Dear Readers,

When we launched Waterwheel Review, we were keen to explain why we were so moved and motivated by the image of the waterwheel. Water stands for language, an ever flowing, renewable source; the waterwheel, an engine of labor, circles through, lifting words and then dropping them back into the running stream. Our magazine is a mill, we said, where the waterwheel powers writing and publishing. “We want—and need—to make things.”

For a couple of years, now, we have known that we can’t make enough of our own things while we give so much energy to the work of others. We have had to cut substantially the time and attention devoted to our own writing, and mostly we have been glad to do it, determined to find a way to repay our own work in the end. We never did find that way.

If we could quit our jobs and earn that income publishing this magazine, we would take that deal in an instant. But that’s not the world we live in. For many, many months we have known this, but we couldn’t accept it until now. And thank goodness for that.

Every single issue of this magazine has been a wonder that transported and enchanted us. We can’t say we gloried in every moment. We read or edited or built the site at times while sick, exhausted, grieving—that’s the nature of any publication. But we damn well gloried in every word, every paired image and sound.

Four years and thirty-six issues: What an honor to publish our contributors. What a privilege to offer stunning work to our readers. We must use the word pleasure, too, always rolled out to accompany “honor and privilege,” but pleasure isn’t strong enough, nor is gratitude nor joy nor blessing. For once we find ourselves at a loss for words to express precisely what it has meant to keep this waterwheel turning.

Maybe this will do it: How many times does anyone ever fully achieve the glittering, half-glimpsed vision floating above; that winking, flirting piece of art we ache to manifest? For the three of us, precisely this once.

We will keep making things and so will you. We started this magazine with the image of the waterwheel and a Jean Rhys quote, and we will end in the same way, as we thank you for reading and submitting, and wish you and yours all the very best:

Listen to me. All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. And there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don’t matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.

—Claire, Suzanne, Cheryl

September 1, 2024: Waterwheel Review will stay online for the foreseeable future. It remains as it looked for the final June 2024 issue.

Andrew Oram

The final chord

by Andrew Oram

December 2022

No one could speak
Bows were still quivering, the baton aloft at the podium

The diminuendo had left the air reverberating like a white flame
There was no boor blasting the silence with a cough or sputtered bravo

Instead, we sat in wonderment…

Could we dare to stand after three hammer blows of fate?
Would the married youngsters enjoy the simple gifts of the Appalachian hillside?
Could the symphonist have lived to add a fourth movement?
What new mischief will Puck flit to after making amends?
Would carpets still glide over Arabian nights?
Did the heartbroken maiden truly die
Or would she rise for the next day’s matinee, filled anew with trusting adoration?

Andrew Oram has published in The Economist, the Journal of Information Technology & Politics, and Vanguardia Dossier. His poems have appeared in Ají, Conclave, Genre: Urban Arts, Heron Clan, J Journal, Main Street, Nine Cloud Journal, Poetry Leaves, Steam Ticket, Waymark Literary Magazine, and elsewhere. He has lived in the Boston, Massachusetts area for almost 50 years.