No longer just “cumen in” summer is with us, all reds and greens and gold (did I leave out anything?) Oh yeah, and the latest issue of Streetlight. Soon to appear in these very pages. As it were. We’re all tourists in this world and right now, right in this spot, it’s a good place to be. We hope to prolong our visit. Oh yeah, and the pond is back. Apparently they weren’t eradicating it, when the fences went up and the earth movers came in, they were just digging it out. We were pretty … Continue reading Summer Has Come In→
A discussion of place continued. One of the distressing things about place is the way places are always disappearing. It’s an odd thing to think about – or at least, I think it’s odd. That may be because I grew up in a rural area. City dwellers, it seems to me, are more used to change. That restaurant where we liked to eat last year? Gone. The bank at the corner of North and Pearl? A parking lot. Or the other way around (most likely). Rural areas change so slowly, it’s possible to develop an … Continue reading A Little Bit Haunted→
Thanks, Jim This is by way of being a thank-you note to Jim Bundy, whose excellent blog of April 28, this year, so well demonstrated what it is to think metaphorically on the subject of street light. The “blurring of streetlights and angels” indeed. That challenge to “transcend the separateness” seems to me to be a very appropriate gauntlet for Jim to throw down not only before himself, but before the editors and potential contributors to this magazine. And certainly, its readers. The unromantic fact, of course, is that the present editors of Streetlight Magazine … Continue reading Thanks, Jim→
I used to think the school at which I taught should have been named Rodney Dangerfield High because nobody got any respect. Oppressive rules treated students like babies. Weapons checks regarded them as criminals. Teachers faced overcrowded classrooms with shamefully inadequate resources and endured blatant—and often profane—rudeness from students and endless interruptions from everyone. We—the teachers—disregarded administrative rules as a matter of course. Other high schools and the district as a whole disdained us because we were small and had no football team, because our basketball team had a reputation for fighting and mayhem (because … Continue reading Lunchero by Larry Strauss→
I had just finished reading the estimable Jeremy Dean’s noteworthy PSYBLOG today, titled. “10 Foolproof Tips for Overcoming Procrastination,” when I noticed that my next email was from Trudy Hale, the Editor in Chief of this magazine. And what it was about was that I had not done my blog for this week. We don’t each do a blog every week, but take it in turns, as you may have noticed. I had no excuse. I forgot it was my turn. I take forgetting to be a form of procrastination and I have good reason … Continue reading Oh Yes, You “Forgot?”→
When we say Streetlight what do we mean? Anyone who’s thinking of submitting work to this magazine, anyone who’s thinking of looking at what’s inside it, might want to know the answer to that question. It’s one we’ve been tossing back and forth, here on the editorial board, and so I thought I might carry the discussion a little further into public parlay. What do I mean by street light? To put it another way, what is it I think we think we’re bringing to light here? Obviously – if you take a look at … Continue reading The Street Where We Live→
Here at Streetlight, our favorite nonfiction is the personal essay and after reading some recent submissions, I’ve been thinking about my own family stories. One of my favorites is one that didn’t happen to me, but to my mother when she was a child. It’s a story I heard several times and always was amused by – but, I notice, differently as time goes by. The story could be told with this caption: “The Day My Mother Got Kissed by Warren G. Harding,” and it’s as short a story, as the events it features. The … Continue reading Speak Memory, But Not Too Much→
The poet/novelist James Dickey – who, among his many accomplishments, wrote the novel, Deliverance, is said to have once claimed that reading detective fiction was like opening a gift by first eating the excelsior. Dickey was really onto something with his cruel remark, but perhaps no one remembers excelsior (I’m assuming a quorum of readers who remember Deliverance). Excelsior, for those fortunate enough not to know, was material made from thinly sliced curled wood shavings and used to provide packing for fragile merchandise. It was later replaced – within living memory of some of us … Continue reading Excelsior!→
Call them festivals, retreats, or extended workshops. They all have many things in common: the well known faces, the intensive sessions, the performances, the camaraderie. As Chaucer noted so long ago, folk like to go on pilrimage and we don’t seem to have discarded the idea. All this comes to mind for me right now because it’s time to sign up the Palm Beach Poetry Festival, the one actual writing workshop I’ve ever been to. I won’t be going this year, but I wish I could. Sigh. The Palm Beach Poetry Festival, besides being representative … Continue reading Are You Going This Year?→
I read your obituary in the paper today. It said you were 49 years old when you died. You left to mourn a wife, three children, one grandchild, a sister, and foster parents who steered you in the right direction. You worked for a construction company and were a volunteer fireman. It had been so long since I’d seen you. I was nine and you were ten. You came to school mid-year, after everyone had been assigned a desk and knew their place on the bus. I was in third grade and you were in … Continue reading Dear Johnny… by Margaret Thacker→
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