The fourth annual edition of Kakalak: Anthology of Carolina Poets has recently been released. Edited by Beth Cagle Burt, Richard Allen Taylor, and Lisa Zerkle, the anthology features poets and artists from North and South Carolina. Congratulations to this year's prize winners. Here's a partial listing:
Poetry Prize Winners
1st: "not the matter" by Heather Dearmon, Pelion, SC
2nd: "Scar" by Kimberly Glanzman, Charlotte, NC
3rd: "The Butcher's Dream" by Paul Fisher, Nags Head, NC
Visual Art Prize Winners
1st: "Country Kitchen" by Susan Fecho, Tarboro, NC
2nd: "Dreaming of Leo" by Karon Luddy, Charlotte, NC
3rd: "Runs in the Family" by Patz Fowle, Hartsville, SC
In addition, there were 16 Honorable Mentions in poetry:
Claire Armstrong, Michael Colonnese, Genie Cotner, Phebe Davidson, Allison Elrod, Alex Grant, Teresa Haskew, Alice Owens Johnson, Steve Lautermilch, Kit Loney, David T. Manning, Jeff Miles, Sally B. Miller, Leslie M. Rupracht, Brian Slusher, Eric A. Weil.
After four years of editing Kakalak, the editors have decided to take a hiatus for a year to rethink the project. I admire all the work they've done and continue to do! This year's anthology contains work by about a hundred or so poets and artists. There will be readings throughout the Carolinas once again this year to give folks a chance to hear the poets and see the art. I was pleased once again to have a poem included (below--the layout is not exactly accurate as posted here). Thanks for all your hard work as editors, Beth, Richard, and Lisa--enjoy your 2010 break!
Morning after the Hailstorm
On the porch floor the scattered green stars
that fell        from the sweet gums.
Some torn & misshapen
as if to say       the wish
will never come true.       Pine scent
in the air,
the gravel drive littered
with pitched needles & limbs.
In the garden the beans
the herbs (peppers too)      and, oh, the tattered
umbrellas of squash leaves.
It was a wild night of lashing,
a veil of steam       rising. All the pummeling
All the loose bright green
to the ground,       soon to turn brown.
For a few early hours the tender
the havoc) that the heart is cheerful
as birdsong. Till the sun,        searing
a different truth,       climbs higher.