November 2011


I’m very proud to announce that Egress Studio Press is publishing two more Pacific Northwest poets. Vashon Island poet Ann Spiers’ chapbook is titled What Rain Does. The other publication is Her Story of Fire by Bellingham poet Richard Widerkehr. Look for them in the next week or two.

As soon as I finish printing them, Jim Bertolino and I will score, fold, cut, and sew the books. It’s a fairly relaxing pastime. When the poets finally have copies in their hands, I’ll post more information about the poems, the poets, where to purchase the books, and what they look like.

These are the first Egress Studio Press poetry books to be created completely in the studio: from layout to printing to assembly. I’m pretty excited about that. For now, I have to get back to the last edits before Jim and I start constructing the books.

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We are lucky enough to say we have a pal named Garland Richmond, who taught German at Emory University for 37 years, and served as Dean of Student Academic Affairs. He was so valued by the university they named a research award after him! Garland is currently President of Bellingham’s Whatcom Chorale board of directors, and of course contributes his great voice to their programs. His skills as translator were used effectively in translating an entire Chorale program from German into English.

Here’s a beautiful and tragic poem Garland translated from the German with the care we’ve come to expect of him.

Hiroshima
—Maria Luise Kaschnitz
(Translated by Garland Richmond)

The man who threw death down on Hiroshima
Joined a cloister, rings the bells there now.
The man who threw death down on Hiroshima
Jumped in a noose from a stool
And strangled himself.
The man who threw death down on Hiroshima
Went out of his mind, fends off ghosts,
Hundreds of thousands, who come at him nightly,
Resurrected from the dust just for him.

None of that is true.
Not long ago I saw him
In the garden of his house in the suburbs.
The hedges were still young and the rose bushes delicate,
Things don’t grow fast enough for him to hide
In the forest of forgetting. Plain to see was
The naked suburban house, the young wife
Standing beside it in her flowered dress,
Holding the little girl’s hand,
The boy, sitting on the man’s back,
Swinging the whip over his head.
He himself was recognizable
On all fours on the plot of grass, his face
Contorted in laughter, because the photographer
Stood behind the hedge, the eye of the world.

Blueprint by James Bertolino, a broadside. Click on the poem for a larger version.

The poem’s early rhythm and repetition are haunting, and add a kind of urgency to the poem. The second stanza is a simple commentary, with any bitterness justified by what went before. But we still can feel the poet’s fist raised and shaking in the air.

I think one of Garland’s favorite poems may be “Blueprint” by James Bertolino, which is included in Jim’s book Finding Water, Holding Stone. Garland has twice identified New Yorker covers which used the poem’s imagery without crediting the source (he’s such a kidder). I recently made a broadside of this poem to send to Garland as a way of saying “Thank you.” He is a generous soul, active in our community, and very passionate about art, music and literature.

—posted by Anita K. Boyle and James Bertolino