The Journal
'...plenty of different styles of poetry in each issue. The result is that, whilst The Journal will never have that sense of comforting familiarity that some 'zine have developed, it will always stretch your boundaries.' The Supplement #73
'...an international magazine in the tradition of Poesie Europe, Ecuatorial, and Labrys. It publishes poems in English, in particular by English-language poets in exile, translations into English alongside the originals, interviews with poets, and appraisals of current poetry scenes...' Wolfgang Görtschacher 'A plainly elegant layout, making the most of its size to incorporate sequences and longer poems, articles and plenty of reviews .... The contents are global ... all saying what has to be said, in ways and words you wish you'd imagined. Shining intelligence, to brighten and inspire serious poetry lovers.' Orbis 'Few publications deliver consistently good issues — The Journal is among them. Filled with well-written poems from some of the best contemporary poets I've ever read, The Journal is the definitive showpiece of the small press. Each issue also contains thorough book and journal reviews composed by writers whose love of literature is evident.' Hyacinthe L. Raven Via Dolorosa Press (USA) '...interesting and experimental while avoiding the obscure and unnecessarily difficult. Add to the excellent selection of poetry, some interesting and insightful reviews and The Journal is a must for anyone who loves poetry and is not afraid of a bit of experimentation and the new insights that this can bring.' Juliet Wilson
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Front cover poem for #61 by J.S. Fink
Front cover poem #62 The Journal by Alessio Zanelli (Italy)
The Vixen
She said:
And for this—boy—you'll die.
All froze on the instant,
then my father's friend replied:
But you—madam—you are a vixen!
She blurted out, irate:
No! I'm not a vixen!
At which he went:
Well, then you're mad
like the coachman's mare!
She stared at us
while we walked past,
I didn't speak for quite a while.
I haven't seen her since,
the hideous, sinister old woman,
and I'm still here,
some ten lusters later.
Yet, whenever I go back there,
to that secluded mountain hamlet,
and I happen to hike along
that narrow pathway
aslope among the granite chalets,
still a shiver slithers down my spine,
and I pick up my pace,
eager to leave the place,
as if I feared to spot a sign.
The Vixen
She said:
And for this—boy—you'll die.
All froze on the instant,
then my father's friend replied:
But you—madam—you are a vixen!
She blurted out, irate:
No! I'm not a vixen!
At which he went:
Well, then you're mad
like the coachman's mare!
She stared at us
while we walked past,
I didn't speak for quite a while.
I haven't seen her since,
the hideous, sinister old woman,
and I'm still here,
some ten lusters later.
Yet, whenever I go back there,
to that secluded mountain hamlet,
and I happen to hike along
that narrow pathway
aslope among the granite chalets,
still a shiver slithers down my spine,
and I pick up my pace,
eager to leave the place,
as if I feared to spot a sign.
