Our latest Spring 2017 Issue of The Café Review continues our mission to bring Maine poetry to the world and poetry from around the world to Maine featuring poetry by Michael Bove, Lauren Camp, Stephen Cramer, Michael Estabrook, John Field, Roger Hickin, Judy Kaber, Michael Mark, Gerald McCarthy, Mark Melnicove, Bryce Milligan, normal, Mary O’Donnell, Leymen Pérez translated by Margaret Randall, Margaret Randall, Joe Richey, Carlos Martínez Rivas translated by Roger Hickin, Susan Sherman, Elizabeth Tibbetts and Wren Tuatha with an interview with Margaret Randall conducted by Kevin Sweeney. This issue features work by artists Marc Shanker and Susan Solomon with reviews by Cathleen Miller and Kevin Sweeney.
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Poetry Excerpts from this Issue
A Blessing
by John Field Land mines exploding, red memories On the battlefield infected and runny. Then home again way too thin And screaming flashbacks In
Design for a House
by John Field Design for a House after a poem by Jonathan Holden Sometimes a dream that grips us we become. In the house I’m designing
Poem in Which There is No Cancer
by Lauren Camp All around, the heat–wringing. When D told me his prostate was like Minute Steak, so much detail left white that he lowered
Elegy
by Lauren Camp The hours between York and Kennebunk, between Boston and Salem, and too between Danvers and Logan thin
Rainbow Room and the Red Chair
by Lauren Camp I am granted every fork, every chair, every blossom, the lantern and saffron, escape or alliance. It’s an agreement I made: to
Folding Chair
by Wren Tuatha I told you then I would take it out back and kill it with a knife. But I couldn’t do it. You stumbled upon my love today as then.
Cornbread
by Wren Tuatha Cotton takes care of me. I mend and wonder where a word went as Cotton hops out of bed, feeds the herd, showers. I’m late with his
10am. Every Day, Even When It Rains
by Michael Mark We’re all widowers here, all old guys, just happened that way. Our dates are dogs. Terriers, labs, mutts. They rush to each
Turning East
by Margaret Randall Earth, that solid ball beneath our feet spins in the vastness of space where neither up nor down exists, while on the orbital
Great Aunt June Saves the World
by Michael Bove On the banks of the Susquehanna they lived in a shack. Frost between wood slats, a paltry wall between winter and themselves:
“Plausible Sounding Names and Addresses”
by Michael Bove Was what the ghost of Emily Dickinson provided to the men who tried to reach her through a Ouija board sometime in the early
Berdyaev
by Roger Hickin among philosophers I love the turbulent Berdyaev with his aristocratic habits & alarming facial tic a thinker who conceded
Like Monk, Like Lacy
by Roger Hickin i. don’t say too much like Monk’s notes words need silence stop breathe dig check out spaces in between ii. honks peeps pops Lacy
Leaf Rain Marble
by Roger Hickin i. (after Spiridon Drozhzhin) a leaf blown from its native branch you drift with no road of your own ii. Valdicastello in
Hamlet
by Carlos Martínez Rivas Hamlet a monologue I What a worry. It’s Saturday. I’ve nothing to drink. It’s not a plan or a
The Spanish Painter
by Carlos Martínez Rivas — I want to paint a man with a lantern. — Do it. But what will you put around him to make him stand out? — Night, of
The Masterpiece Project
by Carlos Martínez Rivas BUT things should be as bad as they can get. No jute mattress no water jug. Hanging head down. Ankles bound
Ars Poetica
by Carlos Martínez Rivas You’re opposed to Love, its mania for eternity frightens you, its insistent nightingale whistle drives you mad? You only
Como Las Oscuridades Cueva De Platón
by Leymen Pérez Todo lo que conozco es una puerta a la oscuridad. — Seamus Heaney Entras a la noche que
Dateline Sasabe, AZ: US-Mexico Border
by Joe Richey At the international line high–noon cool 100 degree day east of Sasabe, Arizona, pissing in the sizzling sand I burned hand
In the middle of the spelling quiz
by Mark Melnicove In the middle of the spelling quiz, JFK died. The announcement by our principal, an old man who could barely stand anymore,
Dust under the bed
by Mark Melnicove Dust under the bed lies unmoving without complaint. I have to get on my hands and knees to see it, the vacuum grumbling for a
Don’t chew
by Mark Melnicove Don’t chew on plastic soldiers! my mother shouted, ripping them from my mouth, they’ll make you sick! she warned, leaving me
Fireflies
by Stephen Cramer We could have borrowed beads from our parents’ dresser tops or peeled faux mother of pearl buttons from our sweaters, but
Subway
by Stephen Cramer Steel lemmings, they follow one another as they’d grown accustomed to all those years, the old New York City subway cars hauled
Ate -ba-na-na-too-dah-lah
by Stephen Cramer This is the liquid mantra that the woman in the bespangled mumu repeats every three & a half breaths, practically singing
Shattered
by Bryce Milligan I’ve seen mezzo sopranos shatter glass and wondered how this high A–flat that sings — an octave above my guitar’s last
Finger of the Goddess
by Bryce Milligan I took the finger of the goddess, broke it from her statue in the shadows cast by years so dim now they cannot be told from
Sowing in the Snow
by Bryce Milligan The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind. — Emily Dickinson Deep in this
As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams
by Michael Estabrook As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.
Had we but world enough, and time.
by Michael Estabrook Had we but world enough, and time. Andrew Marvell 1 Just like that, before I knew it, 40 years had gone, the
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
by Michael Estabrook Hell is empty and all the devils are here. William Shakespeare 1 Yes I know I could’ve become a famous poet that
Telling a Friend about Reading Lorca in the Alhambra
by Mary O’Donnell This was happiness, I said. We talked about the quick, perfect stealth of those moments. I sat beneath orange trees, and the
Those Prostitutes in Cuba
by Mary O’Donnell for J S They were like two kittens, he said, snuggling up to him, they were fun and they liked him. I thought —
comfort station
by normal “in the wind time walks” — Nanao Sakaki 1 i am building soft nets for death by
in the loved & tortured eyes
by normal “in defeat there are no prophets and no magicians only the look in the loved and tortured eyes”
remembering janis
by normal her pain devil ran so deep, her song was just an exorcism in blues maybe the boys back in port arthur were as she said, that
Some lines for Amy Winehouse (in the rain)
by Gerald McCarthy The first time I heard Mary Wells sing The one who really loves you — I was eighteen in a place called Tam Ky where it rained
Definitions for an election year
by Gerald McCarthy Grief was the name of your friends’ dog — a black Labrador that ran off along the shore of Lake Michigan, the summer you
Winter Simple
by Elizabeth Tibbetts So this is my winter life at night tucked in bed alone with a book of poems and a magazine (my secret vice) that professes
Matter
by Elizabeth Tibbetts If I didn’t walk these grass paths, fit my fingers to the stones to trace names and dates, births and deaths, if I didn’t
The Bear
by Elizabeth Tibbetts It’s a hot May day at the graveyard: enough breeze to keep black flies away, leaves sunning their green naked selves, an
Everything Looks Perfect
by Elizabeth Tibbetts Our guide holds a telescope thick as a man’s arm as she scans the bay for signs of a finback’s spout or the black back of a
Every Which Way
by Susan Sherman Imagine a globe spinning through space You are standing in Canada The stars are singularly bright You watch them in
The Tears of Things
by Susan Sherman Will they cry for us when we have gone the objects that adorn our lives When we have left will they miss our touch our need
Emptying the Ashes
by Judy Kaber Each morning they accumulate in the belly of my stove, grey, giving off little smoke or heat, hiding the small, hot coals that I
Prayer on the edge of the morning
by Judy Kaber For the slow stretch of highway under slight stars the frames that hold lost fathers, black and white sisters. For the chives,
Ripley
by Judy Kaber After the timbers rotted the roof fell in, the garden became nothing but a field of hay. We made our way in, plucked memories from
Artist Biographies
Poet Biographies
Wren Tuatha
Wren Tuatha’s poetry has appeared in Canary, Coachella Review, Baltimore Review, Loch Raven Review, Driftwood Press, and in the anthology
Elizabeth Tibbetts
Elizabeth Tibbetts has had work appear in The American Scholar, The Beloit Poetry Journal, and the Northwest Review. Her book, In the Well, won
Susan Sherman
Susan Sherman is the founding editor of IKON magazine and has had thirteen plays produced off-off Broadway. She has published seven collections
Carlos Martínez Rivas
Carlos Martínez Rivas (1924—1998), is celebrated throughout the Hispanic world, but still almost unknown to English readers, he was a Nicaraguan
Joe Richey
Joe Richey is a poet, translator, and musician living in Boulder, Colorado. He is the publisher of the Boulder micropress Selva Editions, and
Margaret Randall
Margaret Randall is a poet, essayist, oral historian, translator, photographer, and social activist. She lived in Latin America for 23 years
Leymen Pérez
Leymen Pérez (Matanzas, Cuba, 1976) is a poet, editor, cultural promoter, and teacher. Among his poetry titles are Colonial Corrientes, The book
Mary O’Donnell
Mary O’Donnell is a highly regarded poet, novelist, and short-story writer. Her poetry is translated into Hungarian, Spanish, and Portuguese.
normal
normal has published nearly 600 pieces between 1992 —2015 (without the internet). He has been called “one of the last American primitives” in
Bryce Milligan
Bryce Milligan has been the publisher, editor, and book designer of Wings Press since 1995. His most recent books of poetry include, Lost and
Mark Melnicove
Mark Melnicove teaches English and creative writing at Falmouth High School in Falmouth, Maine. His poems have appeared in Gargoyle, Vlak, and
Gerald McCarthy
Gerald McCarthy’s his new poems appear in I–70 Review and Full — An Anthology of Moon Poems from Two of Cups Press. An essay,
Michael Mark
Michael Mark is a hospice volunteer and long walker. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Bellevue Literary Review, Cimarron Review,
Judy Kaber
Judy Kaber has had her work published in both online and print journals, including Off the Coast, The Comstock Review, and The Guardian. She is
Roger Hickin
Roger Hickin was born in New Zealand in 1951, he is a visual artist and poet. He has published translations of Rogelio Guedea, Blanca
John Field
John Field is a retired high school English teacher. After he graduated from the University of Iowa, he and his wife lived in Paris and London
Michael Estabrook
Michael Estabrook is a recently retired baby boomer child-of-the-sixties freed after working 40 years for “The Man” and sometimes “The Woman.”
Stephen Cramer
Stephen Cramer his books of poems include, Shiva’s Drum and Tongue & Groove, both published by University of Illinois Press. From the Hip,
Lauren Camp