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Posts Tagged ‘Ellen Welcker’


The poems in Hummingbird Magazine are often captured moments, sudden discoveries and delights. All are very short, no more than a dozen lines or so.

The first poem in the issue, “Fresh Snow,” by Ann Spiers, strikes me this way. “A rush of finches / beaking off cherry blossoms. We move / our picnic… north for this” The contrast of snow and a picnic keeps me coming back, like trying to solve a little puzzle.

Ellen Welcker presents a fine moment in “Leona Carrington’s Self Portrait.” “It’s rare that someone paints herself only to find / she has painted you.” She develops this idea amusingly at first, (“Terrible shirt underneath”) but ends with a surprising moment of strength and challenge.

Kristina Pfleegor starts us in one direction, “twenty years of sun / score her face…” but ends with almost a whipsaw twist, despite being contained in a 17 syllable/three line format.

Teresa Mei Chuc writes a macabre little fantasy about a hummingbird making itself too much at home. “Last night the legs of a hummingbird pushed through…”

Reviewing such an issue obviously has its own challenge, trying to give a taste of the flavor of the poems but not too much away. Let me only say that there are many more little gems here which I would heartily recommend as well, each a joy to dip into.

Peace in poetry,

P M F Johnson

My eBook of poems, Against The Night, a sweet, rueful look at love in a long marriage, is available on Amazon, and at other fine e-retailers.

Related blog posts:

The Missouri Review – Fall 2017

The New Yorker – Nov 20, 17

The Cape Rock – 45.2

 

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I haven’t blogged a Hummingbird Mag before, I don’t believe. The magazine publishes short poetry, much of it quite elegant. The first poem in the issue is “The Lion,” by Megan Snyder-Camp. On first glance, this looks like a fun little poem. But with more consideration, darkness moves beneath it. “Since kindergarten / my son’s class has practiced // for when a lion / enters the building.” Wow.

Ellen Welcker has a series of poems scattered through the magazine, all named “The Sheep.” “O euphemistic failure… a sphincter relaxing.” Each poem presents another piece of the whole. E.g. “A gaze may seek to rest…” and “All her layers of construction.” So the series keeps pulling the reader back in: Oh, there’s more here. Oh, there’s even more. How do these poems relate to each other? How is this sheep getting described, bit by bit? An interesting way of challenging us.

Furthermore, John Burgess does a similar thing, with each of his poems describing a guest bedroom he slept in. But he ups the ante by including drawings of each room he is describing. “Dead birch rotted,” is one image described. Then “It’s quiet (No one else / in the basement…” With that, we realize he’s giving impressions he’s had in each room. His varying experiences. So despite such similar constructions, we are left with very different takeaways from the efforts of the two poets.

I very much enjoyed Jeri McCormick’s untitled poem. “heading home from a winter visit in the mountains…” This poem contains maybe the most words of any in the magazine, though it is still short; a startling moment in life, maybe not life-changing, but maybe that’s the point, that life was not changed, and that can be a very good thing indeed.

I also liked Joanna White’s “She Paints,” entered sideways over two pages. Though not a particularly wide poem, nor particularly long, arranging it this way makes us think of the painter being described. “very nice, /     the grown ups say…” Subtlety in the understatement, here.

And while there are true haiku in this magazine, one poem that struck me with its pair of juxtaposed pure images was “Some Heat” by Joan Halpin. Probably the poem that most jumps off the page in the whole collection.

Peace in poetry,

P M F Johnson

P.S. My new ebook of love poems, “Against The Night,” is up on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and elsewhere, if you like that sort of thing. ;->

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