This issue is only available in digital form.
Issue 17: Pilgrimage
In some ways, every story is a pilgrimage—an intentional search for sacred things.
In this issue, our contributors took us on journeys of all kinds—from losing one’s house to fire, traveling to a Taizé monastery in France, floating past the English countryside on a canal boat, and journeying through Philadelphia, to an evening in the Boreal forest, a lost chance for love, the Idaho State Roadkill Fur Auction, and making a shelter. It bears proof that we are all pilgrims traveling great distances and depths to see the sacred place.
FEATURING Hannah VanderHart, Bill Cass, April Schmidt, Gene Schmidt + 2011 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize judged by Vito Aiuto, winner Hannah VanderHart
Table of Contents:
from you 5
Hannah VanderHart 7
God Shed His Grace 8
Waiting for Midnight 9
Orchids and the Way 17
Heather Matesich Cousins
Returning to Bear Lake 18
Another Winter 33
Five Stones 34
A Last Sunday in Charlottesville 35
The Leper Attends the Idaho State Roadkill Fur Auction 36
You’ll Never Be Here Again 37
If I could 45
Sara Maria Harenchar
The Remaking 47
Late Season Day Trip 60
Heather A. Goodman
48 Ash Wednesday
38 Fair Bodvar
Front Cover Alliance Catholique, Lourdes
Inside Front Cover The Forwarding Address
Inside Back Cover You Can’t Go Home Again
10 Holy Water (Vatican)
29-31 Lovetown, PA Series
32 Untitled 1
Back Cover Untitled 9
46 Stephen Mead
Welcome to Ruminate’s Issue 17 Pilgrimage. You may notice some changes around here—that we’ve taken our own pilgrimage, of sorts. And well, we have. Over the past four and a half years Ruminate has grown into a robust publication with talented contributors and faithful readers. And we’ve learned some things about ourselves along the way.
We love making Ruminate, making it open and playful and rich. We also like the quietness of the creamy white space on the page and the carefully placed letters and images. We like the contemplative gift that Ruminate extends to our readers, the prayers it shares, and grappling that it encourages. So we’ve reworked our logo and layout to reflect this, we have plans to add interviews and reviews, and we even changed our tagline from “faith in literature and art” to the more earthy and playful “chewing on life, faith, and art.” Thank you all for taking this journey with us—we hope you like the changes.
This issue also holds the winning poems from our 2010 Janet B. McCabe Poetry Prize. Thank you to all of our entrants and our gracious judge Vito Aiuto, and congratulations to the winning poet, Hannah VanderHart, and to Ryan Harper and Ellaraine Lockie for the runner-up prizes, and to all of our finalists. Mr. Aiuto writes: “I am thankful I was asked to read the poems that comprised the finalists for Ruminate’s poetry prize. It was a privilege and a pleasure to spend some time in the company of people who were willing to sing like that.”
This issue is also our gatherings on the theme of pilgrimage, on journeys of all kinds—from losing one’s house to fire, traveling to a Taizé monastery in France, floating past the English countryside on a canal boat, and journeying through Philadelphia, to an evening in the Boreal forest, a lost chance for love, the Idaho State Roadkill Fur Auction, and making a shelter. It bears proof that we are all pilgrims traveling great distances and depths to see the sacred place.
I hope you enjoy the travels,
Brianna Van Dyke
Owls by Hannah VanderHart:
for my brother Ansil
Our intellect is related to what is most evident as the eye of an owl to the sun.
—Aquinas, De Trinitate
Aquinas runs his finger down the untried
Difficult, ponders at the algae in
The pool, effect of the sun all day; we do
Not see things as they are, or if we do
We call them visions, separate them out
Like cards with insufficient postage.
Pack your bag and thermos, brother, we
Will hunt tonight in slippers, carry nets,
Leave the luna moths on the front door’s screen,
Leave the great green wings in order to see
New things: the moon. We will leave the sun to owls
That fly by day, diurnal, golden eyes
That flinch at nothing externally bright. The northern
Hawk is such an owl: lululu it sings in the
Boreal forest. We will look for twenty-
Three specimens of delight, knowing that twenty-
Three times twenty-three times seventy
Are the numbers of the beautiful at night.
Day shines—and we heft our bags like there was no
Night of seeing or a starry past
You are loading boxes for a man,
Testing his guns, each gun, every gun that is
Rat-a-tat-a-tat—and at my desk
Some songs are playing, mimicry of owls.