CURRENT ISSUE (#50)
Spring/Summer 2012

HAYDEN'S FERRY REVIEW

FALL/WINTER 1991 ISSUE 9

Fiction

David Kranes
Silban [26]

Julie Brown
Thirst [46]

Steven Robinson
The Distance Between Us [64]

Bruce Petronio
Sonny [78]

R.J. Z. Rice
Drowning [94]

Poetry

Tess Gallagher
Stopping to Buy Bread on the Way to the Cemetery [24]
In the Laboratory of Kisses [25]
He Would Have [90]

Larry Levis
In Memory of Something or Other [35]

Julie Cooper-Fratrik
Arbeit Macht Frei [39]

Angel Gonzalez
Por Aqui Pasa un Rio [42]
Plaza con Torreones y Palacios [44]

Steven Ford Brown
Through Here a River Passes [43]
Square with Towers and Palaces [45]

Elaine Anderson
Oklahoma [61]

Dennis Saleh
Osorkon's Lay [62]

Karen Fish
The Fire's Hypnotic Flickering [70]
Egypt in Flaubert's Time [101]

Judith Skillman
Barbed Wire [73]

Kathleen Mason Driskell
Tornado, Louisville, 1974 [75]

Lee Sharkey
Afterword [76]

Barney Kirby
Lee, New Hampshire [77]

Suzanne Burns
Trying to Understand My Brother Later [88]

Carolina Hospital
The Edge of Dreams [89]

Roger Hecht
Landscape in a Sentence [91]

Art

Joseph Jachna
White Pyramid at Dowdy Lake, Colorado--1975
Ginny Photographing boulders at Dowdy Lake--1975 [22]
Sofa in our Wisconsin Cabin--1982
Ginny on that sofa--1985 [23]

Evon Streetman
Chattooga Fantasy [40]
Rocks and Bluets [41]

Arthur Lazar
Lake County, Illinois [68]
Utah [69]

William Christenberry
Dream Building Z, 1982-84 [92]
Southern Monument XVI, 1983-86 [93]

Interview

Kelleen Zubick
Coming in Late: An Interview with Deborah Digges [7]

Essay

Deborah Digges
Strays [18]

Contributors [104]

Hayden's Ferry Review Issue 9 Cover

Issue 9 Staff

Managing Editor
Salima Keegan

Fiction Editors
Michelle Cruz Skinner
Judith Van

Poetry Editors
Deirdre McDonough
Kelleen Zubick

Art Editors
Nancy Fewkes
Don Leddick

Editorial Assistants
Stephanie Bucholtz
Jeff Coleman
Janet Kenning
Julius Sokenu

Office Assistant
Maria Erspamer

Editorial Advisor
Ron Carlson

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Poetry Selection – Tess Gallagher, He Would Have

To speak for him is to leave a breath
pulled suddenly from an overlapping realm
suspended in the room. So this morning
snow lightly cupped in salal is raised against
the hillside by fresh ardor alone
because he would have called to me
while putting on the morning coffee
to look out and see it into its island moment,
spiraled double and darkly inward
by our pushing pleasure up another notch
until the world stays as beneficent as it is.
I stand at the window to better amplify
cool underneath of petals, their snow-lit
green.
Any unexpected bounty adds him like
seasoning
to the day, as when the eagle uses the frayed
sky-green of the neighboring hemlock to
beguile our paired attentions, his white head
at its topped crown washed clean of the past
and
the future.
Alert raw knot of infinity.

^ Back to contributors

Fiction Selection – David Kranes, from Silban

Silban writes pulp. He makes no apologies. He tells a story. Eight novels: three, book club alternates; two sold to movies; both movies made. All Silban's books sell early: a hundred, maybe two hundred pages in. Silban has a knack; he hooks people. With three books, he just walked into an office and started to talk.

It makes him angry though. Not the pulp. Not the success. More that he can't finish before somebody buys; some stranger saying, "Uh...so this and this and this," and getting his checkbook out. At which point, Silban spins his eyes but, because whoever-has-said-oh this and this and this is waiting, ultimately nods and says, "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose," and finishes the book to whoever's specifications. And hates it. Hates the knowing.