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Memorabilia: Maya Angelou
Join Club Ink in ‘Memorabilia: Maya Angelou’, a Reader’s Discussion celebrating the talented American author and poet, Maya Angelou and her works on June 8, Sunday, 2014 at Swami Vivekanand Library, Bhopal from 12:30pm (IST).
Few are able to separate a rhetoric of belligerence from a rhetoric of will, hope and interminable courage. For the world at large, Maya Angelou’s poems seem to be like strong currents shaking the loftiest hills.
PREVIOUS INKER Club Ink celebrated the legacy of Gabriel Gar cia Marquez through a ‘Read Aloud Session’ of Gabo’s works on May 18, Sunday, 2014 at Swami Vivekanand Library, Bhopal fr om 12:30pm (IST).
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Her works were so bold and powerful that they made the strongest of he ar t s beat louder whenever one read her resonating lines, deserving a greater reverence each time. Her identity and works were equally and remarkably potent in delivering their message for the greater good of ‘the downtrodden breed’ and in expressing an ‘upcoming sense of womanhood’. Her legacy isn’t just a mere account of trials faced, challenges overcome or a sensible use of words to spill the deepest of truths. Her work also contains the complexity of our cowed emotions and of our silent yet sprightly hopes, renewing a sense of equality and freedom within the dominions of a unified human race. Her works were revealing and typical in style of an American writer of her age. They were barricaded with an unbroken and simple use of the lexicon. It is extremely difficult to forget Dr. Maya
Angelou. Her footprints are immortal in the sands of time and her voice will continue to ring even in the taciturn corners of tenebrous walls. Her life will be a symbol for the ages– a symbol of how sunshine can drive away the seas of darkness and the invincible power of thought, willingness and resolution. No one shall be able to portray the world like her endlessly gleaming pen. No age will be so dynamic without her. No world will ever be created for those to whom nothing ever belonged. RIP Maya Angelou.
Inside This Issue Page 2 A Plagued Journey by Maya Angelou Page 3 Bestsellers @ NY Times The Editor’s Bottle Of Ink Page 4 Susannah by Katherine Mansfield Page 5 Looking back by Jordan Smith Page 6 Photograph by Claire Mason Submission Guidelines
A Plagued Journey by Maya Angelou There is no warning rattle at the door nor heavy feet to stomp the foyer boards. Safe in the dark prison, I know that light slides over the fingered work of a toothless woman in Pakistan. Happy prints of an invisible man are illumined. My mouth agape rejects the solid air and lungs hold. The invader takes direction and seeps through the plaster walls. It is at my chamber, entering the keyhole, pushing through the padding of the door. I cannot scream. A bone of fear clogs my throat. It is upon me. It is sunrise, with Hope its arrogant rider. My mind, formerly quiescent in its snug encasement, is strained to look upon their rapturous visages, to let them enter even into me. I am forced outside myself to mount the light and ride joined with Hope. Through all the bright hours I cling to expectation, until darkness comes to reclaim me as its own. Hope fades, day is gone into its irredeemable place and I am thrown back into the familiar bonds of disconsolation. Gloom crawls around lapping lasciviously between my toes, at my ankles, and it sucks the strands of my hair. It forgives my heady fling with Hope. I am joined again into its greedy arms.
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Maya Angelou (April 4, 1928â€”May 28, 2014) was an eminent American author and poet. She held the first lifetime Reynolds Professorship in American Studies at Wake Forest University. She was also an actor, director and producer of plays, movies and television programmes. She is best known for her book I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings.
Bestsellers @ NY Times June 8, 2014 PAPERBACK TRADE FICTION
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Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn (Broadway) Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline (Morrow/Harper Collins) The Longest Ride by Nicholas Sparks (Grand Central) Inferno by Dan Brown (Anchor) The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho (Harper One/ Harper Collins) The Gods Of Guilt by Michael Connelly (Grand Central) Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Anchor) Me Before You by Jojo Moyes (Penguin) The Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith (Mulholland/Little, Brown) A Game Of Thrones by George R.R. Martin (Bantam)
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Heaven Is For Real by Todd Burpo and Lynn Vincent (Thomas Nelson) Conform by Glenn Beck, Kevin Balfe and Kyle Olson (Threshold Edition/Mercury Radio Arts) Behind The Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo (Random House) Proof Of Heaven by Eben Alexander (Simon & Schuster) Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell (Back Bay/Little, Brown) Quiet by Susan Cain (Broadway) Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell and Patrick Robinson (Back Bay/Little, Brown) Wild by Cheryl Strayed (Vintage) The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg (Random House) Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner (Harper Perennial)
The Editor’s Bottle Of Ink Dear Reader,
has tried to celebrate the life and works of such authors. And Maya Angelou was a name much spoken about during all our events. Be it our Readers’ Discussions to Ink Poetry Slam on the occasion of International Women’s day, Club Inkers were constantly reminded of Dr. Angelou.
Club Ink presents the fifth issue of its international e-newsletter, Inklette. This is a special issue which focuses on Maya Angelou who left for the heavenly abode on May 28, 2014. Today, on June 8, 2014, Cub Ink celebrates the legacy of Maya Angelou through ‘Memorabilia: A Read- For this issue, we’d like to thank our two ers’ Discussion and Read Aloud Session contributors– Jordan Smith and Claire on Maya Angelou.’ Mason. Also, we congratulate one of our contributors– Trivarna Hariharan on the Dr. Angelou has inspired everyone across release of her new book, ‘Yours, Faiththe globe with her mighty pen, which will fully’. scarcely be forgotten with the passage of time. Maya Angelou was and will remain We hope you enjoy reading Inklette. a phenomenal woman. Truly. Your Editor-in-Chief, This year, we are unfortunate as a part of Devanshi Khetarpal the literary world, to have lost some precious jewels from our crown. Club Ink
NEW RELEASE Inklette contributor, Trivarna Hariharan has recently released her new book, ‘Yours, Faithfully.’ ’Yours, Faithfully’ is a collection of poetry that touches upon subjects like love, life, friendship and so on. It has been divided into three sections: ‘Flights,’ ‘Musings’ and ‘Brevity’ and will strike a chord with the readers. Now available on Amazon.com, Europe and Createspace estore. It will soon be made available on all online book and retail stores, libraries, institutions and Createspace direct in a matter of few weeks. Go grab your copy today!
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Susannah by Katherine Mansfield Of course there would have been no question of their going to the exhibition if Father had not had the tickets given to him. Little girls cannot expect to be given treats that cost extra money when only to feed them, buy them clothes, pay for their lessons and the house they live in takes their kind generous Father all day and every day working hard from morning till night- ‘except Saturday afternoons and Sundays,’ said Susannah. ‘Susannah!’ Mother was very shocked. ‘But do you know what would happen to your poor Father if he didn’t have a holiday on Saturday afternoons and Sundays?’ ‘No,’ said Susannah. She looked interested. ‘What?’ ‘He would die,’ said their Mother impressively. ‘Would he?’ said Susannah, opening her eyes. She seemed astounded, and Sylvia and Phyllis, who were four and five years older than she, chimed in with ‘Of course’ in a very superior tone. What a little silly-billy she was not to know that! They sounded so convinced and cheerful that their Mother felt a little shaken and hastened to change the subject… ‘So that is why,’ she said a little vaguely, ‘you must each thank Father separately before you go.’ ‘And then will he give us the money?’ asked Phyllis. ‘And then I shall ask him for whatever is necessary,’ said their Mother firmly. She sighed suddenly and got up. ‘Run along, children, and ask Miss Wade to dress you and get ready herself and then to come down to the dining-room. And now, Susannah, you are not to let go Miss Wade’s hand from the moment you are through the gates until you are out again.’ ‘Well– what if I go on a horse?’ inquired Susannah. ‘Go on a horse– nonsense, child! You’re much too young for horses! Only big girls and boys can ride.’ ‘They’re roosters for small children,’ said Susannah, undaunted. ‘I know, because Irene Heywood went on one and when she got off she fell over.’ ‘All the more reason why you shouldn’t go on,’ said her Mother. But Susannah looked as though falling over had no terrors for her. On the contrary. About the exhibition, however, Sylvia and Phyllis knew as little as Susannah. It was the first that had ever come to their town. One morning, as Miss Wade, their lady help, rushed them along to Heywoods’, whose governess they shared, they had seen carts piled with great long planks of wood, sacks, what looked like whole doors, and white flagstaffs, passing through the wide gate of the Recreation Ground. And by the time they were bowled home to their dinners there were beginnings of a high, thin fence, dotted with flagstaffs, built all round the railings. From inside came a tremendous noise of hammering, shouting, clanging; a little engine, hidden away, went Chuff-chuffchuff. Chuff! And round, woolly balls of smoke were tossed over the palings. First it was the day after the day after tomorrow, then plain day after tomorrow, then tomorrow, and at last, the day itself. When Susannah woke up in the morning, there was a little gold spot of sunlight watching her from the wall; it looked as though it had been there for a long time, waiting to remind her: ‘It’s today– you’re going today– this afternoon. Here she is!’
[second version] That afternoon they were allowed to cut jugs and basins out of a draper’s catalogue, and at tea-time they had real tea in the doll’s tea-set on the table. This was a very nice treat, indeed, except that the doll’s teapot wouldn’t pour out even after you’d poked a pin down on the spout and blown into it. But the next afternoon, which was Saturday, Father came home in high feather. The front door banged so hard that the whole house shook, and he shouted to Mother from the hall. ‘Oh, how more than good of you, darling!’ cried Mother, ‘but how unnecessary too. Of course, they’ll simply love it. But to have spent all that money! You shouldn’t have done it, Daddy dear! They’ve totally forgotten all about it. And what is this! Half a crown?’ cried Mother. ‘No! Two shillings, I see,’ she corrected quickly, ‘to spend as well. Children! Children! Come down, downstairs!’ Down they came, Phyllis and Sylvia leading, Susannah holding on. ‘Do you know what Father’s done?’ And Mother held up her hand. What was she holding? Three cherry tickets and a green one. ‘He’s bought you tickets. You’re to go to the circus, this very afternoon, all of you, with Miss Wade. What do you say to that?’ ‘Oh, Mummy! Lovely! Lovely!’ cried Phyllis and Sylvia. ‘Isn’t it?’ said Mother. ‘Run upstairs. Run and ask Miss Wade to get you ready. Don’t dawdle. Up you go! All of you.’ Away flew Phyllis and Sylvia, but still Susannah stayed where she was at the bottom of the stairs, hanging her head. ‘Go along,’ said Mother. And Father said sharply, ‘What the devil’s the matter with the child?’ Susannah’s face quivered. ‘I don’t want to go,’ she whispered. ‘What! Don’t want to go to the Exhibition! After Father’s– You naughty, ungrateful child! Either you go to the Exhibition, Susannah, or you will be packed off to bed at once.’ Susannah’s head bent low, lower still. All her little body bent forward. She looked as though she was going to bow down, to bow down to the ground, before her kind generous Father and beg for his forgiveness…
Katherine Mansfi el d (1888– 1923) was a prominent writer of short fiction. She was born and brought up in New Zealand. This short story first appeared in Mansfield’s collection entitled The Doves’ Nest.
Looking Back by Jordan Smith Dear Mom, Two things happened today: You died. In the car. Dr. Burton said it was quick and you didn’t feel any pain. I hope you didn’t Mom, I don’t want you to. I stole something today, too. This journal. It was just sitting there in the store and I didn’t want to bother Charlie so I took it. Patrick steals all the time, so why shouldn’t I? Remember how you always write me notes and we would write to each other even though I see you everyday? I want to do that again Mom. Right here. Write here. Johnny said he was sorry, you were like his Mom, too. Everyone’s sorry. But it wasn’t their fault, so why are they sorry? I wish you didn’t leave me Mom. I miss you. Though you’ve only been gone a couple of hours, I still miss you. I fell asleep at the funeral, I didn’t mean to, but I was so tired. Patrick carried me home. I guess he was feeling sorry for me cause he isn’t usually that nice. I love you Mom. Write soon, Love, Hadley XOXO Dear Mom, It was my first day back to school. All the other kids knew about you and Dad. I felt sick during science so I left early. I was walking home, all by myself cause Jack was still in class. I stumbled along and dragged my feet. The grass was all growing in little shoots. It’s springtime Mom. The tulips in the yard sprung up, but you missed them. Mom? Are you up there watching me? Are you ashamed of us? Patrick’s back in jail. He got real mad last night and broke the windows at Mr. Grieb’s store. The police took him. I was asleep but Jack said that Charlie got real sad with Patrick at the station and told him that life goes on. Life goes on. I don’t think that Mom. You’re gone, so your life doesn’t go on. Patrick’s in the cooler, so life will go on outside without him. Me? I miss you Mom. I don’t know how to go on. Why did you have to leave me, Mom? Love, Hadley XOXO Dear Mom, It’s been a year. I’ve grown five inches, cut my hair (a tiny bit) and got over my fear of writing in this. I think I’ve “come to terms” with your death. That’s what the social worker said. They wanted to put me in a girls’ home, but the guys wouldn’t let them. I didn’t say anything. I don’t want to go. STORY BY: Jordan Smith Charlie, Patrick, and Jack are all I got left. I scabbed my knee the other day too. At your grave. Jordan Smith is 16 years old I cried, I don’t know why. Jack called me a baby but Patrick told him to stop. and lives nears New York City. I don’t understand Patrick. How is it such a bad guy can be so nice at the same time? She has written several short I miss you Mom, you always answered all my questions. stories and plays and is a freCharlie works too hard, Patrick’s never here, and Jack. quent contributor to award I don’t know with Jack anymore. All he does is think. Mostly about sunsets. winning magazine, Daedalus– Remember how you and Dad would always watch the sunset with him? Winner of 4 Gold Crowns. I do. Love, Hadley XOXO _______________________________________________________________________________________________
PHOTOGRAPH BY: Claire Mason Claire Mason is a talented photographer from Las Vegas. She is an attendee of the Oxford Prep Experience at Corpus Christi College, University of Oxford where she majored in Photography. Her work encompasses a depth of emotion, is mightily enchanting and its quality is nonpareil.
Submission Guidelines Thank you for showing interest in Inklette. We are currently publishing short stories, poems, essays, book reviews and art work, which includes photographs or paintings. Inklette intends to publish the best examples of art and writing from established and emerging artists from all over. Each piece should be single spaced and typed in Times New Roman Font 10 on either side of the page. Please include your piece and a short bio (about 50 words) separately as .doc or .docx attachment to firstname.lastname@example.org. Photos and artwork should be scanned and sent as .jpg or .gif file to email@example.com The subject of the email should be: First name_Last Name_Type of Submission (For eg: Casey_McCormick_Poetry). Simultaneous submissions are discouraged. Please send us your submission in any one category. Do not send us more than 5 poems, 5 photographs or 5 paintings or 2 short prose pieces at a time. Multiple submissions are not accepted. Inklette accepts submissions on a rolling basis, i.e. all year round. However, we do keep fixed deadlines for each issue. Submissions received after the deadline of a particular issue will be considered for the next issue. We would request you to go through our previous issues to get acquainted with the quality of work that we seek. We have no definite time period for responding to a submission. However, you may send us an email regarding the status of your submission after the termination of a month. Inklette is an e-newsletter which has an extensive circulation through Club Ink’s facebook group as well as through www.issuu.com. For more information, feel free to contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org. We look forward to reading your work! Devanshi Khetarpal Editor-‘Ink’-Chief Inklette INK LETT E
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