Our mission: to build a literary community and memorialize writers, poets and artists of the region.
From the Editors My strength is from the fish; my blood is from the fish, from the roots and berries. The fish and game are the essence of my life. I was not brought from a foreign country and did not come here. I was put here by the Creator. —Chief Weninock, Yakama, 1915 Cirque 11.2 is our 22nd issue. A Janus issue in the sense of facing both ways. We acknowledge losses here. The loss of my husband, Richard Kleven, who, three months past, died where I sit to write this. Who now seems to turn on the bedroom light in dark hours. The world of writers has also lost Joanne Townsend, Cirque contributor and Alaska Laureate. Steven Levi her partner in the journal, Harpoon, writes of her in this issue. Nonfiction writer, Sherry Simpson, a friend to the bear, died unexpectedly, too young. Barry Lopez, too, is remembered in these pages. Land Ethic: Writers were invited to submit work that spoke to issues of ecology, responsibility and that work to save the planet. Those we chose are marked with the octopus glyph. We thank Ron Graham for allowing us to use his Gyotaku rendered depiction of an octopus. From this group we have selected the next winner of the Andy Hope Award. Carolyn Kremers has been chosen as the winner of the Andy Hope Award. This award recognized her seven page poem, “The Arctic Refuge Coastal Plain: Fifteen Motets.” The award given annually recognized an outstanding piece of prose or poetry from the pages of Cirque. Tlingit poet and writer Andy Hope was a political activist from Southeast Alaska. In 2008, at the age of 58, Andy died after a brief battle with cancer. The Andy Hope Literary Award was established by two Alaskan poets, Vivian Faith Prescott and her daughter Vivian Mork, winner of the 2021 Alaska Literary Award. Kremers’ poem can be found in this issue.
Pandemic Blue a sonnet
by Marie Lundstrom I buy a box of fifty masks and loudly groan, "This will prove to be a long and messy war." My grocery lists go to younger folks less virus prone Who take the risk of shopping at the store. I miss those hugs from family and folks I love Through my storm door, some ''window love" we share But we "touch" at distance, not even glove to glove We can't see smiles, and we all have shaggy hair. I grieve for losses, not only those my own No more movie nights in my crowded living room. I miss our choir—I don't like to sing alone. Breakfast with friends doesn't work online with Zoom. We think of vaccine as our long-term, "normal' hope But I still wash twice with bar and liquid soap.
COVID-19 is loosening its chokehold. Collectively we seem to be assessing our losses while discovering some unexpected benefits. Zoom, which was not embraced, became ubiquitous. It was the way we met. And we learned that we could bring a world of readers, together. It was not that bad. It was actually amazing. And, as summer approaches, it feels like good things are coming. There are shadows of discord but good does win. Light will win. The bad do not win—not finally, No matter how loud they are. — Alberto Rios We are grateful to the vison of Paul Haeder who, as guest editor, developed the Land Ethic concepts that shaped this issue. He set up a call for submissions on this theme. The result is an issue with reverence for life of the land even as we mourn the dead. The result is the largest issue we have published by more than twenty pages. Paul Haeder describes his stint as guest editor in the essay “Overshoot” that follows. By way of introduction, he offers the poem, below.