Dear Medulla Readers,
Nine poets’ voices grace the first issue of The Medulla Review. While looming indescribably indescribable in their singularity, all rise authentic, undaunted by being human. These poets hurl themselves heartfirst into poetry. At times their voices roll with the unique fullness of clouds: the poems explode and seem to hold completely still. I hope that you, the Readers, might acquire significance from these poets’ words, or simply value the sounds they make when read side by side.
To our contributing poets nine: thank you for speaking in our first issue!
Much gratitude goes to all who submitted (and resubmitted) but didn’t quite make it --- this time. Your hard work and determination are appreciated.
To everyone else who offers support: many thanks!
Sincerely,
Gindy Elizabeth Houston
Poetry Editor Three poems from a strong, young Brooklyn poetess. I sense big potential here, and I feel something special is happening for this voice, as well as for its readers. These lines are brutally beautiful. Never say die, but I’ve tried it Looking behind, I have seen it… ~ ...peace, brain, peace. Touch my two dimensions. You may not reach the third. Two poems that retain fierce passion and direct it at the reader’s senses at the most becoming moments. This poem fell from a height into the inbox of The Medulla Review’s poetry editor. After a moment, even the stars she’d seen began plopping to the ground around her. “Man!” she said. “I felt that!” facebook died a little more today when some girl chose hara-kiri. Two poems fluent as a feather falling; descend easily from line to line to land on both feet with a sensation of having experienced something especially unique. One ardently mesmerizing poem with a singular voice… Silence was galloping behind her nobody nobody. Drift with it wherever it takes you. Believe her: …grassfire and oranges… …burnmarks on the trunks of birch trees. That Slaviero harnessed and controlled the ultra-rapid energy of this spoon-bender of a poem so coolly is to be seriously admired. Two poems completely unable to sit still for want of leaping off the page to steal your vision and anchor it in flat-out spunky, gorgeous lines. A multilayered, surreal poem in which you might wander off, as though voluntarily walking into an Escher drawing, only to step out at your original location to find you’ve retrieved something from the writing in your own, different way… 1. Understand: you know this poem, but you’re older now, and know better. 2. Finish the poem and put it into practice by heart, because you know this poem, you know this!
LINKS TO POETRY:
Ricky Garni: