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Questions on Eternity – Lynn Domina

December 15, 2011 in Author News, Writing and Publishing with 1 Comment

Lynn Domina

5.2 poet Lynn Domina discovers her human perspective and is okay with it.

For about twenty years, I’d found myself puzzled by the idea of eternity. It wasn’t so much the idea of no beginning and no end; I could almost imagine (if not understand) that. It was that with no beginning and no end, there could be no middle either—and that led to all kinds of loss. With no beginning, middle, or end, we have no sequence, no narrative, no possibility of story.

Then I read something that suggested that in eternity, everything happens all at once. I mulled this over. How could this be? How could I, for instance, stand at the bus stop on the first day of kindergarten, adopt my own child, and bake tonight’s pumpkin bread all at the same time?

Years passed. (I live in history, not eternity, and so I can say, “Years passed.”)

One day I realized that my problem was perspective. I cannot understand eternity because of my stance in time. In order to understand eternity, I would need to position myself outside of time. Since I could not actually place myself outside of time, I began to think figuratively, and I realized that if I had a bird’s eye view of time rather than of space, I would see everything happening simultaneously. Eureka! I had solved this intellectual puzzle at least well enough for myself, at least well enough that I could begin to think of other things.

I am a poet, though, not a philosopher, as much as I enjoy sitting around thinking (some would say brooding). I prefer to read and write poetry, with its images, its specificity, its concrete language, rather than philosophy with all of its abstractions. How could I ever write a poem that spoke of how I’d come to understand such an abstraction as eternity?

I sat at my desk and tried to imagine what I would see if I could have an aerial view of time. Because I live in the Catskill mountains, what I see whenever I look out a window are sloping hills, and the pines and oaks and maple trees that cover them. I see peaks tangled with bare branches in winter, tinged with green in spring, bursting into yellow and orange and red during October. Images of mountains and images of snow have drifted into my poems during the years I’ve lived here. So when I tried to imagine what I would see if I could see everything happening at once, I saw the buds on trees, and I saw the leaves surrendering to decay.

But then I came to this great truth: I don’t want to live in eternity; I enjoy living in time. I cling to story, to memory. I want to grasp the excitement of time’s rush, the contemplative solace of time’s creep. And so I conclude the poem with this blessing: not that we may each live in eternity, but that we may each live attentively, in time.

Lynn Domina‘s poems “Flickering Green, Flickering Bronze” and “Omniscience in Babel” appear in issue 5.2. Read her full bio here.

The Unspeakable in Poetry: A Love Story

December 10, 2011 in Author News, General, Writing and Publishing with 4 Comments

Julie L. Moore

5.2 poet Julie L. Moore explains how her poem became the occasion of our first printing the word “vulva” – and it turns out to be for the best of reasons.

Back in July of 1975, when I was just ten, a nurse carted me into the operating room of West Jersey Hospital. My parents walked along at my gurney’s side, my dad, holding my hand. At the O.R. door, the gurney stopped, my parents kissed me, and I looked at them and said, “Don’t worry. God is going to take care of me.”

In May of 2009, a nurse rolled me into the operating room at Kettering Medical Center in southwest Ohio for my eighth surgery and the removal of my fourth organ. My faith, scarred as my abdomen by then, was no longer blind or simple but hard as a dog’s big rawhide bone. When it fell, it clattered as it hit the floor. It was also vulnerable, capable of being devoured in one sitting, if I let it, by the sharp teeth and strong jaws of pain. And it wasn’t the kind of faith you cuddled up with.

It’s fairly easy to talk about losing body parts. I’ve received phone calls from friends and emails from readers I don’t know who find themselves in my uncomfortable shoes:

I have an ovarian cyst. Didn’t you get an ovary removed because of this? I’m going crazy here. Can you help me?

I’m having all kinds of trouble after having had my gall bladder removed last year. I heard you had trouble, too . . .

And I answer them.

Some, too, have contacted me because they endure unimaginable pain, the kind of long and deep suffering I had no idea existed when I was just ten. The kind that digs into their bones, their backs, their bellies. And that, too, I have talked about.

But there is one area that, until now, I found to be unspeakable. I knew I wasn’t alone, that other women endured what I was experiencing. But write about it? That just seemed wrong. On many levels.

Level One: I’d embarrass my family and/or myself.

Level Two: I just shouldn’t talk about that. Some things should remain private.

Level Three: If my readers know that, they’ll focus only on that and not on my work. (Maybe that’s not a category of “wrong” but rather a category of “ego.” But still.)

So I wrote about enduring pain, about making sense of suffering. I was vivid in my descriptions and clear about the temptations intractable pain brings, like overdosing on medications from well-meaning doctors. When pain stabs, shoots, tears, claws, shocks, and yes, feels like “fifty pins embedded” in flesh, who can stand it?

Yet, I avoided describing all my medical conditions for a variety of reasons. One, I didn’t want readers getting distracted by terminology and two, the most important thing was never what went wrong in my body but how, and why, I endured it.

After I’d published poems about my experiences, however, there was still a voice, sounding an awful lot like Elizabeth Bishop, that kept saying, “Write it!”

And “Prayer Shawl” was born. “Confession,” a poem I’d written several years ago, was the only poem that came close to naming the body parts that hurt, the incredibly feminine nature of my pain. But that poem was cloaked in biblical narrative, the hemorrhaging woman whose labia throbbed.

How to say vagina in a poem. Or vulva. With the possessive pronoun my.

But there it is in “Prayer Shawl,” a poem wrapped in the story of others, dear friends, who have likewise suffered, felt the temptation to throw in the towel, experienced the unrelenting grief of permanent loss. Yet endure.

And my poem is wrapped in the story of my marriage, a husband who has also endured pain and anxiety and the threat of premature death. How terrifying to live through such experiences together in our early forties. This wasn’t the way our story was supposed to go.

And how agonizing to realize that the love we shared, and yes, the making of that love, could not heal me. That I experienced such tremendous pain off and on for six years stood to threaten the very fabric of our marriage. What’s a love story without good sex, after all?

Except that sex isn’t the only way spouses can express love. Except that love can transcend even suffering. Except that prayer to a God who hung himself on a cross, while nails, no less, simultaneously punctured his tender flesh, really has sustained me.

This is my story, pain and love on multiple levels, a story that, as I’ve lived it, has often struck me dumb.

Julie L. Moore‘s poem “Prayer Shawl” appears in issue 5.2 of Relief.

My Sister’s Keeper

December 7, 2011 in Author News, Faith and Culture with 5 Comments

Chely Roach

5.2 CNF author Chely Roach is looking out for your uterus. But she’s also keenly sensitive to the need for grace amidst abortion and infanticide.

My sister often calls me Protector of All Uteri, uttered with a quasi-disapproving, slightly passive-aggressive giggle, as only an older sister can do. She also deemed my car The Uterus Wagon, a moniker that I am twistedly fond of; given from the multiple pro-life stickers it adorns, my favorite being a 3D ultrasound picture with the caption, I am an American. At one point they were magnets, so they could be removed when parked at the crisis pregnancy center where I volunteered. We had to appear neutral, ironically. My narrative in Relief 5.2, “Drowning the Albatross,” was born from the experience of attending a weekend retreat, which was mandatory before I could counsel clients at the center.

I am not sure if my sister has ever asked me why. Why I am so outspoken and passionate about the unborn, why I spent so many Saturday mornings counseling at the CPC, why I believe women are being destroyed by having the choice to evacuate their womb on demand.

Sometimes I wonder if she doesn’t ask because she intuitively knows the why, and just can’t bear to have it confirmed. If I had to guess, she probably assumes I have been brainwashed by ass-hat right wing conservatives, and that my passion is rooted in some morally elite, judgmental stance.

I can honestly say that I never judged a girl sitting on the couch in front of me. Some were tearful, some carried a hardened façade. Most were from churched families. And as we spoke—waiting for two tablespoons of urine in a plastic container down the hall to reveal their destiny like leaves in a cup of tea—I patiently, empathetically, endured their justifications and rationales. I will lose my scholarship…He will break-up with me…Our Catholic wedding for 200 guests is five months away …I will lose my job…I just bought my season pass to Six Flags…

But judgment never crossed my mind…God might’ve struck me down with lightning where I sat.

Neither did atonement…it’s foolishness to believe I can make up for my sin, even by helping others not fall into the same one.

God has given me a courage outside of myself to speak and write of this, and each time, I steal back a bit of Satan’s power over me. The paradox of this issue in our society is that we allow and accept it like it’s collateral damage to live the way we wish, but out of the other side of our mouths, look down upon and judge those who made the choice we all know in our hearts to be unthinkable. The inherent, expected secrecy of abortion adds to its perpetuation. The Christian community is no exception.

Nine days before Thanksgiving, a missing child alert spread through St. Louis and beyond. The news stations reported that Shelby Dasher, 20, overslept till almost noon, and when she went to wake her 13 month-old boy, Tyler, he was gone. Like so many others, I feared I might vomit out my own heart. In my gut, I knew the mother’s hands were somehow responsible. They found his body a mile down the road, and less than twelve hours later, Shelby confessed to beating the baby because he wouldn’t go back to sleep. She was arrested and charged with second degree murder.

That night, a candlelight vigil for Tyler was held. The local media greedily captured sound bites and quotes from anyone that offered, and my Facebook wall was covered with condemnations, prayers, and pictures of Tyler with Photoshopped angel wings in a veil of wispy clouds. She’s a monster…Evil…She should rot in jail…A special place in Hell for Shelby Dasher…

I mourn for Tyler. The city mourns for him. An innocent, precious life, snuffed out. There is no dirge somber enough.

I also mourn for Shelby. In a world that doesn’t. An immature, frustrated girl, who was blinded by ignorance, or demons, or both, to the support she failed to ask for in an unforeseen, desperate moment. I mourn for the girl who will carry the fully-deserved guilt, regret, and self-hatred from destroying the blood of her own blood, in a moment of weakness when motherhood was more than she could bear.

I am no better than Shelby. No less guilty. No less blood on my hands. The world sees a distinction between a 13 month-old infant and a 13 week-old baby in utero. God doesn’t.

Both helpless and innocent.

Both a gift.

Both created in His image.

Like Shelby and me. Potential roommates in that special place in Hell, if it were not for the only One who atones.

I am an American. I am a Protector of all Uteri. I am my sister’s keeper.

Chely Roach‘s CNF piece “Drowning the Albatross” appears in issue 5.2 of Relief.

Announcing 5.2 Fiction Authors

December 1, 2011 in Author News with 1 Comment

	Thomas Allbaugh "A Point of Saturation" Thomas Allbaugh is an Associate professor of English at Azusa Pacific University in Southern California, where he teaches writing, rhetoric, nonfiction, and composition. In addition to having a short story published in ˆ last fall, he has also had work appear recently in Pedagogy, Writing on the Edge, Blue Moon Review, Studio: a Journal of Christians Writing, and Mars Hill Review. His essay on Flannery O’Connor and nihilism was included in Doing Good, Departing from Evil: Research Findings in the Twenty-First Century, edited by Carole J. Lambert. He has also written Pretexts for Writing, a textbook for First Year writing.
	Meg Eden "Hosea" Meg Eden has been published in various magazines and anthologies, including Rock & Sling, The Science Creative Quarterly, anderbo, Gloom Cupboard, and Crucible. Her chapbook The Girl who Came Back was given first honorable mention of NFSPS’s University level Poetry award. She is currently working with a literary agent with the hopes of publishing novel works. http://artemisagain.wordpress.com/
	Virginia Hernandez "Sins of the Mother" Virginia Hernandez lives in sunny Florida with her marvelous husband and terrific kids. She reads way more than she writes and needs to fix that ASAP.
	Joshua Hren "Wrecking Ball" Joshua Hren is hurrying through the night to complete his creative dissertation In the Wine Press, which is being published serially by Dappled Things, a journal of art, ideas, and faith. Once he completes this novel, he will receive his Ph.D. in English from UW-Milwaukee, where his major areas of emphasis are Religion and Literature and the Political in Philosophy and Fiction. He works as adjunct instructor of English at Concordia University and is the newly-born father of a daughter Anaya and a son Soren, both of whom were carried and delivered by his indefatigable wife Brittney, who, more than a mother, is nevertheless under consideration for beatification for her mothering alone.
	Samantha Monaghan "An Ill-Defined Problem" Samantha Monaghan is a recent graduate of Roberts Wesleyan College, where she earned a degree in Communication. She grew up outside of Philadelphia and now lives in Rochester, NY, with her sister and the mouse they are convinced lives under their fridge.

Announcing 5.2 Poets

November 23, 2011 in Author News, General, Relief News with 5 Comments

	Timothy Bartel "Four Counties" Timothy E.G. Bartel is a husband, writer, and educator from Whittier, CA. He currently resides in Edinburgh with his wife, while he pursues a postgraduate degree in poetry and theology at the University of St Andrews. Timothy's work has recently appeared in The Other Journal, Christianity and Literature, and the St. Katherine Review.
	Cindy Beebe "My Son Says What If Jesus Were Playing Basketball" Cindy Beebe lives in Collierville, TN, a suburb of Memphis, with her husband, their two teen-aged sons, and a couple of slacker house cats. She sings in her church choir, home-schools her children, and ministers to the community as a member of Continuum Arts: Engaging Culture With Culture Through Acts of Creative Excellence. Her work has appeared in The Southern Review, Image, The Cincinnati Review, RATTLE, The National Poetry Review, The Atlanta Review, The Evansville Review, Radix, and APJ, among others. She also has poems in previous issues of Relief. Feel free to contact her.
	John J. Brugaletta "Itadaki Masu" "Everything Is Otherwise" John J. Brugaletta is Professor Emeritus of English and Comparative Literature at California State University, Fullerton. He was editor and publisher of South Coast Poetry Journal during its ten-year history, and contributing editor of The Lamp-Post. He is the author of two volumes of poetry, The Tongue Angles and Tilling the Land, and is co-author of Discovering the Way of Wisdom: Spirituality in the Wisdom Literature. He lives in Northern California with his wife Claudia, where he makes tables, clocks and poems.
	Sara Burant “After Reading from Genesis I Consider Angels" “Within" “The Place After Words” “Meditation on a Man’s Figure” Sara Burant's poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner, The Comstock Review, and Ruminate Magazine, among others. Her first chapbook, Verge, has just been accepted for publication by Finishing Line Press. She lives in Eugene, Oregon with her husband, a ball-crazy dog, elderly cat and small flock of chickens. This summer she was fortunate enough to be present at the birth of her first grandchild.
	Scott Cairns "Two Trees" Scott Cairns, Professor of English at University of Missouri, is director of MU Writing Workshops in Greece: Thessaloniki/Thasos, bringing graduate and undergraduate students to Greece every June for engagement with literary life in modern Greece. His poems and essays have appeared in Poetry, Image, Paris Review, The Atlantic Monthly, The New Republic, etc., and have been anthologized in multiple editions of Best American Spiritual Writing. His most recent books are Compass of Affection (poetry), Short Trip to the Edge (memoir), Love’s Immensity (translations), and a book-length essay, The End of Suffering. He received a Guggenheim Fellowship in 2006.
	Maryann Corbett "Knowledge" Maryann Corbett's book Breath Control is due out in 2012 from David Robert Books. Her chapbooks are Dissonance and Gardening in a Time of War. She has been a winner of the Willis Barnstone Translation Prize and a finalist for the Morton Marr prize and the Best of the Net anthology. Her poems, essays, and translations have appeared or are forthcoming in many journals in print and online and in the anthologies Hot Sonnets, The Able Muse Anthology, and Imago Dei: Poems from Christianity and Literature. She lives in St. Paul and works for the Minnesota Legislature.
	Lynn Domina "Flickering Green, Flickering Bronze" "Omniscience in Babel" Lynn Domina is the author of two collections of poetry, Framed in Silence and Corporal Works. She is also the editor of a collection of essays, Poets on the Psalms. Her recent poetry appears or is forthcoming in The Gettysburg Review, The New England Review, The Southern Review, Christianity & Literature, and several other periodicals. She currently lives with her family in the western Catskill region of New York.
	Michael Martin "Visions of Vladimir" "Words written during the suffering and subsequent death of John Paul II" Michael Martin lives on a small, organic farm between Detroit and Ann Arbor with his wife and eight children. He teaches English at Marygrove College in Detroit. His work has appeared in many different journals, most recently in Tiferet and Prose Studies. This is his third appearance in Relief.
	Marsha Mathews "Crossing the Dead" Marsha Mathews’ Sunglow & A Touch of Nottingham Lace has won this year’s Red Berry Editions Chapbook Award. In 2010, her first book of poems, Northbound Single-Lane, was published by Finishing Line Press. Magazines that have published Mathews’ work include Apalachee Review, Appalachian Heritage, Fourth River, Greensboro Review, Hampden-Sydney, Inkwell Journal, Melusine, and Pembroke. Her poems appear in these anthologies, Child of My Child (Gelles-Cole Literary Enterprises, 2010) and Touching: Poems of Love, Longing, and Desire (Fearless Books, 2011). Mathews teaches writing at Dalton State College, in Dalton, Georgia, where she advises the campus literary magazine, Tributaries.
Julie L. Moore	Julie L. Moore "Prayer Shawl" Julie L. Moore is the author of Slipping Out of Bloom (WordTech Editions) and Election Day (Finishing Line Press). In addition, her manuscript, Scandal of Particularity, was a finalist for the 2011 FutureCycle Press Poetry Book Prize and a semi-finalist for the 2011 Perugia Press Prize. A two-time Pushcart Prize nominee and winner of the Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize from Ruminate, Moore has also had her poetry published in Alaska Quarterly Review, American Poetry Journal, Atlanta Review, CALYX, Cimarron Review, The Missouri Review Online, The Southern Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and Verse Daily. You can learn more about her work at www.julielmoore.com.
	Paul Willis "After Saying Goodbye" "The Closet in the Skeleton" "Dinah Morris Digresses in Her Evening Sermon on the Green" "Friday Night" "Looking Away" Paul J. Willis is a professor of English at Westmont College and the current poet laureate of Santa Barbara, CA. His most recent books of poetry are Rosing from the Dead (WordFarm, 2009) and Visiting Home (Pecan Grove Press, 2008). He is also the author of Bright Shoots of Everlastingness: Essays on Faith and the American Wild (WordFarm, 2005) and the four-part eco-fantasy novel The Alpine Tales (WordFarm, 2010). He spends a little too much of his time creating obscure trails through the poison oak canyons of his campus.