25/06/2024
Here's my Editor's Note introducing the new issue of Illuminations:
Illuminations was first published in 1982 in Columbia, SC,
which means it’s been in existence for more than 40 years (even
though this issue is only #39). Much has changed over these last
four decades: the global political landscape has changed and
changed again, while our concept of writing has been revolutionized by technology more significantly than since Gutenberg.
With the potential for instant global transmission of any words
we care to tap out, little poetry magazines look less like dinosaurs than one of the myriad apparently insignificant species
that daily become extinct virtually without notice. Illuminations
is more like the Cheongpung Blind-Beetle (officially extinct in
the wild in 2023) than the pterodactyl.
Except that, like the poet in Holly Day’s opening poem of this
issue who hasn’t figured things out and given up, we’re still
here. And we’re still implicitly beating the same drum that
poets and poetry have been beating for millennia, leaving verbal
traces attesting to the preciousness of words in time. As W.H.
Auden famously wrote (and then attempted to cancel) in his
elegy to W.B. Yeats,
Time that is intolerant
Of the brave and innocent,
And indifferent in a week
To a beautiful physique,
Worships language and forgives
Everyone by whom it lives;
Pardons cowardice, conceit,
Lays its honors at their feet.
Thus, while so many of the poems in this issue address the
inevitable passage of time, in their craft, their beauty and their
brokenness, they also illustrate what Joseph Brodsky took from
Auden: that “if time . . . worships language, . . . then isn’t language a repository of time? And isn’t this why time worships it? And isn’t a song, or a poem, or indeed a speech itself, with
its caesuras, pauses, spondees, and so forth, a game language
plays to restructure time? And aren’t those by whom language
‘lives’ those by whom time does too?” In reading Auden’s lines,
Brodsky recognized “a poet who spoke the truth—or through
whom the truth made itself audible.” May the poems in this issue bring you similar moments of recognition, similar illuminations.