Why Bindweed Magazine is a labour of love

Bindweed Magazine celebrated its 1 year birthday on 3rd April this year. With the end of the tax year also in sight this month, Editor-in-Chief Leilanie Stewart has published, for a little insight to readers, Bindweed’s financial incomings – and outgoings – showing why the magazine truly is a labour of love to provide another platform for writers and poets to market their creative work. Read the full article here: https://leilaniestewart.wordpress.com/2017/04/14/why-bindweed-magazine-is-a-labour-of-love/

To support the magazine you can buy back issues at Amazon.com or at Lulu.com.

Happy birthday Bindweed Magazine!

In April, Bindweed Magazine will celebrate its first birthday. In celebration of a successful year of three published issues and a pending fourth to complete the quarterly schedule, here are some reader and contributor photos for you to share the magazine’s many happy returns.

Remember, Issue 5 is still open for submissions for April, May and June 2017, so keep submitting!

Enjoy! 🌺

Editor-in-Chief and Editorial Sahayak

Leilanie Stewart and Joseph Robert

Bindweed Magazine Issue 1: Morning GloryIssue 2: Bellbine and Issue 3: Creeping Jenny

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Bindweed Magazine Issue 1 photograph by Charles Rammelkamp

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Bindweed Magazine Issue 2  photograph by Paul Beckman

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Bindweed Magazine Issue 1 photograph by Olivier Cousin

Poetry promotion – Silence and Chopin by Dorota Szumilas

‘SILENCE AND CHOPIN’ BY DOROTA SZUMILAS

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Title: Cisza i Chopin / Silence and Chopin
Author: Dorota Szumilas
Printed: Kraków : Ed. By Miniatura, 2012.
Pages: 96 pages
ISBN: 978-83-7606-460-4
Publisher: http://miniatura1107.republika.pl/poezja1.htm
Contact: miniatura@autograf.pl
Language: Original in Polish by Dorota Szumila. Translated into English by Urszula Sledziewska-Bolinska and Dorota Bogumila-Zegarowska.

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(P18 of ‘Silence and Chopin’ by Dorota Szumilas)

THE WORLD OF MEMORIES

is like a huge sphere
lined with paths
winding in the darkness
a sunray falls on my face
bringing a gentle smile
that’s how it was
you can’t deny it
I remember
to build my identity
I forget
to go further without unnecessary words
I’m always between one
and another
in the reality of dilemmas

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(P20 of ‘Silence and Chopin’ by Dorota Szumilas)

SORROW

Don’t let my soul
be torn by sorrow
let moments tied
with sobs
be gone
let heart’s wail
and soul’s howl
disappear
into oblivion.

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(P24 of ‘Silence and Chopin’ by Dorota Szumilas)

SOMETHING MORE MAYBE+

I’ll write to you
about the joy of
“good words”
Among letters
numbers and all kinds of
symbols…
Something more maybe+
I forgot 100%
Perhaps 1/100 🙂 at recollections
I also cry sometimes
a little
Why?
Because I may not see
the good words
again…

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(P32 of ‘Silence and Chopin’ by Dorota Szumilas)

***

So what are you going to tell me?
That leaves have fallen down from
trees
that the wind is blowing
and it’s raining
that it’s cold…
Tell me more!
Tell me that I’m not really sad
And I’ll tell you
that I’m very happy!

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(P36 of ‘Silence and Chopin’ by Dorota Szumilas)

UNFINISHED

unfinished
despite your efforts and attempts
postponed
until eternity
you can always come back
there is always time…
perhaps it’s best not to put it off
so that you don’t have to start
over again…
it needs contemplation
so that you can move on

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(P48 of ‘Silence and Chopin’ by Dorota Szumilas)

***

She still has sunken eyes
In the absence of love
Happiness is in the other side
of her gaze
As a juxtaposition to the unattainable

She sinks into herself
As a sound fading into the vastness of
the forest

That will bounce off trees echoless
This time…

A few tears of helplessness may fall
And then you won’t even find tears
to cry

And the coming darkness
Will sink into itself for good

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Information about the author:

Dorota Szumilas is a graduate of the Institute of Information Science and Book Studies at the University of Warsaw and the Pontifical Faculty of Theology in Warsaw. Her poetry books have been translated into German, Ukranian, Belarusian and her poems have also been translated into English, Russian, Slovak and Pashto. She is a member of the Polish Association of Authors and Siwobrowych Poetów Association in Krakow. Her published poems and literary views appear in: Poetry Today, Kwartalnik Kulturalny (ed. by Andrezej Debowski), Radostowa, Hybryda (artistic and literary writings of the Association of Creative Pol-art in Krakow), Podlaski Tygodnik Kulturalny, Prace Pienińskie, Migotania, sZAFa, Znaj and the Pisarze.pl. Dorota Szumilas is one of the authors of the second and third editions of ‘Contemporary writers of Poland’. She gave speeches at both the Slavic Poetry Festival and World Poetry Day in Warsaw.

Dorota Szumilas’ website is at: http://dorotaszumilas.blogspot.com

Caitlin Woolley – Fiction

HOW TO SURVIVE THE CREEK

Don’t say no when they tell you to follow. Don’t say no when they invite Dan, the new boy with the lazy eye and the sour smell. Encourage him when he seems doubtful because his family might be rich. Threaten him if you have to. Tell him not to go home right after school, even if he promised his mother, even if you promised yours. Don’t laugh when Dan trips over the hole in the wire fence behind the school. Grin from ear to ear when Marcus claps you on the back and then Dan as if either of you played football. The clap makes you feel hollow inside like your bones are brittle as a baby’s, but the thickening treeline tells you it is time to let the silence fall. Don’t make a noise when the fence cuts you. Let the blood soak into a fold in your jeans because you know that if they smell it you will be the lamb. Keep quiet until you’re past the road. Watch Sandy’s ass as you follow her into the woods, but don’t get so distracted you snap twigs. When it is darker and the air is heavier, take the cue from the others and titter at Dan’s nervous joke, laugh differently when Sandy says she doesn’t know which eye to look at when he’s talking. Pretend his “I know, right” is truthful. Listen for the hissing of the creek now, listen for the density of birds’ wings. Listen for the snap of a sandal as Jenny trips over the ground. Look to Marcus when he grabs her by the arm and tells her to be careful. You know that you will always look to Marcus; you know that he knows it too. He is big brawn and blonde and in these woods you feel so thin. Your favorite part of coming here is the silence: immense, crushing, you can’t believe that it doesn’t swallow you. When Sandy lights the pipe and offers it to you, accept it. Feel electric when your fingers touch. Then when everything is stars, gaze up at the graying light and beg it to bleed into you, seep into everything beating and vital. You still have a splinter in your ear from the last time you came here and a loose tooth from the time before. Let your tongue roll over the slick slide of tooth to pay its rightful homage. By the time you reach the deepest part of the woods you will see the creek, a scar in the land, and you will feel like bursting. You’re the only one who has stayed so far. Joe fled the trees last time with a black eye and Alex a broken thumb. But this is your fifth time: be proud of that. You are invited as long as you survive. Sandy and Jenny lean against a tree and pass the pipe back and forth between them. When Marcus strips away his shirt, strip yours. Try to do it in time with him. Then, stare Dan down until he wriggles out of his long sleeves. Veiled threats are what you do now. It makes you useful. Feel contempt for Dan’s thin body and try not to think of it as your own, soft and narrow and so white in the darkness of the forest. Try to comfort Dan when he panics, but not too much. He knows why he is here and why you were the one to invite him. Now, look to Marcus because you both know that is what you do, too; look to him as he swings a broad fist into the air in front of him. The sound of it clapping against Dan’s cheek is thrilling, his yelp a frail sound that dies in the air. Let his weak punch at Marcus delight you. Rock back and forth on your toes. Marcus tosses his fist again and hits Dan squarely in the face, and then a few more times, taking more than his turn. Dan is bloodied and wonderful and Marcus, radiant, with barely a mark. If he moves to hit you, you will let him, you will be ready, you will be leaning in, you will be braced, you will feel something. But then you will see in the ripple of his skin that he isn’t coming for you. Imagine it happening just before it does, to experience it fully, the sound of Sandy’s soft voice in your ears: Marcus’ hulk exploding into Dan, the thud of the two of them as they skid across the earth, red dirt kicking up like voices. Putting up a solid block is how you got to stay and you know it will be the same for Dan. Only it isn’t. What you don’t imagine is the crack of skull as Dan hits the great alder behind him, the soft searching in his eyes before he crumples and his body rolls down into the creek. When the wet sounds stop he will be face down in the water, a red and white stripe in the dark. Marcus stands over the side of the creek, blank-faced, his fist still clenched in red momentum not yet gone. Dan will not get up and the creek flowing around his crown, stained. Marcus and the girls spare only a moment before they bolt from the woods, breaking all the branches. In seconds you are alone there, the only one who would see the boy in the creek move. But you say to yourself that there will be nothing to see because you are always the one who survives. Turn. Look away. If you leave the woods now it will be with your truth discolored. Maybe you are being swallowed after all.

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Caitlin Woolley recently earned her MFA in fiction at the University of Alaska-Fairbanks. She now lives and works in Seattle.