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Winter 2010 Issue

Jack Elliot Myers
November 29, 1941 – November 23, 2009

Trying to capture a life and a spirit on a page is daunting, especially when that life belonged to a friend, mentor, and poet of incisive humorand stunning sensitivity. It was our hope that the many voices in this issue of Jack’s friends, colleagues, former students, and fellow seekers would help those who never knew him to understand how deeply we have been touched by his passing. To learn about Jack’s life and his extensive contributions to the literary world, please go to www.thewritersgarret.org.

Our Winter 2010 Issue features poetry by Harriet Sohmers ZwerlingCarol WestbergLeslie UllmanDaniel Nathan TerryBruce SpangChristopher SodenBetsy ShollChristopher RussellSuzanne RhodenbaughNaomi Shihab NyeB.Z. NiditchAriana NashJack MyersDaryl MorazziniJim McGarrahMichael MacklinSandee LylesJoanne LowerySydney LeaRichard JacksonNorbert HirschhornAlexander EtheridgePatrick DillonBrad DavisMark CoxPaul ChristensenW.E. ButtsAndrea BlancasRobin BehnRalph Angel and Marian Aitches. With artwork by Stephen Koharian and Jessica Goldfinch. Reviews by Michael Macklin and Meghan Cadwallader.

Fall 2009 Issue

Summer 2009 – Tribute to Juan Gelman

DARK TIMES / FILLED WITH LIGHT
DARK TIMES / FILLED WITH LIGHT

The summer 2009 issue of The Café Review, guest edited by poet Paul Pines, is a tribute to the Argentinean poet Juan Gelman. Here is an excerpt from the forward written by Ilan Stavans. get a copy of this amazing issue today by becoming one of our subscribers. To view a couple of Juan Gelman’s poems that atre contained in this issue, check out excerpts under our current issue section.

” (Juan Gelman)…fits into the tradition of Latin American poetry by the relentless courage he displays to speak truth to power.  Where did the Argentine experiment go wrong?  How could it reach such levels of human depravity after it was generally seen as the most advanced, cosmopolitan country in the Southern Hemisphere? Time and again Gelman has pondered these questions, but he refuses to answer them.  The most a poet can do is describe what he sees.  In a 1980 poem about the prisoners’ loneliness, he described the protagonists as “dreaming they’re dreamed / quieted / they’ll never see other faces growing / leaning out / continued / in this sun / someday in the sun of justice.”  And in his remarkable piece, “The Art of Poetry,” dated 1961, he affirms: “I’ve never been the owner of my ashes, my poems, / obscure faces write them like firing bullets at death.