Who? What? Why?!

Originally posted on A World of Words:

If you know me well, or at all, or even from the title of this blog, you can tell that I’m a logophile. What’s a logophile, you ask? Why, it’s a very rarely used word for a person who loves words! I’m also a bibliophile, an ailurophile, and occasional Anglophile, but that’s not important at the moment. This blog post is simply here to serve as a brief (if…

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New Blog by Daniel Bourne

New Blog by Daniel Bourne

Hello again, lovely writers at WordPress!

I am pleased to announce that Artful Dodge’s editor-in-chief, our very own Prof. Daniel Bourne, now has his own WordPress blog! Exciting, right?

Here’s the link: danielbourne.voices.wooster.edu

The blog will feature his personal writing (coming soon!) and contains links to his written works as well as interviews and poetry readings available online. So…

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Big Changes Down the Pike for Artful Dodge

Big Changes Down the Pike for Artful Dodge

Dear Subscribers,

On behalf of the entire Artful Dodge team, sorry for the radio silence, guys. For me at least, it was a tough and pretty busy semester and so, I unfortunately slacked off when it came to keeping our blog updated. But…we’re back with a bang now!

We are proud to announce that we are FINALLY switching over to online submissions! From our website:

Please note some BIG CHANGES down…

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The Language of the Dead

by Daniel Bourne

image

One of those days when the earth

seems to make its own light, even during a hard rain

the autumn leaves radiant. We have just visited 

the grave of a murdered Polish priest. We watched 

workmen cut flowers and put them in vases. Later,

we buy postcards in the church kiosk: the battered

         body

fished out of the reservoir; the village road sign

where he was kidnapped; each photo a station

of the twentieth-century cross. Such a day

— Stanza Break 

weights the earth. When we go home to warm tea,

to the heat of our bodies, the heft of our dictionaries

with their broken spines, we try to break through

to the language of the dead. Tomorrow,

we will shop in the stores, but no one

will acknowledge our presence.

(Warsaw, October 1985)

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Poetry that Sticks:

Woman’s Mummy Shroud, Egypt ca. AD 150

by Laura Scheffler Morgan

They are discussing restaurants, those

across the street and some further; bread,

she says she wants, I thought I saw one with fresh bread.

                   Just above the woman’s head, a vulture holds splayed

feathers in its grip The scavenger is protecting the woman—

preserving her, the museum note says…

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To Katherine: At Twelve Weeks

by Joelle Biele

Those nights nothing could soothe you,

and nothing explained your love of Fillmore’s

Circus Bee, the crash of Samson and Delilah,

or any full-throttle Sousa at 2 AM.

Midnight maestro, you conducted the spheres.

We drew our sabers and danced we waltzed

moon rivers, we swayed with the ladies

of sorrow, we scat with the ladies of joy.

The house a sudden hush, wed whistle 

with the panes, measure the hours with the wind,

we’d study the alphabet of sleep.

Do you remember the dark swelling up,

the snow, the white and icy fields?

My love lost in grief, you were my claire de lune

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