GAS Featured Poet: Frederick Pollack

Frederick is author of two book-length narrative poems, THE ADVENTURE and HAPPINESS (Story Line Press; the former reissued 2022 by Red Hen Press), and four collections, A POVERTY OF WORDS (Prolific Press, 2015), LANDSCAPE WITH MUTANT (Smokestack Books, UK, 2018), THE BEAUTIFUL LOSSES (Better Than Starbucks Books, 2023), and THE LIBERATOR (Survision Books, Ireland, 2024). Many other poems in print and online journals. Website: www.frederickpollack.com.

In the Walls

They were in prison under Putin,

then via miracle

came here; are eventually

imprisoned again under Trump,

freed by a larger miracle. That’s when I meet them.

Her English is better than his but she seldom speaks;

her response to camp conditions was

to become a listener. 

Ravaged smile. He, moon-faced, talks readily,

not only about his continuing, death-defying 

activism but a moment in prison when,

at last, he slept. On the verge

of waking he heard, perhaps a fart, perhaps

a curse from a cellmate, a cry

from above, and perceived them not

as sounds from reality but creaks and footfalls

from the corridors behind

this world. Where gods no smarter than we, 

less in fact but immortal, stumble

endlessly forward, sometimes blundering

into our realm where they, by accident,

do mostly ill.

Those Russians are the sort of friends 

I might have had if my life had been more … 

dynamic. I invented them and project 

experiences onto them because

they’re less averse than I to “spiritual” topics,

and because they’re more important.

Blockage

As isolation spreads, the existence of

a spirit world becomes harder and harder

to deny. Some of the living 

are glad their parents are back (and more

connected, for the most part, than before);

some are horrified. And when it’s

kids who return – well, 

of course one’s overjoyed (although 

they’re always in a sense “special needs”).

Welcome for spouses, friends, siblings

depends on the specifics of relationships. 

There’s a return to family, often very extended.

Conservatives especially value it.

One opinion, hard to articulate, is that

what all this reveals is disappointing. 

Whether believed in or not, the afterlife offered

change, perhaps improvement, at least clarity.

Now we learn that everyone 

just wants to come (back) here.

These clouds of dead are merely (though only

hard-right podcasters say it) immigrants …

There’s also the problem 

of ghosts who return to the wrong place.

One showed up at my place.

Seemed slow, insisted I was someone else,

then began to apologize. 

This was early on; I’m afraid I let 

the pressure we were all under show.

Now, years later, I

wander, trying to find 

him or someone who knew him, say I’m sorry.

Belinda's Review of Because of You – Selected Poems by Bilal Al Masri

 

Review: Because of You – Selected Poems by Bilal Al Masri

Translated from Arabic by Dr Anba Jawi MBE and Dr Mohamad Haj Mohamad | Palewell Press, 2024

Bilal Al Masri writes from a country where, as Dr Anba Jawi puts it in her introduction, "human life has no value, and killing is ordinary." Yet Because of You is not a collection defined by despair. It is something stranger and more alive than that — a book perpetually caught between opposites, where tenderness and violence, presence and erasure, the sacred and the nihilistic collide on the same breath.

Al Masri writes out of Lebanon, out of war, out of a reality where beauty and brutality are not opposites but constant companions. What is extraordinary is how this context produces not bitterness but a ferocious, almost mystical aliveness on the page. These poems pulse. They contradict themselves deliberately and brilliantly, stretching language to hold experiences that resist easy expression. "I carry my head with cut off hands" is not merely a striking image — it is an entire worldview compressed into eight words.

The collection moves with remarkable range. The shorter poems are like perfectly cut stones. Absence, Exercise, The Path, Whiteness — each arrives swiftly and leaves a lasting mark. My Mother is one of the most beautiful poems about maternal love you are likely to read anywhere, in any language, casting silence itself as ocean and shelter. The longer, more ambitious pieces — Jasmine rises like bullets, And because of you…, Until you have become a garden — reveal a poet equally at home in expansive, accumulating structures, where meaning builds through repetition and paradox rather than linear argument.

Throughout, Al Masri's use of oxymoron feels not like a literary device but like a genuine mode of perception — the only honest way to describe a world in which jasmine and bullets occupy the same air. He touches Sufism and nihilism almost simultaneously, as Dr Jawi notes in her illuminating introduction, and the tension between transcendence and nothingness gives the whole collection a spiritual electricity that is rare and thrilling.

The translation is a triumph. Dr Anba Jawi and Dr Mohamad Haj Mohamad have preserved the strangeness of these poems rather than domesticating them, which is exactly the right choice. The English sings. It takes real courage and craft to trust a reader with lines this unusual, and the translators have trusted us fully. Dr Jawi's candid introduction about the collaborative process of translation is itself a pleasure to read, offering genuine insight into the difficulties and rewards of carrying poetry across languages.

Because of You is the kind of collection that makes you grateful for the existence of literary translation — the reminder that extraordinary voices are speaking all around the world, waiting only for the bridge of language to reach us. Bilal Al Masri is such a voice.

GAS Featured Poet: Rita S. Spalding

Award-winning poet Rita S. Spalding has been published in 18 Calliope anthologies, National Library of Poetry, AX-POW Magazine, The

Heartland Review, Kentucky Monthly Magazine, Keeping the Flame Alive,

Fallen, Rebirth, The Rye Whiskey Review, Walden’s Poetry and Reviews,

Poet-Tree Magazine, American Poet, Mays Publishing and Kentucky

Humanities. Her books include Abstract Ribbons, What is Beauty, and

The Eighth.

She has been featured in podcasts and the Kentucky Author Celebration, Kentucky Writer Celebration, Insomniacathon, Vagabond Poet National Tour, Endless Horizon, and 2025 Ohio Valley Folkways Symposium. Shegives poetry readings nationally and will be at 2026 Gonzofest in New York City.

Words From the Other Side

i saw you from outside my eye

that first fleeting mist of blackness

at my feet racing across the dust bunnies

not sure of your realness

caught in a nebulous gray mist

or were you just a polished apple

stuck in my mind from long ago

you were here I saw you here

shadow following my body

down the quiet hallway and back

yet when I turned you were gone again

i could swear you tried to talk

today at breakfast you brushed my arm

a finger or hand warmed by blood

you darted into the sinking wrinkles

of a cream swirled coffee mug

i saw you from the inside of my third eye

it was you i know it was you

wavy steam only inches above the floor

my third eye never lies

next time when you try to talk

i will listen closely all those words

that were never spoken

when you walked among us

Mary Lou Because You Asked About My Chickens

you asked about my chickens

they are everywhere

the roosters hens their love and pecks

on icy mornings i chipped away their water

in the darkness of the dawn

into the old weathered walls of the coop

i lifted the feeder bigger than me

and clucked for them to fly from

their roosts to meet the grain

watching the shininess of their wings

bright reds with hidden golds

dark blacks with dazzling blues

the deep red of wattles and combs

strutting flapping accepting me into their flock

my hands softly lifted brown eggs

from hay filled nesting boxes

the eggs were marvels to hold

i kissed each one before placing them

in a flower printed muslin seed sack

draped and tied across my shoulders

it fit like a gown and held them like a mama

like i wished for mama arms to hold me

in summer below the sunflowers and apples

i held rhode island reds to my chest

because they let me smell their feathers

i sat in the dusty dirt with black silkies

who were curious about my toes

i knew what love was when i watched them

come closer to my heart with trust in their struts

i live in the city now in this other lifetime

smelling the fumes of progress and traffic

instead of the sweetness of hay scented by hens

i brought the chickens with me

the roosters and hens are frozen in place

ceramic and steady they still call me theirs

they surround me on shelves from room to room

yesterday you asked why they are with me

i answered because they were my beginnings

feathered reminders of how i learned to love

in the darkness of dawn and light of dusk

Essay by Su Zi: Citizens’ Alert

Many of us have already survived the rising tides of climate catastrophe. Current predictions do not include a return to paradise, and, in fact, are fair warning of future fiascos. Perhaps, it might be wise to consider that which has been written about such events to enhance, at least, personal preparedness.

Published accounts vary widely; however, a memoir of a storm by Riza Oledan-Ramos/ Walt FJ Gooding called Drinking Seawater, which was acquired at a bookfair, contains a scene of evacuation:

This wasn’t your typical storm. This was something entirely different—something of a completely different nature than I or anyone else had ever experienced. It was as if it were alive. It sounded and felt as if it were a living thing—a conscious, breathing, thinking being with an intention, and on a mission. It was trying to get to us. First it tried the front door, then it tried the side walls; then the windows, finally the roof [...] it pounded and howled and screamed at the roof[...]the howling never stopped. It pounded and shook and finally it got its way. It tore our roof off and flung it into the night as it raced inside after us (12)

The arc of the narrative is that of aftermath, personal and specific enough to include both photographs and a survival checklist.

There are professional published accounts as well, and now, although time has passed, the possibility of Gulf storms has not. While myths about storms not coming ashore was disproven by Asheville, North Carolina, aftermath can take a generation for some healing. It has been a generation, now, since the storm that directly hit New Orleans, but mention of the storm among locals is a demarcation in time. Professional accounts of Katrina include that of New Orleans journalist Chris Rose 1 dead in attic (2005), also a memoir. In this case, the protagonist returns to see what is left and return to work. 

And I’m telling you: it’s hard

It’s hard not to get crispy around the edges. It’s hard not to cry. It’s hard not to be very, very afraid.

[...]

We have a generator and water and military food rations and Doritos and smokes and booze. [...] Some of these guys lost their houses -- everything in them 

[...] 

And they stink. We all stink. We stink together (22)

Rose also makes mention of celebrity journalists, “The satellite trucks stretch for eight blocks on Canal Street. [...] I saw Anderson Cooper interviewing Dr Phil, Dr Phil’s camera crew filmed Cooper, and about five or six other camera crews [...] filmed all of that “(26).

Anderson Cooper included a chapter about Katrina in Dispatches from the Edge (Harper Collins 2006), along with accounts of Tsunami, Iraq and Niger. That an American city would be in the same celebrity catastrophe accounting ought to serve as warning as well. Cooper begins his account by counting corpses:

[...]the searchers find a body lying on a sidewalk in an empty-cul-de-sac.I think it’s a woman; at first, it’s hard to tell.  Water wipes away identity, race, even gender. I think she’s African American, but her skin appears white, translucent almost.

Someone has covered her face and part of her body with a dirty bedspread. Her feet and hands stick out.

[...]

The team takes pictures—Click, Click—then records the woman’s GPS coordinates

[...]

I never thought I’d see this here, in America—the dead left out like trash. None of us speaks. (138)

Cooper’s narrative is interspersed with personal recollections of the city, as he tells us of individual moments of aftermath. Yet, lest someone take sole hope in evacuation centers, Cooper interviews Dr Greg Henderson, who arrived at the evacuation point, “discovered that there was no medical team there, just evacuees. Thousands of them.” (161). Cooper describes the interview site as “standing on a garbage-strewn street outside the Convention Center one week after the storm” where Dr Henderson says, “This is where hell opened its mouth” (160). As for the evacuation point itself:

They were packed in everywhere, all the way into to the street, and pretty much the other side of the street; it was just one mass of humanity. No air-conditioning, just people crying and dying. Crying and dying (161)

Cooper witnessed the Katrina aftermath for a few weeks. He makes a remark that ought to be useful for us in preparation, as he asked officials questions: “Demanding accountability is no game, and there’s nothing wrong with trying to understand who made mistakes, who failed. If no one is held accountable for their decisions their actions, all of this will happen again” (191).

These three accounts of once-rare, now frighteningly possible, super storms, must give sane people pause, especially as the northern American continent is already beleaguered with drought, fires and heat in the wake of some devastating arctic storms. Whether or not we want to consider the weather might be keystone to community, if not personal, survival. Perhaps we ought to take some consideration time while we still have it.

Su Zi is a writer, poet and essayist who produces a handmade chapbook series called Red Mare. She has been a contributor to GAS from back when it was called Gypsy Art Show, more than a decade ago.

               

Check out her author page on Amazon.