Issue 8 will be coming out mid July.
Until then, please enjoy the following previews of art, poetry, and fiction,
and interviews with artist, poet and author.
Until then, please enjoy the following previews of art, poetry, and fiction,
and interviews with artist, poet and author.
Fiction Preview:
"Tumbling through the Afterlife"
by Daanish Jamal
"Tumbling through the Afterlife"
by Daanish Jamal
Whenever I’m overwhelmed, I flick a switch in my head, and the world transforms before me. Instead of seeing an attractive receptionist with the reflection of a computer screen in her brown eyes, what I see are colorful distinct molecules. Trillions of brilliant, vibrating beads. They are dynamic, electric, with all sorts of little rivers and exchanges. I look at my hands and see these beads evolving, constantly replenishing according to a biological rhythm I can’t quite explain. When I see this, I remember that I am indistinguishable from my surroundings. I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
“He’s ready for you.” The receptionist stands up and directs me towards an empty conference room. She flashes a distracted smile, as if she’s preoccupied with the contents of the page open on her computer. The offices of this Silicon Valley venture capital firm have recently been remodeled. It looks elegant, yet the sleek curves and wood panels still manage to hint at the company’s history.
I try not to get nervous. The logos of their most successful companies line the walls. They look like hieroglyphs, telling the story of technology’s last fifty years.
This is my final interview at a prestigious firm I never expected I would have the chance to work at. I take some deep breaths and stare out the window at Highway 280. I know some twenty-five miles south, there are three grandparents sitting in our house in Cupertino, waiting to hear from me. My grandfather, Ba, is probably wearing some retro Reebok sneakers, pacing up and down the block with his arms folded behind his back. His wife, Nani, is probably dressed in a kameez shalwar, already drinking her third cup of chai, watching her husband through the kitchen window, and reciting a prayer under her breath. My other grandmother, Amma, is much older than the other two. She’s probably making fun of them both, laughing to herself because she knows we have no control over what happens in this life.
The door opens, and Alan Ericsson walks in. He looks shorter in real life than he does in his interviews, but he’s wearing the same iconic round glasses. He extends his hand.
“Hi, I’m Alan. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Hakim.” Already I like him more than the partners I’ve met at the other firms. It only takes a second to know.
I think back to my last interview. In a San Francisco high rise, one partner asked me a brainteaser, “there are five pirates looking to split one-hundred gold coins…” At first I thought he was kidding, but I managed to answer the question. Even still, I didn’t get the job.
We go through the pleasantries. Alan asks me who I am, where I grew up, where I went to school, why I studied biology. Cupertino, Columbia, because I wanted to be like my high school teacher who I admire.
I ask him why he works in venture capital. He looks away and thinks about it. I like that he cares to be thoughtful.
“Same reason you studied biology. Someone I admire told me it’s a good idea. I guess we all just want to be respected by the people we respect.”
He asks me what investment areas I’m most interested in. I tell him about the intersection of computer science and biology. I tell him about how “we have the technology to precisely edit genes so our children don’t inherit our diseases…”
This is the easy part for me. This is what I’ve rehearsed, and it calms me down to hear so many words come out of my mouth. “…we can use computational drug discovery to stop aging if we…”
Alan nods along. He is only vaguely intrigued by the content of my speech, which makes me talk faster. I continue through to the grand finale, “and so we can use adaptive therapies to cure illnesses before we even show symptoms.”
He covers his mouth with his fist and pinches his thick eyebrows together. Then he nods his head again. “That all makes sense, Hakim. We’re spending more time looking for opportunities in these areas...” Every time he says my name, I feel my shoulders relax a shade more. He shifts in his seat and picks another direction. He seems to be searching for something.
“When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
This question surprises me, but I think it’s a good one. I would usually say something clever, like architect or detective, but I already know Alan wouldn’t care for that.
“It didn’t matter that much to me what I would do. I just wanted to be like my grandfather. Not his career just in the way that he’s kind and patient and respected. More than that, he’s secure in himself, and I think completely at peace. I guess it’s less about being like him, and more about feeling like him.”
Hours later, I retell this moment to my three grandparents in the backyard of our home.
“And then I told him, I want to be like Ba.” My grandfather’s lips parted to reveal a wolfish grin underneath his bushy mustache. His teeth are yellow, from all the paan he has chewed over the years. Still, they are happy teeth.
Nani is rocking back and forth in her seat. She’s looking to her husband’s face for reassurance that I said the right things in the interview. She sees his smile, but still isn’t sure, so she asks me, “But are you sure that was a good answer? Maybe you should have said you’ve always wanted to be in business.”
Her fear annoys me, and I’ve spent my whole young life trying to expel whatever piece of it I inherited. This one time though, I have the perfect answer.
“I know it was the right thing to say because when I finished the interview he said, ‘Hakim, we’d love to have you come work with us…’”
My grandfather leaps up in his chair, “Arrey!”
Nani gives me a hug while praying over my shoulder. Amma, stands nearby and congratulates herself, “Of course they gave you a job, you are my grandson.”
…
Ba wakes up at dawn, when the first light spills through his window and rests on his eyelids. He opens his eyes, sits up in bed, and scans the Bay Area mountains through his window. He’s had this same morning ritual since he was a boy in Pakistan when he would wake up before his brothers and sisters and gaze at the snowy northern mountains. In the room next door, I am awake too. It turns out there is a genetic basis to our circadian rhythms.
Ba washes his face and puts on an orange wooly sweater that Nani knit for him. He and I each have about fifteen of them in different colors and stitching. He then laces up his old Reeboks, slips out of the house, and begins his walk around the neighborhood.
To me, these morning walks are part of the natural cycle of the Earth itself. The day doesn’t start until Ba starts walking, like the Greek god who drives the sun chariot across the sky each day.
Meanwhile, Nani wakes up a half hour later and offers her morning prayers. She goes to the kitchen, boils water for our morning chai, and begins to plan for dinner. She keeps her eye on the window for Ba’s return.
Ami is still asleep, drooling a little but laughing, even in her sleep.
I sit at the kitchen table, rifling through presentations of startups looking for their first institutional round of financing. I do my best work here, at this table, cocooned in the decades old routines of my family.
In my first few weeks at Walker Ericsson, I have already reviewed over a hundred companies, and I feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of analysis I have to complete. Every product is unique, and I don’t know how to thoroughly evaluate a new small molecule drug, a clinical data sharing platform, a gene editing company, and a supercharged MRI all in the same day. Worst of all, if I don’t think we should invest, I have to reach out to the CEOs of the companies and tell them why. I worry about how they must look at me, an inexperienced twenty-six year old telling them their business is not worth our time.
Ba says, “You don’t know what they think. Be honest and direct. All you have is your reputation.” He reminds me that this is how he developed a successful real estate business, by being utterly forthright.
I take a deep breath and look at the glass of water in front of me. I see vibrant hydrogen bonds holding together each molecule, and electrons dancing between atoms. I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Over dinner, I can’t help but tell my grandparents about the most ambitious companies. One evening, between bites of fresh naan and okra, I try to shock them.
"You know I met a company today that wants to upload brains onto a computer.”
Nani, “Heh?”
Amma, “Kya bol raha hai?” What is he saying?
“The company wants to put your brain into a computer.”
“Why my brain?”
"No not you, anyone’s brain. Onto a computer, so you can live forever.”
Ba, “What’s the point of having children then?”
Nani, “How do they do that?”
“Well, they have to pump chemicals into your brain and kill you.”
“Oh, okay. Chalo…”
*Stay tuned for the rest of the story next week!
“He’s ready for you.” The receptionist stands up and directs me towards an empty conference room. She flashes a distracted smile, as if she’s preoccupied with the contents of the page open on her computer. The offices of this Silicon Valley venture capital firm have recently been remodeled. It looks elegant, yet the sleek curves and wood panels still manage to hint at the company’s history.
I try not to get nervous. The logos of their most successful companies line the walls. They look like hieroglyphs, telling the story of technology’s last fifty years.
This is my final interview at a prestigious firm I never expected I would have the chance to work at. I take some deep breaths and stare out the window at Highway 280. I know some twenty-five miles south, there are three grandparents sitting in our house in Cupertino, waiting to hear from me. My grandfather, Ba, is probably wearing some retro Reebok sneakers, pacing up and down the block with his arms folded behind his back. His wife, Nani, is probably dressed in a kameez shalwar, already drinking her third cup of chai, watching her husband through the kitchen window, and reciting a prayer under her breath. My other grandmother, Amma, is much older than the other two. She’s probably making fun of them both, laughing to herself because she knows we have no control over what happens in this life.
The door opens, and Alan Ericsson walks in. He looks shorter in real life than he does in his interviews, but he’s wearing the same iconic round glasses. He extends his hand.
“Hi, I’m Alan. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Hakim.” Already I like him more than the partners I’ve met at the other firms. It only takes a second to know.
I think back to my last interview. In a San Francisco high rise, one partner asked me a brainteaser, “there are five pirates looking to split one-hundred gold coins…” At first I thought he was kidding, but I managed to answer the question. Even still, I didn’t get the job.
We go through the pleasantries. Alan asks me who I am, where I grew up, where I went to school, why I studied biology. Cupertino, Columbia, because I wanted to be like my high school teacher who I admire.
I ask him why he works in venture capital. He looks away and thinks about it. I like that he cares to be thoughtful.
“Same reason you studied biology. Someone I admire told me it’s a good idea. I guess we all just want to be respected by the people we respect.”
He asks me what investment areas I’m most interested in. I tell him about the intersection of computer science and biology. I tell him about how “we have the technology to precisely edit genes so our children don’t inherit our diseases…”
This is the easy part for me. This is what I’ve rehearsed, and it calms me down to hear so many words come out of my mouth. “…we can use computational drug discovery to stop aging if we…”
Alan nods along. He is only vaguely intrigued by the content of my speech, which makes me talk faster. I continue through to the grand finale, “and so we can use adaptive therapies to cure illnesses before we even show symptoms.”
He covers his mouth with his fist and pinches his thick eyebrows together. Then he nods his head again. “That all makes sense, Hakim. We’re spending more time looking for opportunities in these areas...” Every time he says my name, I feel my shoulders relax a shade more. He shifts in his seat and picks another direction. He seems to be searching for something.
“When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
This question surprises me, but I think it’s a good one. I would usually say something clever, like architect or detective, but I already know Alan wouldn’t care for that.
“It didn’t matter that much to me what I would do. I just wanted to be like my grandfather. Not his career just in the way that he’s kind and patient and respected. More than that, he’s secure in himself, and I think completely at peace. I guess it’s less about being like him, and more about feeling like him.”
Hours later, I retell this moment to my three grandparents in the backyard of our home.
“And then I told him, I want to be like Ba.” My grandfather’s lips parted to reveal a wolfish grin underneath his bushy mustache. His teeth are yellow, from all the paan he has chewed over the years. Still, they are happy teeth.
Nani is rocking back and forth in her seat. She’s looking to her husband’s face for reassurance that I said the right things in the interview. She sees his smile, but still isn’t sure, so she asks me, “But are you sure that was a good answer? Maybe you should have said you’ve always wanted to be in business.”
Her fear annoys me, and I’ve spent my whole young life trying to expel whatever piece of it I inherited. This one time though, I have the perfect answer.
“I know it was the right thing to say because when I finished the interview he said, ‘Hakim, we’d love to have you come work with us…’”
My grandfather leaps up in his chair, “Arrey!”
Nani gives me a hug while praying over my shoulder. Amma, stands nearby and congratulates herself, “Of course they gave you a job, you are my grandson.”
…
Ba wakes up at dawn, when the first light spills through his window and rests on his eyelids. He opens his eyes, sits up in bed, and scans the Bay Area mountains through his window. He’s had this same morning ritual since he was a boy in Pakistan when he would wake up before his brothers and sisters and gaze at the snowy northern mountains. In the room next door, I am awake too. It turns out there is a genetic basis to our circadian rhythms.
Ba washes his face and puts on an orange wooly sweater that Nani knit for him. He and I each have about fifteen of them in different colors and stitching. He then laces up his old Reeboks, slips out of the house, and begins his walk around the neighborhood.
To me, these morning walks are part of the natural cycle of the Earth itself. The day doesn’t start until Ba starts walking, like the Greek god who drives the sun chariot across the sky each day.
Meanwhile, Nani wakes up a half hour later and offers her morning prayers. She goes to the kitchen, boils water for our morning chai, and begins to plan for dinner. She keeps her eye on the window for Ba’s return.
Ami is still asleep, drooling a little but laughing, even in her sleep.
I sit at the kitchen table, rifling through presentations of startups looking for their first institutional round of financing. I do my best work here, at this table, cocooned in the decades old routines of my family.
In my first few weeks at Walker Ericsson, I have already reviewed over a hundred companies, and I feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of analysis I have to complete. Every product is unique, and I don’t know how to thoroughly evaluate a new small molecule drug, a clinical data sharing platform, a gene editing company, and a supercharged MRI all in the same day. Worst of all, if I don’t think we should invest, I have to reach out to the CEOs of the companies and tell them why. I worry about how they must look at me, an inexperienced twenty-six year old telling them their business is not worth our time.
Ba says, “You don’t know what they think. Be honest and direct. All you have is your reputation.” He reminds me that this is how he developed a successful real estate business, by being utterly forthright.
I take a deep breath and look at the glass of water in front of me. I see vibrant hydrogen bonds holding together each molecule, and electrons dancing between atoms. I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Over dinner, I can’t help but tell my grandparents about the most ambitious companies. One evening, between bites of fresh naan and okra, I try to shock them.
"You know I met a company today that wants to upload brains onto a computer.”
Nani, “Heh?”
Amma, “Kya bol raha hai?” What is he saying?
“The company wants to put your brain into a computer.”
“Why my brain?”
"No not you, anyone’s brain. Onto a computer, so you can live forever.”
Ba, “What’s the point of having children then?”
Nani, “How do they do that?”
“Well, they have to pump chemicals into your brain and kill you.”
“Oh, okay. Chalo…”
*Stay tuned for the rest of the story next week!
Interview with Author Daanish Jamal
1. What is the most important advice you have been given as a writer?
"There's no such thing as outlier knowledge." My college writing professor liberated me from thinking I needed to exclusively study English to be a writer. I discovered that there isn't a universal curriculum. Sometimes interesting work emerges from an intersection that only you have access to. I'm getting better at learning without an end in mind and just letting myself play.
“And please don't sink into this woeful nonsense about not having time to read...The real culprit here is almost never your schedule. It is your boredom--your boredom with the books you think you are supposed to read. Find a book you want, a book that gives you real trembling excitement, a book that is hot in your hands, and you'll have time galore.” - Stephen Koch
2. What part does revision play in your creative process?
I try to write my first draft rapidly, while I can still sense the narrative trail. If I like it when it's done, I ask a couple trusted readers to give feedback. Then I forget about it for a few weeks, until I can review it with fresh eyes.
Generally I dread revision. I think of Jay-Z recording something like eight songs for the The Blueprint in one day. He would come up with raps in his head, record them, and then leave the producers to fine-tune. I'd love that.
3. If you were dropped on a deserted island with only one book, which book would it be and why?
The Gift by Hafiz. I can open that book to any page and find something that resonates. His poetry reads like stories from an old friend. “Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings.”
Daanish Jamal works as a venture capital investor in the San Francisco Bay Area. He is a graduate of Georgetown University (BSBA Finance), where he was an Annabelle Bonner prizewinner for his fiction writing.
"There's no such thing as outlier knowledge." My college writing professor liberated me from thinking I needed to exclusively study English to be a writer. I discovered that there isn't a universal curriculum. Sometimes interesting work emerges from an intersection that only you have access to. I'm getting better at learning without an end in mind and just letting myself play.
“And please don't sink into this woeful nonsense about not having time to read...The real culprit here is almost never your schedule. It is your boredom--your boredom with the books you think you are supposed to read. Find a book you want, a book that gives you real trembling excitement, a book that is hot in your hands, and you'll have time galore.” - Stephen Koch
2. What part does revision play in your creative process?
I try to write my first draft rapidly, while I can still sense the narrative trail. If I like it when it's done, I ask a couple trusted readers to give feedback. Then I forget about it for a few weeks, until I can review it with fresh eyes.
Generally I dread revision. I think of Jay-Z recording something like eight songs for the The Blueprint in one day. He would come up with raps in his head, record them, and then leave the producers to fine-tune. I'd love that.
3. If you were dropped on a deserted island with only one book, which book would it be and why?
The Gift by Hafiz. I can open that book to any page and find something that resonates. His poetry reads like stories from an old friend. “Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings.”
Daanish Jamal works as a venture capital investor in the San Francisco Bay Area. He is a graduate of Georgetown University (BSBA Finance), where he was an Annabelle Bonner prizewinner for his fiction writing.
Poetry Preview:
"Linnaea"
by Jeff Burt
"Linnaea"
by Jeff Burt
Twinflower, a fragile
pink bloom in Nordic forests of fir,
you came slipping, nipples and navel
tender from turmoil, propelled
in your mother’s breathy burst of triumph,
rippled scalp and cheeks near pink,
umbilical cord your tendril
stretching from dawn to dark.
Having run love's gauntlet
into light you were
wheeled and poked,
scored and scoured,
needled, weighed,
needled, poked,
measured, scored,
gooed, cooed,
printed, splinted,
tapped and wrapped.
Then, true to your name,
belying the ten hours
of torture you had endured,
you lay pink and peaceful
on my chest, your cotton-capped
head against my beard,
and as the petals of a flower
fold slowly upon the heart of the blossom
as the light leaves the air
so your eyelids closed.
Interview with Poet Jeff Burt
1. How does writing poetry nourish your creativity and center you?
My mind races, a stream. But poetry has line breaks, and that is continual reminder to me to focus on a word, a phrase, a breath, a story. We begin and end life as the poem described pricked and scored, but there comes a wonderful peace, a centering, when we are held physically as well as when enchanted. How much a line break in a poem, an image, an analog, slows my tempo, a rest stop in music brings me to focus on a note, and a slow breath brings me peace, resilience.
I often write in the twilight of morning or at night, transitional times. I write for that illumination that occurs when things are on the verge. It’s when I learn, when the race ends, watching one thing ebb and another flow and feel the same in myself.
2. What is the most important advice you have been given as a poet?
My father told me, to encourage my chores as a teenager, that “the sweep of speech should include the genuine broom.” That has stuck with me. It wasn’t simply writing about a tree, but planting them. It was enough to write about the homeless, but serving them. It wasn’t enough to say I loved, but to show the actions of love.
3. What is one of your favorite lines of poetry and why?
“To be excited about a cinder is to be excited about life.”
The line is from Jim Harrison’s Kooser called from Nebraska to say he’d found… The poem starts that Ted Kooser found a cinder from an old steam train on a railroad track from a time their fathers were stoking coal to feed a furnace, and then shifts to Harrison’s attraction to trains. The line is the closing line to the poem, and can stand by itself.
A cinder is a remnant of fire by coal, what we now disparage, but to Harrison a cinder was an honoring of the past, of power, travel, and beauty. The line reminds me to be a spent life.
Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California, with his wife and a July abundance of plums. He works in mental health. He has work in The Monarch Review, LitBreak, Spry, Rabid Oak, NatureWriting, and won the 2017 Cold Mountain Review Poetry Prize.
My mind races, a stream. But poetry has line breaks, and that is continual reminder to me to focus on a word, a phrase, a breath, a story. We begin and end life as the poem described pricked and scored, but there comes a wonderful peace, a centering, when we are held physically as well as when enchanted. How much a line break in a poem, an image, an analog, slows my tempo, a rest stop in music brings me to focus on a note, and a slow breath brings me peace, resilience.
I often write in the twilight of morning or at night, transitional times. I write for that illumination that occurs when things are on the verge. It’s when I learn, when the race ends, watching one thing ebb and another flow and feel the same in myself.
2. What is the most important advice you have been given as a poet?
My father told me, to encourage my chores as a teenager, that “the sweep of speech should include the genuine broom.” That has stuck with me. It wasn’t simply writing about a tree, but planting them. It was enough to write about the homeless, but serving them. It wasn’t enough to say I loved, but to show the actions of love.
3. What is one of your favorite lines of poetry and why?
“To be excited about a cinder is to be excited about life.”
The line is from Jim Harrison’s Kooser called from Nebraska to say he’d found… The poem starts that Ted Kooser found a cinder from an old steam train on a railroad track from a time their fathers were stoking coal to feed a furnace, and then shifts to Harrison’s attraction to trains. The line is the closing line to the poem, and can stand by itself.
A cinder is a remnant of fire by coal, what we now disparage, but to Harrison a cinder was an honoring of the past, of power, travel, and beauty. The line reminds me to be a spent life.
Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California, with his wife and a July abundance of plums. He works in mental health. He has work in The Monarch Review, LitBreak, Spry, Rabid Oak, NatureWriting, and won the 2017 Cold Mountain Review Poetry Prize.
Art Preview:
"streetlampdancer" by Jesse White
"streetlampdancer" by Jesse White
©JesseWhite
Interview with Artist Jesse White
1. What feelings are you trying to evoke in “streetlampdancer”?
The girl in “streetlampdancer” dances despite the distress around her. She is centered within and dances for herself, choosing to ignore the storm, the shouting, the barking and even her lost shoe. She feels the bliss of knowing and loving herself. My intention is for those who see the piece to resonate with her joy, and to be encouraged to “dance” when they are called to do so.
2. What is the best advice you have ever been given as an artist?
“What’s your greatest creative fear? That is the thing you must do.” I have found that when we survive our fears and fully discover our resilience, we can transform our fears into a stable, fertile ground. It takes solid ground to leap forward.
3. If you could ask an artist to paint you (either present or past), who would it be and why?
I’d ask Susan Seddon-Boulet to paint my portrait because I believe her visionary approach to painting would capture my spirit and my mystical relationship with God.
Jesse White is an expressionistic artist, poet, teacher and spiritual leader. She currently serves as the Arts & Spirituality Coordinator at Pendle Hill (a Quaker spiritual education center), a Teaching Artist for Artwell (where she teaches children poetry), and the Director of Pigeon Arts (a cathartic art-making organization serving Greater Philadelphia, PA). Jesse's paintings, altered books, and photography have been exhibited throughout Pennsylvania and North Carolina, and in London, England and Medellín, Columbia. Her poetry has been included in several publications including The Apiary (online), Quaker Life and The Lighthouse. For more information, please visit www.pigeon-arts.com.
The girl in “streetlampdancer” dances despite the distress around her. She is centered within and dances for herself, choosing to ignore the storm, the shouting, the barking and even her lost shoe. She feels the bliss of knowing and loving herself. My intention is for those who see the piece to resonate with her joy, and to be encouraged to “dance” when they are called to do so.
2. What is the best advice you have ever been given as an artist?
“What’s your greatest creative fear? That is the thing you must do.” I have found that when we survive our fears and fully discover our resilience, we can transform our fears into a stable, fertile ground. It takes solid ground to leap forward.
3. If you could ask an artist to paint you (either present or past), who would it be and why?
I’d ask Susan Seddon-Boulet to paint my portrait because I believe her visionary approach to painting would capture my spirit and my mystical relationship with God.
Jesse White is an expressionistic artist, poet, teacher and spiritual leader. She currently serves as the Arts & Spirituality Coordinator at Pendle Hill (a Quaker spiritual education center), a Teaching Artist for Artwell (where she teaches children poetry), and the Director of Pigeon Arts (a cathartic art-making organization serving Greater Philadelphia, PA). Jesse's paintings, altered books, and photography have been exhibited throughout Pennsylvania and North Carolina, and in London, England and Medellín, Columbia. Her poetry has been included in several publications including The Apiary (online), Quaker Life and The Lighthouse. For more information, please visit www.pigeon-arts.com.