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New Releases from Červená Barva Press
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The Telling by Denise Bergman
Červená Barva Press, 2013
DENISE BERGMAN is the author of Seeing Annie Sullivan, poems based on the early life of Helen Keller's teacher. She conceived and edited City River of Voices, an anthology of urban poetry. Her poems have been widely published. An excerpt of her poem about a neighborhood slaughterhouse is installed as public art in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Denise Bergman's second collection of poems is astonishingly original: I can't think of another work that uses something so small to such large effect. The Telling is ultimately about time and memory, art and truth, women and birth and death, and it all comes from "A sepia memory/mildeweed, perhaps, or not"-a tiny center around which Bergman's lyrical intelligence moves with haunting power and grace.
As scribe to the recounting of a few harrowing childhood hours that would shape her grandmother's life, Denise Bergman examines trauma, suppression and how the honest mind must sometimes alter truth. This, then, is no simple compassion; as the narrator bears witness to the recounting of a monumental and guilt-laden secret, Bergman searches underneath the told story. In her spare, halting lines and the wide silences between them, one senses a tender and horrified listening, and in this listening an implied counterpoint, a murmur of truths unspeakable. Every object in The Telling has a vulnerable, culpable animus. All are witnesses. Bergman's testimony acknowledges the heartbreaking necessity of amnesia.$17.00 | ISBN: 978-0-9910091-4-5 | 84 Pages | In Stock
September 12, 2013: Pleasure Trout by Gloria Mindock
Pleasure Trout by Gloria Mindock
Muddy River Books, 2013
Gloria Mindock is founding editor of Cervena Barva Press, editor of the Istanbul Literary Review based in Istanbul, Turkey, and one of the USA editors for Levure Littéraire in France. She is the author of La Portile Raiului (Ars Longa Press, 2010, Romania) translated into the Romanian by Flavia Cosma, Nothing Divine Here (U Šoku Štampa, 2010, Montenegro), and Blood Soaked Dresses (Ibbetson, 2007). Gloria's poetry has been translated and published into the Romanian, Serbian, Spanish, and French.
Widely published, her work has appeared in Murmur of Voices, Vatra Veche, UNU: Revista de Cultura, and Citadela in Romania. Other literary journal publications include: Arabesques, Poesia, Phoebe, Poet Lore, Blackbox, River Styx, Bogg, Ibbetson St., WHLR, Web Del Sol, Lost in Thought, and in the anthology Hildagards Daughters (Belgium). Her flash fiction has recently been published in Thrice and Thunderclap. She has work forthcoming in Bliss.
Gloria has had nominations for the Pushcart Prize, St. Butolph Award and was awarded a fellowship from the Somerville Arts Council. She was co-founder of Theatre S & S. Press, Inc. and was one of the founding editors of the Boston Literary Review/BLuR from 1984-1994. Theatre S. received grants from the Polaroid Foundation, The Rockefeller Foundation, The Globe Foundation, NEFA, Massachusetts Cultural Council, and the Somerville Arts Council.
Gloria works as a social worker and freelances teaching workshops. She facilitates events in her Cervena Barva Press studio, located in the Center for the Arts at the Armory in Somerville, MA.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
The poems in this chapbook are all mistranslations taken from poems in languages unknown to me. Sometimes a foreign word would remind me of a word in English. I wrote what I thought the poems were saying knowing that I was wrong in my interpretation. The whole purpose was to write as quickly as I could while looking at the foreign language. I mostly used poems written in Romanian, Serbian, Italian, Spanish and Polish. This is one of my favorite ways to write. This is a work of fiction. Don't try to understand what is written here. Just enjoy the nonsense.$7.00 | 42 Pages | In Stock
September 12, 2013: Dead Letters by JP Reese
Dead Letters by JP Reese
Červená Barva Press, 2013
JP Reese earned an MFA from The University of Memphis. Her poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, book reviews, and writer interviews have been published or are forthcoming in many online and print journals such as Metazen, Blue Fifth Review, A Baker's Dozen: Thirteen Extraordinary Things, and The Pinch. Reese is Associate Poetry Editor for Connotation Press: An Online Artifact, www.connotationpress.com, and Guest Fiction Editor for Scissors and Spackle. Reese's poetry chapbook Final Notes was published by Naked Mannekin Press in 2012. Reese's flash fiction has won the Patricia McFarland Memorial Prize and her poetry has won The Graduate School Creative Writing Award from The University of Memphis. Her published work can be read at Entropy: A Measure of Uncertainty, jpreesetoo.wordpress.com. Reese lives and works in Texas.
"In the new collection Dead Letters, the music of JP Reese's poetry never strikes a false note. The voice in her writing is always unmistakable, genuine, and penetrating. These poems – and you will keep them close to you – serve as maps for journeys over dark and grieving landscapes. This is a strong poetry that promises and delivers a place, finally, of human faith, of hope under 'the arid bone of flowered stars'."
—Sam Rasnake, poet and author of Inside a Broken Clock from Finishing Line Press.
"There is a sort of formal antiquity and modern lyricism at play in JP Reese's Dead Letters—lovers and family, mythology, allusion, and everyday moments so minute that it is only the persistent ache a reader experiences that alerts her of her own transport elsewhere. Reese's poetry is subtle that way. And powerful. A departure."
—Heather Fowler, poet and author of the new short story collection This Time While We’re Awake from Aqueous Books.
The lamp spreads its yellow halo$7.00 | 33 Pages |In Stock
over my mother's dark curls.
Smoke swirls around her face
as she reads, a tea pot in its cozy,
rose-painted cup and saucer near.
Pall Mall butts lie discarded
in the ashtray, tipped with Avon's
latest red. Unthinking,
she raises delicate fingers
to her pink tongue, dabs a sliver
of tobacco from its tip. Never
taking her eyes from the book
cradled in her lap, she lives
another life. My father
sleeps, rooms away, unaware
of the change taking place
in the cooling, midnight air.
My Father's Eyes a memoir by Mary Bonina
My Father's Eyes a memoir by Mary Bonina
Červená Barva Press, 2013
Mary Bonina has published two collections of poetry, Clear Eye Tea and Living Proof. She is also the author of Lunch in Chinatown, a chapbook of poems inspired by the experience of teaching the English language to recent immigrants in their work places. Her poetry and prose has been featured in Gulf Stream, Salamander, English Journal, Hanging Loose, and in many other journals and several anthologies, most recently in Entering the Real World: VCCA Poets on Mt. San Angelo, celebrating forty years of the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. Commissioned by composer Paul Sayed, she wrote a suite of three poems, Grace in the Wind, and Sayed's composition for piano, cello, and soprano voice had its world premiere at the Longy School of Music of Bard College, Cambridge, Massachusetts in November of 2012. Bonina is a graduate of the M.F.A. Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. In addition to being a Virginia Center for the Creative Arts Fellow since 2001 when she was named the finalist for the Goldfarb Fellowship in non-fiction, she is also a member of the Writers' Room of Boston, Inc. where she is working on a novel and a new collection of poetry. She lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with her husband, poet Mark Pawlak and their son, Gianni Bonina-Pawlak.
ADVANCE PRAISE for MY FATHER’S EYES
"Not many pages into this gloriously moving book, a feeling begins to grow that it would have been a humbling yet exquisite experience to have sat and talked with Biagio John Bonina. What his daughter Mary Bonina has given us is a solid and lasting portrait of a man who was simple and complicated. (That is not a contradiction once you come to know him.)…America is a country of grand men and women who live on a modest scale, and no one fits that category more than he does. Once his eyes began to fail him, he lived even more for his family and its welfare and his efforts and work make him in my mind, the kind of real hero we fail to glorify anymore. So enter this book and come to know her father and his dedicated overwhelmingly loyal daughter, as well as a large stage of family members and friends who are unforgettable and insanely knowable and human."
—Edward P. Jones, author of The Known World
"Mary Bonina casts her considerable spell with exquisite sentences and unerring evocative details. She is a writer of inordinate compassion, formidable intelligence, and unflinching honesty. My Father’s Eyes documents a family’s coming to grips with the legacy of blindness, a daughter’s unflagging allegiance to her father, and one man’s heroic determination to live a life of independence and quiet dignity despite obstacles that would crush the strongest of us. The book is an inspiration. When I finished reading it, I walked around for days seeing the world through its lens. Yes, it’s that good. It’s that important."
—John Dufresne, author of Requiem, Mass. and No Regrets, Coyote
"Packard. Record player. Telephone party line. Fallout shelter. Holy Ghost. These and other blasts from the past make up the world of this beautiful, clear-eyed memoir that reads like a novel. It’s partly the story of a girl who loved words on her way to becoming a writer. Of all the words in her universe, the most important were eyes and seeing, for this was a girl growing up with a beloved father going blind. Becoming his guide and his eyes, she becomes herself. And what a character he is! We come to know him as if we’re all his children, one minute consumed with terror at the dangers he faces, and the next minute awed by his courage, and the next exasperated by his human flaws. And ultimately, we see and feel for ourselves what his daughter means when she says, “I know about love from being my father’s eyes."$18.00 | ISBN: 978-0-9883713-8-5 | 290 Pages | In Stock
—Ellen Cooney, author of A Private Hotel for Gentle Ladies
New Release: My Life With Blondie by Jiří Klobouk
My Life With Blondie by Jiří Klobouk
Červená Barva Press, September, 2013
Jiří Klobouk writes fiction, radio plays, poetry and essays. He discovered jazz when he was twelve and later began to visualize the world around him through a camera lens - he worked for 20 years in television. These experiences are reflected in his writing. He created a body of work in which as one critique noted: "We could feel the rhythm and see things from unexpected angles." Many short stories have appeared in literary periodicals: Partisan Review, Chicago Review, Stories and Artful Dodge. For Winter Wolves, a story published in Mid-American Review, he was named outstanding writer in the 1985-86 The Pushcart Prize edition. His list of books includes: My Life with Blondie, Winfield, Radio Plays I, Radio Plays II, Music After Midnight, The Stair Climber, Anti-Communist Manifesto (1975), The Homecoming, JAZZ II: Parents and Third Wife. The author lives in New York City.
Translated from the Czech by Helena and John Baker
A fifty-year-old man, named Harley Davidson, has suffered from a vivid fantasy, a condition not as rare as it might seem: alongside reality, which he perceives accurately, he has created for himself a second, parallel world of dreams. When he was seventeen, he fell in love with Blondie he saw on a magazine cover. For the next thirty-three years all he wants is to tell her that he loves her. As time goes by it seems it will never happen, but then one day...
...thirty three years later Harley learns that Blondie (inevitably an aging starlet) is arriving in town to perform at a local bar. She has reserved a room in the rundown hotel where Harley works as a receptionist. Finally, he is convinced his dream will come true.
In this novel, we become acquainted with Harley’s entire life - from childhood, through the demise of two marriages. We follow him on his journey to Austria, Portugal, Germany and Vietnam. It is a story of a human being who, inspired by the power of love, keeps his spirit intact against all odds and circumstances.$18.00 | ISBN: 978-0-9883713-6-1 | 284 Pages | In Stock
June 29, 2013: This is Not a Situation in Which You Should Remain Calm by Michelle Reale
This is Not a Situation in Which You Should Remain Calm
by Michelle Reale
Červená Barva Press, 2013
Michelle Reale is an academic librarian on faculty at Arcadia University in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Her work has appeared in a wide variety of publications both in print and online, including Nano Fiction, Smokelong Quarterly, Pank, Gargoyle, The Pedestal, elimae, JMWW and others. Her work was included in Dzanc’s 2011 Best of the Web Anthology. She is the author of four collections of short fiction and prose poems. She has been twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She blogs on immigration and Migration and Social Justice in the Sicilian context at www.sempresicilia.wordpress.com
Cover Photo: Isabella Reale
"Michelle Messina Reale's poems evoke a deep confessional visitation between the connecting North African landscape and Southern Italian Etruscan bloodlines. She has taken the sparse stones found among the terrain’s ruins and placed them one by one, each carefully aligned in unique prosaic consciousnesses that offer new and alluring formations of the old. Her rhythms are rough in prose, often at the edge as a stone cut at various angles, yet continuous and steadfast. The sensation of the hard and quick gallop of a horse through this horizon of remains and longing is heard. The fortitude of trudging onward, of seeing ruinous sights combined with delicious heated passions, leave the reader sweltering and swollen, understanding the validity of bruises."
—Sonia Di Placido, author of, Exultation in Cadmium Red
"In the title poem Michelle Reale, This is Not a Situation in Which You Should Remain Calm writes: Breathed it in to my pulsating lungs. You will want to breathe in to your pulsating lungs each beautifully crafted poem in this chapbook. You connect with the speaker of these poems on many levels and are drawn into each poem, I found myself holding my breath many times while reading this collection of achingly beautiful poems that encompass the human condition and all that it entails."
—Helen Vitoria, Poetry Editor, Thrush Poetry Journal
"Michelle Reale's poems are imbued in the "now" as much as they are journeys to the long-gone world of our ancestors. The stories she paints are harrowing and touching: alive as lizards and intoxicating as wild flowers. There is an exquisite touch to them: the robust flavor of wine, the taste of the nibbled food and the omnipresent homage to Sicilian religiosity. The beauty of this collection’s landscapes and soulscapes left me yearning for more."
—Alessandra Bava, Author of Guerilla Blues
This is Not a Situation in Which You Should Remain Calm
We held hands until the intersection. He dropped his first. I pulled$7.00 | 32 Pages | In Stock
my coat around me tight, for something to do, the buttons long
gone. My breasts were sore and I shuddered. Don't do that, he said.
He pointed with his head to the ATM machine across the street
from where we stood. Make it enough this time, he said. I hurried
across the street. I heard him greet some men in the street. The
keffiyeh's they wore waved like flags in the wind. They spoke
guttural and urgent. I could hear them over the vibrating traffic, cars
negotiating difficult turns. I stood with my coat open and the wind
ripping a gaping hole through me. I had the money in my hand. He
waved off his friends and came to me. He stood outside the market.
I chose some meat in a plastic package, pink tomatoes small and
premature, grown somewhere far from where we found ourselves.
There was a name for this in my language, but I forgot what it was.
At home I fried the meat. I sliced the tomatoes, cut my finger and
sucked the blood. He made a face, called me simple. Picked his
teeth right in front of me and I thought of what my father might say.
He stared at me, his face softening by degrees. I pulled down the
neck of my blouse, revealing my bruised breasts. Purple and green
and yellow flowers bloomed like a night flower. He set his toothpick
down. It wasn't me, he said. His coffee boiled over on the stove. I
smelled the scorch. Breathed it in to my pulsating lungs. Salvaged
what was left. Served it the way he'd become accustomed to; hot.
A curl of lemon skin. Never sugar.