Author’s Note: The poem draws largely from my first visit to El Salvador in 1986. While much has changed in the ensuing years, much remains the same, and today everywhere you look evidence abounds ... [Continue Story]
Author’s note: This story arose from a period in my life when I was thinking about relationships between women within families, especially intergenerational relationships⎯between mothers, daughter, ... [Continue Story]
Welcome to the thirteenth annual Delmarva Review, an independent, nonprofit literary journal. Our editors have selected the new work of 64 authors that stood out from thousands of submissions during the year. In this edition, we are publishing 79 poems, 10 short stories, 11 creative nonfiction essays, and seven book reviews. In all, the writers come from twenty-one states, the District of Columbia, and five foreign countries. Forty-two percent are from the Delmarva and Chesapeake region, though the review welcomes the best new writing in English from all writers, regardless of borders.
The cover photograph, “Cedar Island Watch House,” by contributing photographer Jay P. Fleming, captures the feeling of nature’s power and suggests the increasing concern of climate change.
A number of human themes are represented in this issue. One, in particular, gives life to the others—change. We strive to deal with change in our daily lives. While change can be uncomfortable, often confronting personal denial, it finds its natural place in all forms of writing. After all, it is the change in a character’s life that creates the action of a good story…or in the narrative description that adheres to our strongest beliefs and emotions. As our lives change, we are forced to discover the truth to guide us on our journeys, or perhaps to make sense of where we have been. The search for meaning is the basis for the best of enduring literature.
Welcome to the twelfth annual edition of the Delmarva Review, our current contribution to discovering the best of new literary work. Our editors selected the original prose and poetry of fifty-three authors from thousands of submissions. Individually and collectively, the writing in this volume touches us as human beings. We can also enjoy the authors’ craft and unique voice in the telling of stories and poetry.
Our editors selected 72 poems, 10 short stories, and nine nonfiction essays. We also reviewed six recent books of special interest, by regional writers. In all, the authors come from 17 states, the District of Columbia, and four other countries.
The cover photograph, “Rough Water,” by contributing photographer Jay P. Fleming, perfectly embodies the themes from this year’s selections. Jay’s photograph captures the feeling of nature’s power and passion, which is expressed throughout this year’s writing.
DelmarvaPublic Radio's weekly program, Delmarva Today, is hosted by Delmarva Review's very own Fiction Editor, Hal Wilson. In Writer's Edition #73, Hal interviewed Holly Karapetkova, whose poetry has appeared in Delmarva Review. Her writings are broad-ranging and unveil the deep wounds left by our history of racism, slavery, and environmental degradation. In sad recognition of the 400 year anniversary last month of the introduction of slavery into the colonies, our conversation will focus primarily on Holly’s poems on slavery published in volume 11 of the Delmarva Review. It was in August 1619, that a pirate ship dropped anchor off Jamestown, Va. 20 to 30 slaves were offloaded and sold to the colonists. This was only 12 years after the founding of the colony and one year before the Puritans landed at Plymouth Rock. We forget that it was also 157 years before the declaration of independence. 400 years ago last month, at colonial Jamestown slavery was woven into the very fabric of our country. Holly’s poems capture that ingrained nature of racism we still experience today.
Continuing the theme of exile and separation, we also discuss a number of her poems on immigration.
Holly’s poetry, prose, and translations have appeared widely in print and online in places such as Alaska Quarterly Review, The Southern Review, Prairie Schooner, Poetry Northwest, The Nashville Review, and Delmarva Review. Her books include Words We Might One Day Say, winner of the 2010 Washington Writers’ Publishing House Poetry Award, and Towline, winner of the 2016 Vern Rutsala Poetry Contest from Cloudbank Books. In addition to her poetry and translations, Holly has written more than 20 books for children. She teaches in the Department of Literature and Languages at Marymount University.
Click below to tune in. This is a fascinating and timely discussion.
Talbot Spy and Chestertown Spy have reprinted Delmarva Review contributor Holly Painter's "Man-Hours" from Volume 11. Check it out here.
Excerpt from Delmarva Review Volume 11.
This will be easier than believing every appled fall
The bulbs we plant, without benefit of camphor
Or invocations against squirrels, will survive
Smothering and come the April muds
Turn a scarlet cheek to their betrayers. This will be
Simpler than knowing the low moon of winter
Isn’t butterfly-pinned in the cherry dark,
Stuffed in the line of bare maples near the seminary.
There is no Cadillac shark-finned enough for us
To get to it, and even our improved teeth
Are not so sharp to chew a skinny slice.
This is not so hard as moving one plastic rook
From his acre of cardboard light, the wrist-flick dunk
Of a tea bag, one breath in a long night of dreamless sleep.
Take one stop-action step, one footfall from dim
To stone-bleached glare, and we will make
A new earth around us, air leaping like a strong salmon,
The palm’s slap..! Then the sun will honey-suckle us,
Newborns going pink.
Excerpt from Delmarva Review Volume 11.
In the minutes before bedtime, evening’s gathering
the last scraps of light to her orange
sky. My daughter runs to another tree and leaves
the last one to dim. We always end
our days here on this corner lot lost
behind a phalanx of trees, so it’s here shadows first fall.
Which is not to say this foreshadows her first fall,
even if in the dusk the portents are gathering.
I’m striving to be a parent on whom nothing is lost,
not even the way the dying sun fades her face to orange,
not even my desire to tell that there’s an end
for all of us as final as for her leaves
that dissolve to crackles beneath her as she leaves
for another tree. Yes, even that tree has a fall
in store, daughter. And that’s okaythat we end.
But now’s for laughing, for the smell of autumn grass, for gathering
the fallen tears of the trees in handfuls of orange
to see if holding on enough keeps things from getting lost.
You’ll be lost.
This leaves
me standing in orange
in the fall
gathering
for an end
that should follow my own end.
Remember, when mine comes, you’re not lost,
though, from time to time, in a gathering
dark you may hear a scuff of leaves
and turn, expecting the fall
to cast back your father in orange
light, orange such as you remember orange
from a childhood you see now doesn’t end,
the way that falling leaves always fall
in a memory.
— I’m sorry. I’m lost.
Carrying on this way, as I do, leaves
me overlooking the dark’s been gathering.
Let’s go, now. Leaves, stay lost.
The sky’s orange has fallen.
Our gathering’s at an end.
RESPONSIBILITY
Excerpt from Delmarva Review Volume 11. Adapted for podcast production by Delmarva Public Radio, Writer's Edition.
“When the kitchen breakfast is over, and the cook has put all things in their proper places, the mistress should go in to give her orders… The mistress must tax her own memory with all this: we have no right to expect slaves or hired servants to be more attentive to our interest than we ourselves are.”
-Mary Randolph, Virginia Housewife;
Or, Methodical Cook, 1828
With one hand I serve teacakes on
the blue India china,
with the other I wipe mosquitoes
sweating from my neck.
With one voice I order French
tureens from Calder’s & Co.,
with another I order the cook
not to burn the gravy.
The hush of what is beneath the
damask tablecloth
at night grows knives.
With one mouth I smile at
the good doctor with the other I grit
my teeth watching dark eyes
always watching me.
They know what moves in shadows
refuse to polish the silver
for love of tarnish. They know
the other names for everything names
they flash like knives
when no one is around looking.
Excerpt from Delmarva Review Volume 11.
Always say hello, even if the others do not say hello back.
We are Latinos, and Latinos always say hello.
When you shake a hand, shake it firmly, and look a person in the eyes. Never look away. Character goes a long way in life. And we aren’t born with character. We build it.
Character is a house of hay that becomes sturdy with time.
Never try to eat a mango without getting your hands dirty. Let the juice ooze onto your fingers, let your fingers become sticky. When you’re finished eating it, you can wash your hands. Remember, any mess, no matter how big, can always be cleaned up.
When you play soccer, always be the best player on the field. And be a little selfish. You pass the ball too much to your teammates, and assists, they don’t get you anywhere in life. People will only remember you if you score all the goals.
Know when a dream is worth chasing forever and when it should be abandoned to go off in pursuit of another.
The same goes for women. When you love a woman, if your heart begs to see her whenever she is gone, never let her go.
If you’re only half sure of your love, then you should walk away.
If you ever have a problem, come to me and ask me for advice. But most likely, I won’t give you an answer. I’ll just sit down beside you and we’ll both close our eyes and pray to God for guidance because two prayers are better than one.
For anything good in life, you must wait. You cannot make guacamole with a green avocado because it will taste bitter.
You must wait for the avocado to ripen and turn black.
You need to remember all these things, mi’jo. You need to remember all these things. But the most important thing you should remember is that you are Latino. That means you should always say hello, even if the others do not say hello back,
because we are Latinos, and Latinos always say hello.
