Selected Previews for Young Ravens Literary Review, Issue 10
*Issue 10 of Young Ravens Literary Review will be coming out at the end of July.
Until then, please enjoy previews of poetry, nonfiction and art, and interviews with author and artist.
Until then, please enjoy previews of poetry, nonfiction and art, and interviews with author and artist.
Nonfiction Preview:
The Forest
by
Karen Neuberg
The Forest
by
Karen Neuberg
If I pretended for so long to be writing poems, it was only so I could speak of the forest
--Eleni Vakalo, The Forest
--Eleni Vakalo, The Forest
The forest speaks for itself in depth where sunlight beams to part the leaves, where a person can hear their own breath, feel the delirious pleasure of coolness and quiet that touches skin. The sense of “away from it all”. Delicious air.
How can I hear the forest for the noise I bring with me—news of war and shootings and crying and slaughter, or the shattering of lives, or the false equivalent of facts cluttering thinking, or of my own endless, circular chatter.
Noise. Noise. Once must go deep into the forest where time suspends. Where new sounds reach into the ears. At first, a hush that seems to expand the air. Within the hush, one finds a different sense of what silence contains. Stirring of leaves. Flapping of wings. Buzz of small insects. Scraping, rubbing, scratching, gnawing of small creatures. Snap of twig. Crackle and patter underfoot when walking.
Here I can return to “once upon a time”, and before. Before human contagion of natural spaces. I travel back into earlier ages. Rub my hands on bark and hear its roughness as I listen with my palms to decipher the pattern. I touch the softness of leaf on low branch with my fingertips or let it touch me as I pass in walking slowly.
And if the forest is pine …
And if the forest is deciduous …
And if the forest is mangrove, evergreen, redwood …
And if the forest begins at a road and if a farm is on the other side of the road, or a tract of houses, and a city rising in the not-too-far distance (over a river and past a stream) beyond fences and further along a highway then I am in an ecotone, a transitioning space between two adjacent ecological communities. Where in the forest does the forest become only its own community? Where does it become ‘forest’ and not just woodlands?
Though I am an interloper in this community of forest, I am welcomed. The forest offers its signs for me to understand. It continues to communicate in myriad exchanges with other trees and plants in ways I know from science exist but I cannot hear. In all ways, the forest is telling me, telling us, that it is here, doing its job, cleaning the air, absorbing and exchanging carbon for oxygen.
I sing the forest. I accept its solace. I bathe in the air and light. I stand tall, and let myself take root into the floor of the forest.
How can I hear the forest for the noise I bring with me—news of war and shootings and crying and slaughter, or the shattering of lives, or the false equivalent of facts cluttering thinking, or of my own endless, circular chatter.
Noise. Noise. Once must go deep into the forest where time suspends. Where new sounds reach into the ears. At first, a hush that seems to expand the air. Within the hush, one finds a different sense of what silence contains. Stirring of leaves. Flapping of wings. Buzz of small insects. Scraping, rubbing, scratching, gnawing of small creatures. Snap of twig. Crackle and patter underfoot when walking.
Here I can return to “once upon a time”, and before. Before human contagion of natural spaces. I travel back into earlier ages. Rub my hands on bark and hear its roughness as I listen with my palms to decipher the pattern. I touch the softness of leaf on low branch with my fingertips or let it touch me as I pass in walking slowly.
And if the forest is pine …
And if the forest is deciduous …
And if the forest is mangrove, evergreen, redwood …
And if the forest begins at a road and if a farm is on the other side of the road, or a tract of houses, and a city rising in the not-too-far distance (over a river and past a stream) beyond fences and further along a highway then I am in an ecotone, a transitioning space between two adjacent ecological communities. Where in the forest does the forest become only its own community? Where does it become ‘forest’ and not just woodlands?
Though I am an interloper in this community of forest, I am welcomed. The forest offers its signs for me to understand. It continues to communicate in myriad exchanges with other trees and plants in ways I know from science exist but I cannot hear. In all ways, the forest is telling me, telling us, that it is here, doing its job, cleaning the air, absorbing and exchanging carbon for oxygen.
I sing the forest. I accept its solace. I bathe in the air and light. I stand tall, and let myself take root into the floor of the forest.
Interview with Author Karen Neuberg
Photo by Leslie Prosterman
1. Do you think that humans create sacred spaces, or do they already exist with or without us?
I think the answer is both. Some spaces feel sacred for reasons like beauty and vastness or some sense of unique energy we feel when we are in their presence. The energy exists with or without us sensing it. There are also spaces, such as our houses of worship, that we have created to elicit a sense of sacredness. And there are places that are sacred because of some human events that have occurred there and our need to honor and remember them.
2. Do you think nature and human empathy are linked, and if so, how?
We can burn out from being empathetic and nature has the capacity to alleviate stress and renew us. Nature opens up our senses and helps us see how we are connected to the tapestry of life that surrounds us.
3. If there was only one tree left in the world, which tree would you wish it to be and why?
This is a really difficult question because the idea of only a single tree being left conjures the occurrence of an ecological disaster. But, putting that aside, and feeling there is no one answer that completely satisfies me, I would chose a tree that has already been on earth for thousands of years. One choice is actually a colony of quaking aspen trees named Pando, or the trembling giant. Pando occupies 106 acres. The 47,000 trees in Pando are a single organism identified by genetic markers that all use one underground root system which is estimated to be 80,000 years old and is among the oldest known living organisms. I envision it might repopulate the earth with trees over time.
Karen Neuberg is a Brooklyn-based poet. Her full length collection, Pursuit, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books. Her latest chapbook is the elephants are asking (Glass Lyre Press, 2018). She is associate editor of the online poetry journal, First Literary Review-East. Her poems and collages can be found in numerous publications including 805, Canary, and Verse Daily.
I think the answer is both. Some spaces feel sacred for reasons like beauty and vastness or some sense of unique energy we feel when we are in their presence. The energy exists with or without us sensing it. There are also spaces, such as our houses of worship, that we have created to elicit a sense of sacredness. And there are places that are sacred because of some human events that have occurred there and our need to honor and remember them.
2. Do you think nature and human empathy are linked, and if so, how?
We can burn out from being empathetic and nature has the capacity to alleviate stress and renew us. Nature opens up our senses and helps us see how we are connected to the tapestry of life that surrounds us.
3. If there was only one tree left in the world, which tree would you wish it to be and why?
This is a really difficult question because the idea of only a single tree being left conjures the occurrence of an ecological disaster. But, putting that aside, and feeling there is no one answer that completely satisfies me, I would chose a tree that has already been on earth for thousands of years. One choice is actually a colony of quaking aspen trees named Pando, or the trembling giant. Pando occupies 106 acres. The 47,000 trees in Pando are a single organism identified by genetic markers that all use one underground root system which is estimated to be 80,000 years old and is among the oldest known living organisms. I envision it might repopulate the earth with trees over time.
Karen Neuberg is a Brooklyn-based poet. Her full length collection, Pursuit, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books. Her latest chapbook is the elephants are asking (Glass Lyre Press, 2018). She is associate editor of the online poetry journal, First Literary Review-East. Her poems and collages can be found in numerous publications including 805, Canary, and Verse Daily.
Cover Art Preview:
Koru by Shannon Elizabeth Gardner
Koru by Shannon Elizabeth Gardner
© ShannonElizabethGardner
*The koru is the Māori (New Zealand) name for a spiral.
The "loop or coil" symbolizes the spiral of an unfurling fern frond representing rebirth and growth.
The "loop or coil" symbolizes the spiral of an unfurling fern frond representing rebirth and growth.
Interview with Artist Shannon Elizabeth Gardner
1. In Koru, what thoughts or feelings are you trying to evoke in the viewer?
The spiral or coil is that of an unfurling fern frond. This symbol is a common similarity connecting civilizations world wide. I feel the viewer would recognize this symbol as a journey representing growth and rebirth, beginning from the center expanding out.
2. How does art shape your life?
Art is in everything I do. I know of nothing but to live a life that represents your true aesthetic in every way. I choose to live among my work while surrounding myself with gruesome, ghastly objects that relish in the horror aesthetic.
3. If you could ask an artist to paint you (either present or past), who would it be and why?
Visionary Tim Burton influences much of my work. It would be an honor to have the legend create a portrait of my likeness. The twists and curves of his German Expressionist strokes create an angular strangularity that comforts me.
Shannon Elizabeth Gardner is a recent graduate from UWSP, with a Bachelors in Studio Art and a Minor in Art History. Throughout her life she has been interested in horror and the macabre. Fondness for death and decay came about while exploring nature and the paranormal. Gardner believes her work stimulates memories and emotions that relate people with death and decay. Her goal is to reach the extreme and address the taboo.
The spiral or coil is that of an unfurling fern frond. This symbol is a common similarity connecting civilizations world wide. I feel the viewer would recognize this symbol as a journey representing growth and rebirth, beginning from the center expanding out.
2. How does art shape your life?
Art is in everything I do. I know of nothing but to live a life that represents your true aesthetic in every way. I choose to live among my work while surrounding myself with gruesome, ghastly objects that relish in the horror aesthetic.
3. If you could ask an artist to paint you (either present or past), who would it be and why?
Visionary Tim Burton influences much of my work. It would be an honor to have the legend create a portrait of my likeness. The twists and curves of his German Expressionist strokes create an angular strangularity that comforts me.
Shannon Elizabeth Gardner is a recent graduate from UWSP, with a Bachelors in Studio Art and a Minor in Art History. Throughout her life she has been interested in horror and the macabre. Fondness for death and decay came about while exploring nature and the paranormal. Gardner believes her work stimulates memories and emotions that relate people with death and decay. Her goal is to reach the extreme and address the taboo.
