Issue 11 summer 2007

Berlin Wall 2 by Christopher Novak

riverbabble 11

Lynn Strongin
Featured Writer
Interview and Biography

    "Cry Me A River": A Story in Four Sections
                   i. "Cry Me A River"
                   ii. Sirocco, Spain
                   iii. Candle in a Dish
                   iv. Epilogue: Nights, after the bombing
     (Civil War Widow)

                  Ice Crystals Form on the Mirror
                  The Thrush Alights On The Branch
                  From That Time Forward
                  Change In His Habits
                  Motivated By Misery
                  "Thousands Of Ladies"
                  A Sock A Day For The Soldier
                  The Lack Of Candles
                  What Validation Of Fictional Images
                  Whatever You Look For Is Right Beneath Your Eyes
                  Cruel Dreams
                  PART TWO: Mrs. Pinkard Hated To Overtake Me
                  The Worldless State Of Some Poets
                  A Chatelaine With Keys
                  A Bright-eyed Weasel

Contributing Writers

Rafael Jesús González
          Solstice Song
          Canto del solsticio

          Language of the Moon
          Lenguaje lunar
          Blue Moon
          Luna azul
Ray Succre
Richard Fein
           Wandering Translucent Men
           A Middling Middle Age Man in Middle America
John William McMullen
Thomas Healy
          Him With His Heart in His Head
Elizabeth Scott
           The Gus Stories


Christopher Novak
           Berlin Wall 2

Refuge of sinners. Comforttress of the afflicted. Ora pro nobis. Well has it been said that whosoever prays to her with faith and constancy can never be lost or cast away; and fitly is she too a haven of refuge for the afflicted because of the seven dolours which transpierced her own heart. Gerty could picture the whole scene in the church, the stained glass windows lighted up, the candles, the flowers and the blue banners of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy was helping Canon O'Hanlon at the altar, carrying things in and out with his eyes cast down.
                                 JAMES JOYCE, Ulysses, p. 294., 13/442-449

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