midwinter dreaming

new poetry and art, HINTERLAND cover reveal

wind weaving marsh. moon dewed and tentacled spinning into other creatures. our acres full with dream sustenance, times and seasons. once tied temple doored open with juniper oil. will you not walk with us on this way? beneath the eyelids a woman laying on the bottom of a wooden bowl, forgotten during time. a stone tool. a poem written on an oak leaf. a fire burning with owl feathers. charcoal flying into the night. midwinter dreaming jai michelle louissen

we are weaving ancient motifs today, feathers, ceremony and steps into the dark announcing with one spectacular art piece from Cara di Stephano and three poems by Jeremy Keighley, E. C. Traganas and Turner Wyatt. pieces that sink and soar us, perfect for these darkening days.

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ICARUS WINGLESS
Jeremy Keighley

Walk to the shivering mountain
where small flakes of stone crumble  
to the valley
along the glittering edge to
a gritty shrine
our boots on steps of ancient stone
 
in the distance
a bull stands among the trees
sweating steam
we climb higher, further,
closer to the sun
wingless like Icarus afterwards
 
the way is hard
but heather is where we lie
soft and purple
gazing
at birds circling in blue skies 
closer to the sun
 
twisted limbs strangely entwined
brushing a single waxy feather
sticky,
stop
breathing for the moment
we see Icarus wingless
weightless
fallen


MUSEUM HOURS
E.C. Traganas

This was the day Akhenaten’s mask smiled high above the sun.
A noontime poster-board of gold was papering the sky —
Suspended from the lazy brick-faced edifice below
A sign was glinting rays of light: Museum Closed Today.
 
This hymn of light, this day marred only by the riven asphalt
Steaming with the hyphenated sounds of children chasing
Mindless balls like Sisyphus and marking out their bases
Yelping, squealing droves of jackals digging up the dead;
 
This timeless breath, this day marred only by the old decrepit
Woman, boned and fissured hands like solemn plaster casts
Her hollow eructations, speechless miming, prophetizing
Bold canopic jars that lay in wait for her decay;
 
This open book, this day marred only by a tufted cloud
A dissipating ghost in lonely search, a spinning
Chariot bereft of wheels, casting an umbrous shadow
On the street, the freakish screw to twist the course of things.
 
This was the day an errant volley cracked the pane of walled-up
Time, while silently the tombs of marble rose and wailed
As for their own, and paintings hung their faces upside-down;
 
This was the day a graven mask transformed its ancient image
Into clay: The day of our beginning and our end.
This was the day that woman passed away.



THE ENDEAVOUR
Turner Wyatt
 
at my life’s end i’ll wish
i hadn't pretended to see 
how many pages then peeked
at the punch line– i’ll wish
i’d spent more time outside
a whole year up on that hill
to watch the seasons pass 
from the vantage it was too cold
under such a black night
bright swollen pores stars
not enough to see my feet 
how far they have walked me from that place
i stood up as a child 
and never stopped walking
away as as long as i’m being humbled he said
everyone who leaves home hasn’t any answers
talks in journey language he said everyone
who leaves home, as in, walks away,
falls in love he said death is the only 
ceremony bright enough for a life
 
After Richard Rohr’s conversation with Brene Brown, and Ocean Vuong’s conversation with Krista Tippet.



Cara DiStefano, hailing from central Ohio, USA, spent a significant portion of her childhood exploring the forests surrounding her parents' home and her grandfather's cabin. In 2016, she earned her Bachelors degree in Metalwork and Art History from the Memphis College of Art in Memphis, Tennessee, USA. Subsequently, she was selected for their funded Interdisciplinary MFA in English program, completing her studies in winter 2020 but is still active in the Academy's foundry focusing on cast iron. Currently residing in Wrocław, Poland Cara finds inspiration in the natural world, religious and occult objects, anthropology and actively collects fragments to infuse into her artistic endeavors.

Jeremy Keighley was born in a small town just outside the Peak District, England, he studied in the south of England, spent time in Vienna and Amsterdam and now lives in Alkmaar. He is an actor, a writer, a father of four, a bread baker and a runner. All this somehow seeps into his poetry.

Author of the debut novel Twelfth House and Shaded Pergola, a collection of short poetry and haiku with original illustrations, E.C. Traganas has published in a multitude of literary magazines. She enjoys a professional career as a Juilliard-trained concert pianist & composer, and is the founder/director of Woodside Writers, a literary forum based in New York. www.elenitraganas.com
Shaded Pergola: Haiku & Other Short Poems With Illustrations https://a.co/d/dt81bEh

Turner Wyatt is the co-founder of the Durango Poet Laureate program and editor of How Far Have We Come? The Colorado Poets Laureate Anthology. My work has previously appeared in The Climbing Zine, Poets Choice, and other publications, where I explored themes of nature, loss, and the scarcity of life in an infinite universe.

thank you to all of our readers this year, where we have grown immeasurably, slowly incurring more and more readers. the following couple of Wednesdays we’ll be resending some of our favourite newsletters of the year for you to enjoy over the midseason holidays.

And when we return we will be joined by our new co-editor Saraswati Nagpal who will be stitching together our free newsletter with incredible poetry we have discovered, interviews and art. we hope that you enjoy our collaboration and what is born forth from it.

And a small reveal, our new print cover for HINTERLAND, coming to print via Amazon in January. the cover art is by mesmerising artist Miles Cleveland Goodwin.

what do you think? we’d love to hear your responses to the cover, the art or the incredible writing this newsletter or this year.