ISSUES | fall 1994
17.2 (Fall 1994)
Featuring work by Rick Campbell, Robert Einaudi, H.E. Francis, Robert Gibb, David Jauss, Willoughby Johnson, Jonathan Kranz, Norman Lavers, Joyce Carol Oates, Diza Sauers, Steve Yates, an interview with Linda Hogan, a found text by Arlene Reynolds… and a History as Literature feature by Gwen and Ardis Hamilton Anderson.
CONTENT FROM THIS ISSUE
Fiction
Sep 01 1994
Roan
For Tio, the worst part about burying horses is having to quarter them, to cut them up so thay fit in the hole. That’s what gets to him most, even more than the shock and disappointment of finding them dead.
Interviews
Sep 01 1994
An Interview with Linda Hogan
Interviewer: Can we begin by talking about your background — where you grew up and the things that you did?
Hogan: My family is from Oklahoma, near Ardmore. My father had a job driving a woman to Denver and he ended up staying there. He met my mother and they got married and I was born in Denver. At that time my father was a carpenter. He later went into the military to feed us, so we did some travelling around.
Poetry
Sep 01 1994
Poetry Feature: Rick Campbell
“To Jennifer, Thinking of Li Po”
“Setting Pins, 1996”
“Even the Ohio Can Change”
“On Missing the First Step on the Moon”
“The Spring in Tevebaugh Hollow”
“Morrison’s”
Poetry
Sep 01 1994
Poetry Feature: Robert Gibb
“Night Moves”
“First Day”
“At the Steelworkers’ Monument During the 100th Anniversary of the Homestead Strike of 1892”
“The Employments of Time in Homestead”
Fiction
Sep 01 1994
All Summer Long
Your grandmother can’t stand the lobster smell stinking up the curtains and furniture and clothes so your uncle Eddie boils the lobsters outside. Eddie enjoys the job.
Poetry
Sep 01 1994
Poetry Feature: David Jauss
“Improvising Rivers”
“After the End of the World”
“The Master Musicians of Joujouka”
Fiction
Sep 01 1994
This Town Won't Be in the United States
On the morning of August 10, 1861, miners at the Morkan Quarry heard thunder. They stepped from the shade of a tool shed and gazed west. Lime powdered them white and matted their hair gray with sweat.
History as Literature
Sep 01 1994
The Gazette Girls of Grundy County
The first problem was to find a paper we could buy with a down payment of $500.00 and a debt of not more than $1,500.00. That would leave us with a few hundred for operating expenses until we “started making a profit.” We knew we wanted a Linotype machine, since setting type by hand, as some country newspapers of that eara were still doing, would leave us little time to write, interview, and pursue the more interesting phases of newspaper work.
Fiction
Sep 01 1994
Someone Like Jane
Ellen Gladney, starched an jewel-bedecked, swooped suddenly upon Delia and Katy, who were mopping up spilled punch.
Nonfiction
Sep 01 1994
Things That Go
I suppose in the old days of Western range a boy started riding a horse at an early age, and the horse, centaur-like, became an extension of his body, and was centrally, almost unconsciously involved in all the trials, losses, gains and exultations that ultimately defined his character.
Found Text
Sep 01 1994
Soldier Girl: The Civil War Memories of Elizabeth Bacon Custer
Elizabeth Clift Bacon, Libbie to family and friends, was born April 8, 1842, in Monroe, Michigan. The only surviving child of Daniel and Eleanor Bacon, she was educated at private girls’ schools in Monroe and New York. In 1862, at Thanksgiving party, she was introduced to a young Union Captain, George Armstrong Custer, called Autie by famile and friends.
Fiction
Sep 01 1994
Homesick: A Play in Two Scenes
LIGHTS UP. A young woman wrapped loosely in a coarse stained blanket, bare-legged, wearing only bloodstained pink wool socks on her feet, speaks.
Fiction
Sep 01 1994
Dispatch
When the call came Jeff had been in the last hours of his shift, damning the thick, recycled air in the control booth.
Fiction
Sep 01 1994
The Last Time My Uncle Came to Visit
I pick my uncle up from the bus station. He’s chain-smoking as usual so I tell him not to use the ashtrays — my mother likes to keep the car nice. He rolls down the window and flicks ashes from time to time. It’s a cool evening.