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Art and Creativity

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Cain’s Fate

Book Review

Cheever’s narrative details the later history. It tells the story of the wanderer, the outcast, the man cursed from the ground. It is a story not just of the fate of Cain, but also of the society which condemns him.

By David M. Guy May 1977
Photography

Photographs By John Toms

The photographs in this selection are available as a PDF only. Click here to download. By John Toms May 1977
Photography

Drawings By Carl Harp 126-516

Being is my every breath, the truth I bathe in; Reality is my all even when it tears at me behind these walls. I will not look away, I have seen all the games, and though I am not perfect (who is?) I am not needing those things for they are not lasting.

By Carl Harp May 1977
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

For Freedom

Write what matters, as well as possible, risking triteness, risking being labeled political, risking being under or overfunded, risking being imprisoned. The only weapon anyone really has against you is death. And that weapon, too, the older poets used to say, can be turned against an enemy.

By Judy Hogan April 1977
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Another Appetite

Except for a few independent strands, her soft white hair is pulled back from one of the gentlest faces ever to smile through a window. Her dress is plain, as comfortable as her worn blue tennis shoes, yet feminine.

By Judy Bratten April 1977
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Where I Write

“Where do I write?” a good friend asked me. And when? And how? What are all the externals? He thought it might be helpful to others to know that I sit in a chair, near a window; that I eat and drink without limits, impulsively; that I like to look out at something natural.

By Judy Hogan March 1977
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Dearest Jewel

The most important thing about small press poetry is probably direct personal contact with our readers. When I sell on the street or at fairs, I live for the occasional smile of incredulous pleasure from people who like poetry but have never seen a poet.

By B.E. Stock February 1977