Blog / Interviews

10 Questions for Chelsea B. DesAutels

August 3, 2020 - By Edward Clifford

All day the sun moved over the rock I say on.
All day I tried to think like an elk.
I'd been drinking bad wine
from a thermos and counting the blades
on little bluestem. It was nearly dark
when they finally appeared under the gnarled oak,
brown legs in prarie grass. And there's the bull—
—from "Ghost Child," Volume 61, Issue 2 (Summer 2020)

Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.
In college, I was fortunate to take a workshop with Frank Bidart. I was an English/Pol Sci major but hadn’t taken any creative writing courses. I remember so clearly my first poem for that workshop! I wrote about my great-grandparents and the cabin they build by hand in the Black Hills in 1929....

10 Questions for David Moolten

July 27, 2020 - By Edward Clifford

We stayed together like two voices
trying to find each other in the dark.
She had an uncle like a father to her
except when like a king he made her
bow her head, and if he held it
to his groin it was in a secret life
she kept from no one save herself. . . .
—from "The Twelve Dancing Princesses," Volume 61, Issue 2

Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.
One of the first mature pieces I had published was a poem called “Trajectories,” about a boy diagnosed with cancer and his relationship with his mother. I was at that time dealing with such a diagnosis. I wasn't a boy. I was twenty-six, but scared, felt I'd suddenly regressed in certain ways. At the same time, the...

10 Questions for Mirgul Kali

July 21, 2020 - By Edward Clifford

The pass through the mountains led into a narrow, serpentine ravine with dense forests of birch and poplar on both sides. A caravan of nine camels loaded with bridal dowry and accompanied by a couple dozen men and women on horseback slowly made its way along the rocky trail, now ascending steadily, now dipping abruptly downhill. The sun, that had only recently been seen high overhead, occasionally peeked between the stark gray hilltops, which crowded and clambered on top of one another. At times, the sun hid behind them and shadows fell on the canyon walls, turning them deep green. Only the pale bark of the tall birch trees, slender and close-set, shone dimly in the dark. Toqsaba, riding in the middle of the procession kept turning to look at his young bride.
—from...

10 Questions for Eugenio Volpe

July 14, 2020 - By Edward Clifford

By the age of eight, I had heard all the horror stories about my father.

I had heard the one about him literally putting his fist through a cop's face. I had heard the one about him sending a badass Irish gangster into convulsions with a single jab. And who hadn't heard the navy tale about Tony Volpe punching his chief petty officer with a bottle of San Miguel in hand, punching him repeatedly, even after the bottle had burst, punching with the jagged end, again and again, disfiguring the man's face and permanently blinding one eye.
─from "Jesus Kicks His Oedipus Complex," from Volume 61, Issue 2 (Summer 2020)

Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.
My grandfather immigrated from Abruzzo, Italy to Quincy,...

10 Questions for Alexandra Kulik & Julian Senn-Raemont

July 6, 2020 - By Edward Clifford

Through the window, the day probably looks less distant that it is, Sebastian decided. Or he himself wasn't ready to interact with it. Ones step into a new day changes the course of time, he read once on a sign at the mall. For today he chose a T-shirt with blue and gray geometric shapes, and loose underpants. He stared into the emptiness of Brighton Street, without having the apocalyptic sentiment that a personless street is an empty street, or any other train of thought. The sunlight strode in and out of the breaks in shade. He watched this with all his mind but no judgment. Sebastian was an innocent boy.
—from "Through the Window," Volume 61, Issue 2 (Summer 2020)

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