Dear Readers,
Amal says: We chose April as the month for launching Goblin Fruit for a number of reasons, but chief amongst them is the fact that, for some six hundred years at least, it has been a month associated with death, rebirth, and almost consequently, with the poetic tradition.1 Chaucer speaks of "Aprille with his shoures sote," Michael Field recalls it as the month of Shakespeare's birth, and, perhaps most famously, T.S. Eliot dubs it "the cruelest month." And what more promising soil for poetry to take root in than one thick with contradictions and ambiguity?
Tradition, whether poetic or otherwise, is something with which we intend our 'zine to engage. Folkloric and mythological traditions, traditions of form, the exploding of traditions -- essentially, we want to encourage an acknowledgment and appreciation of the past, especially that past which knew how to weave the fantastic into the mainstream with ease and grace, which drew fewer lines between the marvelous and the mundane even as it blurred whatever lines were to be found.
Jessica says: So, welcome to the inaugural issue of Goblin Fruit, a ‘zine devoted to poetry of the fantastical.
In the future, the editor’s note will consist of (at least half-delirious) rambles about whatever subject, usually poetical, we deem of interest that particular season. You are more than welcome to skip it; although, as our wit is razor, our pens, deadly, and we intend regularly to make fools of ourselves free of charge – why would you? But this is the first issue, so we’ll use this space to tell you where things are and how they work.
The “table of contents” is just below the editorial link, obviously; hover your mouse over any image that strikes your fancy and you should be able to see the name of the artist.
Since our dream of a monthly reading of fantastical poetry is an unlikely event2, we have decided to try featuring at least one poem read by its poet each issue. Fortune smiled, and this time we have more than one poem for you to listen to.
Amal and I have always enjoyed poetry, but we didn’t become obsessed (or drag Oliver into our obsession) until we found what a joy it was to read poetry aloud. There is something different about the sound of poetry, as opposed to the sight of poetry, and everybody reads poetry differently from everybody else. To some people, blank spaces and staggered tabs are just visual adornments, ignored entirely in the reading. To others, these spaces define how the poem is read. (I’ll admit, I’m one of these others and have frustrated many a grammar-respecting reader.)
To some people, a poem is dead until it is in somebody’s mouth; an interesting perspective, since most of us can agree that being held between somebody’s teeth is just a bit scary. But poetry can thrive there. In light of this, we encourage anybody and everybody to try reading “Goblin Fruit” aloud, preferably with a friend in the vicinity.
Of course, there are the people who don’t like to hear a poem read aloud, because it never matches what they hear when they read it silently to themselves – nobody is obligated to bite our apples.
1 And we chose 12:01 AM (Pacific time) April 9th as the time to launch for a very specific reason, too – because 9 is traditionally lucky, Odin hung dying on the Ash-tree for nine days, and we needed those nine days to hang. Okay, that’s a lie. We chose it because 12 + 1 = 13 and 1 + 3 = 4 which = Jessica P. Wick, Amal El-Mohtar, Oliver Hunter and Mei Cohoe. And 12:01 Pacific was chosen for a reason, honest, other than the extra three hours it would give us to prep. Don’t ever let them tell you there isn’t a reason for everything.
2 Always barring the discovery of a cheap and efficient teleportation system, of course!