skip to content
Click here to return to the Piper Center home page

HAYDEN'S FERRY REVIEW

SPRING/SUMMER 1997 ISSUE 20

 

Table of Contents

 

Fiction

 

Casebeer
Let's Make that Light [17]

Mark Henderson
I'm the Guy [29]

Robert Hildt
My Girlfriend's Name is (was) Vava [58]

 

Poetry

 

William Olsen
The Fold-out Atlas of the Human Body: a Three-Dimensional Book for Readers of all Ages [6]

Thomas Heise
Ghazal: Inertia [8]
El Dia de los Muertos [10]

Gary Short
Variations [12]

J.W. Marshall
Stigmata Seen in Four Pieces of Chicken [14]

Richard Spilman
Terrarium [24]

Kim Bridgford
Guardian Angels [26]

Matthew Lippman
Palette [28]

Jorn Ake
"Spinner, cotton mill, 1908-1909" [38]

Ruth Ellen Kocher
His Daughter Whispers Ars Vivondi [40]

Claudia Grinnell
This Idea of Order [50]
So to Speak: Conversations with the Dead [52]

Stephanie Hong Owen
The Paraplegic on Stafford Road [54]

J. Robert Lennon
Viking Wedding [56]

Bill Cowee
Rereading a favorite poet Some Years Later [70]
Watching another Laser Guided Bombing Mission [71]

Bruce MacKinnon
The Natural World [72]

J. Rodney Karr
Bird-Eating Spiders [73]

 

Essay

 

Aurelie Sheehan
My Rape is Bigger Than Yours [43]

 

Art

 

Pamela O. Pitt
Santa Caterina Series [5]

Tarah Rider Berry
Into the Woods [11]
Kelly Looking at the Horses, AZ [16]

Robert Anderson
Lost Dreams and Found Dreams (La La La La) [23]

Beth Yarnelle Edwards
San Carlos, No. 7 [42]

David Andrew Waddle
Untitled [53]

Mahara T. Sinclaire
Catwoman [110]

 

Works in Translation

 

Jacek Podsialo
Noc Nr 138 [86]

translated by Lusia Slomkowska
Night #138 [87]

Elzbieta Zechenter-Splawinska
Drugie Prawo Termodynamiki [88]

translated by Lusia Slomkowska
The 2nd Law of Thermodynamics [89]

Rainer Maria Rilke
Die Grosse Nacht [90]

translated by Don Mager
The Great Night [91]

Janusz Styczen
Salome [92]

translated by Gwido Zlatkes
Salome [93]

Nichita Stanescu
Tablou cu orbi [94]

translated by Radu H. Hotinceanu
Painting with Blindmen [95]

Yves Bonnefoy
Vrai Nom [100]

translated by Peter Miller
True Name [101]

Jorge Luis Borges
Elvira de Alvear [102]

translated by Peter Miller
Elvira de Alvear [103]

Jorge Carrera Andrada
Poema Hidrografico [104]

translated by Steven Ford Brown
Hydrographic Poem [105]

Francesco Petrarca
C [108]

translated by Richard Jackson
C: The Window

 

Interviews

 

Danielle Hanson
The Influence of Translation and Music on Poetry: An Interview with William Matthews [75]

Maximilian Werner
Idioms of the Sacred: An Interview with Poet Laureate Robert Hass [111]

Contributors [122]

Hayden's Ferry Review Issue 20 Cover

 


Issue 20 Staff

 

Managing Editor
Salima Keegan

Fiction Editors
Connie McGovern
Melissa D. Olson
Verania White

Poetry Editors
Patricia Bagato
Danielle Hanson

Art Editor
Tiffany Owens

Marketing Assistant
Carrie Brandon

Associate Editors
Cheryl Alison Adam
Beth Anstandig
Carrie Brandon
Elizabeth Montalbano
Kathy Sullivan Porter
Jessica Sisto

Editorial Assistants
Cheryl Alison Adam
Kevin Forsberg
Susan Hood
Allen Mahan

Copy Editors
Cheryl Alison Adam
Jimmy Flowers

Editorial Advisor
Melissa Pritchard

 

< Back to older archives

 


 

Poetry Selection – Bruce MacKinnon, The Natural World

Did you know that the mosquito
pisses on you before flying away,
heavy with your blood, and that
in a certain mood, you might take
this as an emblem for things as
they are, the natural world
being itself, and that you scratch
until the other nerve receptor,
the one for pain, takes over,
your fingernails, your skin, the miles
of instantaneity that you call you
engaged in its primary mode,
a scratching sharpened past annoyance,
pain relieving you of any other
possibility, until you become a mole
swimming through dirt, your eyes
nearly useless, or a mole-man living
beneath the streets of a city,
or a black hole unto yourself,
dense with matter, with lack of
light, disturbed by the slightest
itch of another theory, unable
to brush her away and forget.

^ Back to contributors


 

Fiction Selection – Casebeer, from Let's Make that Light

Manhattan, October. I've never thought about trash so much. Just hefty bags and hefty bags of the stuff. Eighteen I counted in a heap in front of Camelot's Coffee Shop. It smells like urine and dollar pizza slices. Like it should. Gabe's talking. We're walking pretty fast.

"Look, you don't love him. Trust me, I know love when I see it. Take a look for yourself. I swear you do not look remotely like love," Gabe says, balancing his umbrella over both our heads so that the opposite side of each of us is getting wet. "Let's make that light."

We make it, the same way we do all the lights. For the three days I've been here with Gabe, we've conquered every light New York city has to offer. For papaya shakes alone we walked four miles.

"Those two," he says about the guys cutting in front of us, "They're not. They were once, but it's gone. You can just tell by the way they wear their pants that they're on the way out."

 

^ Back to contributors

< Back to older archives