Willawaw Journal

Online Poetry & Art

Journal

Ingrid Wendt

The Photographer: Self Portrait

Between us, this box through which I look
At you and you cannot

See the sorrow I bring from years of capturing
Moments that never will come again.

When we die, I’ve been told, we really
Die twice: when we settle into breath’s absence

And when no one on this earth
Knows who we are in photos left behind.

Yet how can I stop myself? The glory of
This moment, your very soul in your eyes.

Eugene, Oregon, poet Ingrid Wendt is the author of five books of poems and co-editor of two anthologies. A musician by avocation, she was a visiting writer in public schools and universities throughout the US and abroad for 30 years. Recent poems appear in Poetry, American Poetry Review, Terrain, Calyx, About Place, and others. IngridWendt.com

 

Back Page with Helen Geglio

Helen Geglio is an artist and
art educator living in South
Bend, Indiana.  Originally
from Michigan, she received
her BFA in studio art from
the University of Michigan
and also holds an MS in education from
Indiana University. In her work as an artist, she creates hand stitched fiber artworks and has been represented in local, regional and national exhibits. Her work has been selected for Quilt National, Art Quilt Elements, Fantastic Fibers, Quilts=Art=Quilts, Artist as Quiltmaker, and Visions: Interpretations. Helen regularly exhibits with SAQA Global Exhibitions and the Surface Design Association and she is a long-time member of Woman Made Gallery and the Women’s Caucus for Art. For more information: www.helengeglio.com.

 

Wisdom Cloak: Finder and Keeper, detail (2020)–Wool, cotton, small objects. Photo by Kay Westhues. Private Collection.

Artist Statement:
The lives of women, and how we are connected to textiles, is what interests me as an artist. I collect worn clothing, domestic linens and sewing scraps, and then I construct meaning from these pieces of cloth. I enjoy the process of working with materials that have passed through other hands, and I look for a story, maybe a snapshot of a moment, to open a visual narrative. The idea of women’s work is a recurring theme in my art, so I use hand stitching and embroidery to hold the pieces together, to bind the layers and gather the textile detritus of the everyday into a new whole. The work I do, and the way of working that I value, is slow and mindful. In the end, I want to create an insightful visual image, one that invites viewers to look closely and make connections to their own stories.

Notes from the Editor

Dear Readers,

I was almost waylaid by a corgi at the market this morning, nearly tripped over her amongst the crowd and vegetables, careened and regained my balance. Whew! Her name was Duchess and I bowed to her as she and her human sallied forth. Caused me to reflect for a moment on the pleasures of standing upright.

We don’t know what might undo us, at the market or in the poem, as the writer or as the reader. And that keeps me turning the pages of each issue of Willawaw. Half-way into my eighth year of this production, and it is still full of surprises and also some growing pains.

This issue, I had to veer from the poet laureate prompt. I may have to widen the geography to include more of the country so that I can continue to find poet laureate candidates. I may need to raise the submission fees to cover the increasing costs of running a website and using a submission manager. Maybe I’ll try another ad in Poets & Writers?

Meanwhile, contributors persist in sending work that I can’t resist, new poets and those I see often, some emerging and some extremely accomplished. An ongoing revelation for which I am grateful.

In this issue, you will find ghazals which are a special interest of mine this year. (And I may as well tell you that I am currently exploring ekphrastic poetry— it may also show up as a prompt!)

I don’t know which poem might sweep you off your feet, but I would like to know. Please send me a note (willawawjournal@gmail.com) with your feedback. You, as the reader, are an integral part of this creative endeavor. I value your insights.

If you have sailed through this last week of Full Moon / Super Moon and Eclipse, then carry on. If, like me, you felt a bit of a wobble, take courage. My sister tells me there’s lots of new energy coming into the planet and it may take a moment or three to re-calibrate.

Happy Fall Equinox—

Rachel Barton

Rose Mary Boehm

The Mood Turns

The swifts have weaned their young
and those the cat didn’t get
are gunning for Africa.
Perhaps they get caught
in the nets of our Italian songbird
lovers. They like them grilled.

Smoke columns rise at various
points across the flats and hills.
The farmers are burning off the old chaff
and sometimes a few hectares of
precious woodland.

Yesterday a tornado ripped
across the open land and took
umbrage at our apple tree:
split off half of it in a rage hardly
ever seen that far East
of Tornado Alley.

A month ago, summer still
stretched languidly by the side
of the pool, and I would compete
with my friendly wasps for
a breakfast of figs among
big-handed leaves.

As they tumble and stumble
even the rose petals whisper
to no-one in particular: beware
of the lion of winter. Stick out
your tongue. Taste that first edge
of the crystal knife announcing its
return. Make sure your barn
is full of firewood.

Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as eight poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She is a ‘Pushcart’ and ‘Best of Net’ nominee. Her eighth book, LIFE STUFF, has been published by Kelsay Books (November 2023). View her website here.

Ed Brickell

Passing All Understanding

We bargain for peace meeting our understanding,
Unaware of the need to pass all understanding.

The silence that slips between the shut pages
Of the hymnals in wait for our sung understanding.

Or the disciples of Jesus terrified of the storm
But more scared of the stillness beyond understanding.

A lone bird call across a brightening pond
Shares our kiss in a trio of wild understanding.

A polished boot on the neck, gas blinding the eyes,
A jail cell that enshrines willful misunderstanding.

I filled the hive of my head with the loudest of bees
But where is their honey of sweet understanding?

Pundits enter data from exit polls without end
To predict revised futures without understanding.

Artificial intelligence is our latest demand
When we should hold ourselves hostage to one small understanding,

Yet when we finally realize all the ways and the whys
We should run far away from those cheap understandings.

What is the market algorithm Ed’s lacking
To match the profile of peace passing all understanding?

Ed Brickell lives with his two feline friends Harper & Maya in Dallas, Texas. His poems have most recently been shared or will be shared soon in Flint Hills Review, Susurrus, Book of Matches, Bond Street Review, and others. He shares his previously published poetry at shortsurpriselife.com.