture. Not that every time I read a book or sit to write I’m there. Indeed, there may be good reasons we cannot dwell long in that Zone (Is it too isolated? Too exclusionary? Self-centered even when we find it occurring in Otherness?) …

A break, then. And then back to work.

~*~

CROSSING XXXVI

A green-streaked sentry flanked by thistles
on every town common is more explicit
than any boom box. Please, my darling, please
don’t let carnal memories expire between us.

I set forth at a disadvantage.
Ribbons of baby oil. Snaking Chinese dragons.
One flesh, lagoons. Trembling like the wind
in shrubs and flowers. You chained

criticism on my Academy of St. Martin
in the wallpaper, provoking blatant spice factory
peppers and cinnamon misrepresentations
of common logic, as if you were running for office.

Without proper camouflage, there’s nothing to repulse
destitution overtaking military-issue fortifications.

Poem copyright by Jnana Hodson
(originally appeared in the journal Plungelit)
For more, click here.

Poetry
Poetry

CECILIA AND NADINE

bright brown irises maybe a little too wide-eyed (available) hair golden heartbreak. still Duquesne University and Uniontown, Pennsylvania, were places he’d been, he told her requesting the next dance there’s more than lightness afoot driving these distances. Attraction, see, flashes into conflict “Quakers. They believe in Jesus, don’t they?” is how she starts revealing she’s […]

TURNING NORTHEAST

two blocks from my apartment, on the way toward downtown the Amoskeag Dam impeded the Merrimack with a broad placidity I associated with the upper Susquehanna below it the roaring wildness of hydroelectric generation or the snow-melt Yakima and its tributaries why I didn’t just dump half my stuff way back and start over before […]

REVOLVING TOWARD A FINALE

We were gathering her possessions for our return to school when I came across Hollander’s recording of The Tempest. “Where’d you get this?” I asked curiously, looking up to see her disappointed face and be told: “It was for your birthday.” Years later, another lover would filch the album amid another tempest. To continue, click […]