Literature Without Labels
Retro car with heart by Sergey Peterman from Bigstock.
Background photo of blurred crowd by Brian Merrill from Pexels.
Background photo of rotary phone by 幻影 多媒体 from Pexels.
Background photo of lapis lazuli by Hannes Grobe (CC BY-SA 2.5) via Wikicommons.
John Prine was one of my favorite writers. When he died of Covid, I took a day off to mourn him. As always, I found refuge in his lyrics.
His songs are full of stories that somehow marry goofiness, poignancy, and deep sadness. Despite appreciation for his work, my husband can listen to Prine only in short spurts or he will sink into melancholy. I’m so surprised by this, because it’s the sadness that I appreciate most. Writing that captures our worries and griefs comforts me. No, much more. It buoys me. I rise.
All genuine hardship and loss boil down to the same elemental pain, and no one gets through this life unscathed. How lucky we are to see the proof—in prose, verse, music, painting—that we are not alone with our dark thoughts, this trembling uncertainty, that moment of boiling rage. I am channeled, and so I am heartened and then fortified. Now I’m ready to give it all another go.
As our March issue goes live, I am channeled by Erica Kent’s “The Shut-In,” a piece starring a version of myself I work hard not to be, and I know I am far from alone in that, as the pandemic has shown so many of us. In Danielle Joffe’s “Reduction,” I am heartened by a kind of courage I’ve had to summon myself, as have all the women I know. And “My New York Accent” by Anne Myles fortifies the “I am who I am” confidence we’re all building and rebuilding.
I cried at my last John Prine concert. When he hit the stage, strumming and singing, his age knocked me back, and I knew that he would die before I could see him again. As he performed a rough and speedy version of “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore,” I put my face in my hands and wept. Then I wiped my tears and sank into him and his music, savoring every syllable, every note. Every sad smile.
Claire Guyton
“Edvard Munch: Beyond the Scream” by Arthur Lubow, Smithsonian Magazine 2006.
Background photo of house in disrepair by karamush from Bigstock.
“Mitosis vs. Meiosis” and image of a tiny embryo at CK-12.
Background photo of fabric tape measure by newsong from Pixabay.
“Visiting the Lower East Side in 1905” by Dr. Margarita Karasoulas, Assistant Curator of American Art, Brooklyn Museum, and Dr. Steven Zucker, Smarthistory.
Background photo of New York City skyline by Michael Pewny from Pixabay.
The first piece we accepted at Waterwheel Review was “Forgive the Form,” by Christina Rauh Fishburne. We three editors shared the giddy moment on the phone, delighting in the revelation of our first author’s name when we clicked “accept” in Submittable. Christina was just as excited when she set our mill in motion with her reply: “Forgive the Form is yours!”
Not content with one first, Christina quickly delivered another. We would publish her work with two companion pieces, we’d told her, and we welcomed any suggestions. “My brother is musician Charlie Rauh and he would love to write a companion piece of music if that would work!”
If that would work? Our vision for Waterwheel Review had led, already, to exactly the kind of collaboration and community-building we’d fantasized about. I laughed with joy when I read that understatement. Why, yes, Christina, that would work very well.
“Until the Charm Fades” came to us a few days later. I must have listened to it fifteen times, reveling in every note. And now… here we are again. The mill keeps turning, there is yet another talented Rauh sibling, and Christina logs another Waterwheel Review first: A contributor shout-out.
It is our absolute delight to shout about another collaboration connected to the one sparked by our publication of “Forgive the Form.” Today Charlie Rauh celebrates the pre-release of his EP, “The Silent Current from Within.” As with “Until the Charm Fades,” which is included in this newest album, “Silent Current” is a family affair. The piece is inspired by the work of Anne Bronte, Anne Carson, and sister Christina, and the music in turn inspired another sibling project.
Charlie asked his brother Chris to write a folktale based on the music and writings, and he asked Christina to create a map based on the folktale’s details of landscape and setting. Check out the pre-release of the EP by Destiny Records. Charlie tells us there will be a limited run of packages that include the album art, an individually crafted map, a handwritten excerpt of the folktale, and a PDF of the complete tale.
I love everything about this project. The line from the Bronte siblings to the Rauh siblings; the spiraling out of vision and collaboration; the leaping from one art form to another and back again. In a time of enduring disconnection, when all of us are suffering one kind of loss or another, when even those of us who have stayed well and mostly whole are beginning to fray…. Well. We can still make beautiful things. And share in the joy of it.
Claire Guyton