Carolina Quarterly 60.1

P O E T R Y | F I C T I O N | E S S A Y S | R E V I E W S

W I N T E R 2 0 1 0 I S S U E | V O L . 6 0 , N O . 1

C O M F O R T A B L Y E C L E C T I C S I N C E 1 9 4 8

The Carolina Quarterly is published three times per year at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Subscription rates are $18 per year to individuals and $21 to institutions. Current single issues, back issues, and sample copies are $6 each. Remittance must be made by money order or check payable in U.S. funds. Numbers issued before Volume 21 (1969) can be ordered from Kraus

The Carolina Quarterly

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query answered unless accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed envelope; no responsibility for loss or damage will be assumed. We are also now accepting submissions through our website. We do not review manuscripts during the months of May, June, July, and August; for manuscripts submitted during the rest of the year, please allow four to six months for response.


Bibliography of English Language and Literature. Member Coordinating Council

ABOVE | Trick Candles COVER | What You Lookin At?

Photography by Corey Butler

Evan Gurney | EDITOR- IN-CHIEF

O N L I N E AT www.thecarol inaquarterly.com

F O U N D E D I N 1 9 4 8AT T H E U N I V E R S I T Y O F N O RT H CA RO L I N A – C H A P E L H I L L

FICTION EDITORSMatthew LuterRicky Werner

FICTION READERSKate Attkisson

Ben BollingCatalina Rivera

Catherine RiersonSusan Thananopavarn

Zackary Vernon

FICTION INTERNSSarah Smith

Jordan Wingate

POETRY EDITORRachel Berry

POETRY READERSKatie Bowler

Henry Kearney

MANAGING EDITORHannah Bonner

ART EDITOR

GIVE ME 20 | Francisca Ulloa6 THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY

MELANIE McCABE

Imperatives

the soil you gave it, and its roots hurt. Note how the longer runners have forgotten which way to go and strain now for the tap or the dishwater. Snap them out of their misery. Save what you can.

Wipe the dust from surfaces. Unstack so you can move without topple or dodge. Scour what’s stale with wind that smells of juniper and snow. Open windows even to zero and claim its sting. Hang words out to see if they freeze or thaw.

Don’t wait for April, for it will have other plans-- pipers in uncurling leaves, lilacs to ache you, wet earth to tease you from the house. Call a sweep to scrape the creosote from your chimney bricks and send

in the morning, the blankets are on your side. Stop taking into your own lungs all of the moonlight that splits the dark. Leave some. See what he does with it.

MELANIE McCABE 7

SUN BEDS | Steve Garry12 THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY

CLARENCE SMITH 13

CLARENCE SMITH

Flatline

Mrs. Hammond dyes her hair black. She wears rings on

arthritis. She removes her designer sunglasses to let me look into her eyes. She has lost both breasts to cancer, and while

scars.

curve of her spine.

discharge summaries, and lab values. A surgeon’s barely legible note consists almost entirely of abbreviations. The black letters, haphazard lines and curves, remind me of the snippets of suture

as a ten-hour period of inactivity punctuated by occasional

upon retiring, might shunt his invalid brood in my direction.

one of the pharmaceutical companies.

While she talks about her drug, an anti-depressant called

tubing of my stethoscope.

WILEY CASH 35

WILEY CASH

Bottle Rocket

path that ran behind the wooden building and up into the high

that wound like an artery through the mountains on its way down to Greenville. The Blue Ridge loomed in the distance.

My grandpa was sixty-seven. He wore a straw hat and a white shirt with buttons down the front. His jeans were rolled up, and his bright-white ankles shined like quartz rock before disappearing into his loafers. He leaned back on his hands and

beside him and sat down. He didn’t look at me.

His store sat down the hill below us, and we watched as little flames leapt up from the bleached pine. A bottle rocket shot from the smoke and zoomed over our heads into the trees behind us. The sign out by the highway said “Stateline

disappear around the side of the building before trying to light a few sparkler sticks. Sparklers were fascinating to him. He was a good bit older than me, but he had the mind of a little boy. He worked in my grandpa’s store sometimes. His momma, Della, was friends with my folks before her boyfriend shot her while he was drunk.

36 THE CAROLINA QUARTERLY

We sat and watched the flames die down, and then we watched the sun sink slowly through the clouds and hide behind the mountain. The fire hissed and popped below us. A low rumble of thunder echoed across the sky.

it. We better get on home before your momma hears about this and starts to worry. We’ll wait until tomorrow to start figuring

“This rain’ll chase him out of the woods, and he’ll come

My grandfather stood and wiped the grass from the seat of his pants. His silhouette threw a shadow over me, and

the treetops. We took the path down the hill to the spot where

bike, and ran back up the hill to get it.


THEODORE WOROZBYT

Whole

to the river. To wash my body seeing my dog run and the spittle

grass and hidden well had been replaced with freshly numbered markers. The ribbons scarving trees were pink. X’s were painted on the fountains. There was no point in touching them. We crouched,

crimson tin. Too many fags using the old one, a man with a heavy beard had said at a party. A yellow caterpillar shrieked and swal-

colonies and then it started in on the bank. A small crowd of men stood silent, nomadic, sipping steam as it chewed at roots. When

glossy back, to pick up wings by the sheaths and feel the tug of barbed legs as they clung. My dog sank his muzzle onto my thigh. My knee cracked, giving us away.

JULIALICIA CASE 63

FLAT HAND | Mark Ramsay


K . A . HAYS

To Mindless Forces

who tumble all the stones along the shore

smacking glass with sand until the cutting edge

you—for whom all wars and ages are a day’s grind— to go on grinding.

me now with what

This way the prayer is answered if not heard. The sea heaves

can speak. Sea, take this shore and the whole New Brunswick coast.

K . A . HAYS 69

BIRL ING GAP | Jonny White

STUART DYBEK 71

I N T E R V I E W

“I’m Most Comfortable with the Eclectic” A C O N V E R S A T I O N W I T H S T U A R T D Y B E K

recent work, , was a New York Times Notable Book) and two collections of poetry, and the recipient of numerous awards – arrived in Chapel Hill in late October as a visiting lecturer in the UNC Living Writers curriculum. He is the Distinguished Writer in Residence at Northwestern University and a member of the permanent faculty for Western Michigan University’s Prague Summer Program.

writers, and just before he was scheduled to read his work to a rapt audience in UNC’s Dialectic Hall, he sat down with CQ’s editor Evan Gurney and poetry editor Rachel Berry to discuss a variety of topics: favorite writers and favorite readings, the craft

SD:

prestigious at the time. EAG [presenting Dybek with copy of the Spring 1971 issue

in which his work appeared]: We were going to ask you

jog your memory.SD:

EAG: And here’s the newest incarnation. The design has changed a bit.


SD: Yes, Evan was telling me that the Quarterly does indeed still publish writers at the starts of the careers.

RB: Absolutely.SD: Most every magazine claims to, but not a lot actually do so

consistently. RB:

you look forward to or more something that just comes with the territory?

SD:Chapel Hill. The Carolina Quarterly

Five Pointsa brilliant editor.

RB:which is pretty rare. As a short story writer and a poet, do

performance — the dialogue of story, the rhythm of a poem?

SD: for

that very shortness requires more attention to the arrangement of the reading, how much you say in between poems. Reading

RB: Any readings you’ve seen that stand out above the others? SD: Many, many years ago, Seamus Heaney, before he had

really come to the prominence he deserved — this was

folk singer and they gave an evening’s reading of Heaney’s

wanted it to stop. And then a reading that Milosz did in Michigan, in fact his entire visit, was just unforgettable. He’s a great reader of poems, not just of his poems, but of poetry. He had a wonderful way of reading from the inside

would be able to — he read a novella.RB: Wow.

STUART DYBEK 73

SD: He probably read for two hours, and it was spellbinding. Those three come jumping out.

RB: As they should. As a writer of poetry and prose, you have not only to decide between the paragraph and the stanza,

the decision of form ever an issue for you when writing about certain subjects? Do you think the subject chooses

for instance, did that begin as a prose poem?SD:

keep are usually in lines for whatever reason. So it’s natural to start a piece in lines based on these little snippets in my notebooks.

RB:SD: RB: So you generally begin a piece in verse, but what about

endings, what do you look for in an ending — surprise, summation? Do you more often cut an ending from a draft or add on?

SD:

end. And when that happens, that’s usually the ending that sticks. When that doesn’t happen, then writing the story

started with a guy drinking coffee and watching the snow,

would be one of these circular stories, what’s sometimes called a frame story, and would return, at the end, to the guy watching the snow. But something happened in the


telling of the story that made me realize that wasn’t the best

the ending out too early in the piece. EAG: You were talking earlier in the Living Writers class you

visited about the notion of surrender and giving yourself up to the process of writing and letting something happen, so it’s interesting to hear about also having a target in mind and having some sense of control once you’re already in.

SD:

two-thirds of the way in, the story’s talking back to me and

it’s not a bad idea to pay attention to all the different ways

when it happens — is that frequently there’s some signal to the reader that the story is going to end, and it’s like a shift in gears. And when you feel that shift in gears, then you know you probably have an ending that’s going to work.

epiphanic ending — usually this is a story that has been in the narrative mode and switches to the lyrical mode. And

way, something has had to happen in the narrative that’s generated that shift.

EAG: Authenticity comes from something beyond mere mechanics, then?

SD: Syracuse, that she was distrustful of the epiphanic ending, because as a poet it was so easy for her (and she used this

had a good point.

STUART DYBEK 75

CQ SPRING 197 1 | Dybek’s poem “Winter”


RB:

did you choose a real street? Do you think that you’re in some way cuing the reader that if the places are real, the stories may be more real than we think?

SD:wouldn’t hesitate to include a made-up street in a story with

the beautiful name of that street that seemed to promise so much, but when you actually look at it, it’s not blue and it’s not an island.

RB:

SD: There are a million different stories about it … some people

RB:

version of someone in verse? Do you ever feel protected by the fact that fewer people are going to read a book of poems versus a book of short stories?

SD:

in a sense, the same imaginative guy: the childless uncle who presents an alternative reality to the order of the household and who is at once a lesson in how easy it is to become a loser and at the same time a lesson as to why one might want to break the rules. There’s always that attraction

you more length, and characterization often thrives given

STUART DYBEK 77

a broader canvas, so that something like a novel is one of the ultimate vehicles for complex, in-depth, span-of-a-life

contained, economical, and sharp, then certainly a poem is

it is in American poetry right now to do something like a

which might extend to how publishable a piece is, then that

guessing since you asked the question, that so far as The Carolina Quarterly you’re just looking for a poem you like and could care less how fashionable it is.

EAG: SD: There certainly are plenty of publications that want

something that is a little more elliptical and less direct than sometimes a character portrait wants to be.

RB: Streets in Their Own Ink, in the second poem in the book,

section is fourteen. What does the American sonnet do best and are you interested in that?

SD:

particular poem. RB: Do you try out more form than actually appears in your books of

poems? Any general thoughts on formalism and authenticity? SD:

American, a notion that goes back at least to Whitman and Emerson, and that allows for Beatnik poetry, the New

is associated with an open poem. That idea remains more

that to me, this seems a controversy and a conversation


to American poetry is that there were so many –isms and divided camps that writers had the choice of joining one or

have a personal vision, an independent voice that kind of overarches divisions such as formal and open.

RB: Brass Knuckles, you write about a svengali, one who makes people do what they truly desire. What, as

would never write about?SD:

is put in a position where he really wants to write about something, but for whatever reason — legal, moral, fear, shame, friendship, loyalty — feels he can’t write about it, that’s what coding is for. What coding brings from you is a level of invention. One of the grandest examples of coding in the twentieth century is in the work of Eugene Montale.

generally agreed that much of his major poetry concerns two women, and Montale himself has been quoted as saying that his entire body of work is an autobiographical novel and that he is at heart, essentially, a love poet. And yet if you pick up Montale and try to put together some kind of gossipy take on him, you’d have to be a scholar detective and you still could never be sure. So long as you have the ability to invent and the desire to use it, you can write about anything.

EAG: Along those lines, censorship can necessitate imaginative artistry.

SD: wrote the phenomenal book about Ethiopia, one of the most

Kapuscinski. He went to all these different faraway places, but

STUART DYBEK 79

many, many examples of writers who’ve had to do that. EAG:

and also in reading through your work, you seem to attach an importance to food. Your story about brisket made my

and writing.SD:

EAG: The two often go hand in hand.SD: As in any number of households and many immigrant

cultures, food is a measure, a conveyor of culture, and it’s also a nonverbal way that affection is communicated, which is really important in immigrant households where the grandparents are speaking a language different from

we could always communicate via food. The words for

almost any language are the words for ordering off a menu.

always think the medium of language is the least sensual medium because it’s abstract in a way none of the others are. And my desire is always to swim against the current;

ways to use the abstraction, but my heart is really with Nabokov and Calvino who defy abstration. Hemingway’s a great food writer — a phenomenal food writer.

desire it expresses itself in the subject matter, so that if you want to make something sensual it’s not surprising if music, sex, and food are going to be reappearing subjects,


because all three are highly sensual experiences. To express that kind of sensuality you’re after in language, the subject matter itself becomes a part of the form, so to speak.

carp — it’s entirely about food. And there’s this wonderful

with the cook, who hands him the treasure of a shriveled

to eat, but you must eat to live.EAG: You mentioned earlier that you decided early on to be

educator and writer overlap and whether you’re aiming for an educative moment for your readers.

SD:

happened, one theme keeps reasserting itself: how these kids seem to have been abandoned or let down by a dumb education. And how different school is from education, how

had a different attitude towards the profession of teaching.

The men and women who have been my peer group by and large have not taken that attitude; they’ve taken a pretty caring attitude — they’ve taken it seriously, cared about their students, and felt it’s been a privilege to do it.

EAG: teaching has always been Donald Justice.

SD: TriQuarterly,

STUART DYBEK 81

compose again toward the end of his life. The cover of the TriQuarterly

and did everything with such grace — he was modest, too. With all his engagement with poetry in different languages, the text that he used in the beautiful musical piece he wrote was from Winesburg, Ohio. He saw the poetry in the prose: he thought Winesburg was a masterpiece and loved Sherwood Anderson. And he set Sherwood Anderson to music. Don could write in open forms, he was beautiful in forms, he could make hybrid forms. He was just interested in all the different shapes language could assume on the page.

RB: interacting with young writers. Do you think their writing or their attitude towards writing has changed over time, or is it pretty much the same?

SD:

thing comes, but you know that there’s always going to

formalism, there will always be another –ism coming along.

that will last. But other than that, people still have to learn

know that there are people who feel it’s already happening,

EAG:wanted to ask you about trains. So many of your stories incorporate trains or train tracks.

SD:


like an amusement park ride. At recess we would run for the tracks and jump slow-moving freights that came by. By

didn’t know it at the time, but they were real wilderness. The railroad would buy or lease land, and while they might cut the foliage back from the tracks, there still was wildness on both sides, and they were exciting places and a little dangerous. There were a lot of hobos, some of them people who would have been better in outpatient care, but instead,

way on the fringe of society. Trains were a great adventure that mostly seemed to be ignored by the adult world, except for those who worked on the railroad, but to children they were a constant, wondrous presence.

EAG:

of aesthetic or vision.SD: The train affords you the opportunity to try to mimic it

rhythmically. And the image itself is an image of motion — whether it’s a train or a car moving down the road, as with a river, it’s time moving.

STUART DYBEK 83

D L INE TRAIN APPROACHING BEACONSFIELD STOP |

RACHEL BERRY

The Whole Woman UNMENTIONABLES by Beth Ann Fennelly

W. W. Norton & Company

collection, Unmentionablessweat from his hand on your ass, / why not stop, drop, and roll, why not climb up on top, / what a view of the moon, what a nice little

poetry articulates, in its howl, much more than the primal scream of animal passion. Through autobiography, through mimicry, and

modern woman, what is often left unsaid.Unmentionables, you may be tempted to align

each of the book’s seven sections with a different female role. Resist

the poet is presenting herself as the everyday woman, who lusts after her students while fretting over the growing gap in her age and theirs, who is a wife traveling by train with her husband in the dark

mistake to dissect the book like this, to separate and distinguish the female characters with which we are presented. Such an approach would diminish the range and complexity of each individual piece.

and, somehow, ends with terrorism: “What would they make of

says it and gets it right.


painter Berthe Morisot to an impassioned mother with a dirty mind –

presented with the poet’s relationship to Oxford, Mississippi, where she, like kudzu, the subject of a long, sectional poem, is not native

awareness keeps the speaker from truly inhabiting this comparison;

whistling, / hands behind my back, / like on a day when nothing,

that the pleasant scenes of a county fair are being held where bodies of civil rights activists were dumped, one shudders at her skillful use

once a southern writer and an outsider. She compares her path with

Unmentionables, writing sestinas, tercets, sprawling free verse, a fourteen-section homage to and revamping of Berryman’s Dream Songs, yet she is not brassy, not showy, though it’s clear you’re reading

writes:

Standing on the doormat of my black shadow, with a beginner’s brow, with a hoop of angels, with the ache of unlit candles,

With these simple and unadorned lines, the speaker addresses you, the reader, whom she welcomed into her complex world: mysterious, exposed, and unquestionably recognizable.

RACHEL BERRY 85


CHAIRS AND TABLES | John Lambert Pearson

HENRY KEARNEY

Balancing Act THE BORDER KINGDOM by D. Nurkse

Alfred A. Knopf 112 pages; $26.00 hardcover

to properly illuminate the shifting inner states of human consciousness. D. Nurkse, with one foot in New York and the other in Europe, a writer celebrated for both his poems and his human rights work, is supremely aware of the ways in

The Border Kingdom, Nurkse, with a tone and eye both resigned and searching, expertly and unflinchingly examines the borders, both internal and external, that we all straddle. He moves through large philosophical themes, familial concerns, and current events. The poems are wise and direct but never heavy-handed, organized so fluidly and with such clear-headed purpose that you finish the book feeling you have been taught a lesson without having to endure a lecture. The book begins in parable, with the first and shortest

philosophical, these poems introduce the underlying themes that hold the book together. The first of the four pieces,

structure of the collection itself:

Sometimes in a high window a white curtain knotted against itself

gives a glimpse of the lovers as they were before the war

HENRY KEARNEY 87

The window here is a transparent barrier, allowing us to observe but not participate. This window into the past offers a chance to observe a formative experience with the perspective of knowing what those in the window’s world are not aware of

allowed to observe this past, we are not allowed to touch it. The lovers remain removed from us, anonymous, and we are

(the war) and less (their identities) than the lovers do. This precarious balancing act between knowing and not knowing, experiencing and observing, creates a palpable tension and drama. Throughout the book Nurske employs this technique of looking backwards through several layers of past to try to understand the elusive present, and the tension between what can be known and what cannot be known in both times is part of what makes these poems so effective. Moving from parable to stark reality in the “The Limbo

most of the second and third sections of The Border Kingdom, giving the book a core of intimacy, even as the first and final

in the poem) journeys to an unnamed country right as “the

experience of the poem is at once real and metaphysical. The hold is both the hold of the ship coming to port and the internal

is “the dark cubbyhole / that might be endless, or just a hair /

with which Nurkse treats the lonely tragedies of life is on full display when the boy/father “takes his pulse, then having / no

After this ominous introduction, the section explores the father’s struggles to come to terms with his own beginnings. Of particular interest is how the father attempts to impart to his children truths learned through that struggle without passing


on the constant internal conflict he feels in himself. “The

being the child and being the parent in this situation:

so when he cleared his throat

when he stumbled

he was defenseless against my boredom

/…/

structure, the alliteration followed by the modulation of the

well-patterned subtlety that is at once visceral and cerebral. One of the more intriguing and refreshing aspects of this speaker is that he is not afraid of the first person pronoun, and yet these poems never become self-indulgent. The speaker remains objective in relating personal tales of universal feelings, and does so with such honesty and sage-like perception that the reader feels as though the poem is speaking of the reader’s own life. The first person here functions almost as a camouflaged second person, and we as readers are invited into the worlds of these poems.

up and fallen in love, so Nurske appropriately moves from

intimate connection with a lover. Describing a night spent on the road and in love, he states:

HENRY KEARNEY 89

A cock crowed in Windfall but our room was still dark.

between us then: no world, no other world, just nakedness

intimacy allows them to share that distance, creating a state at once apart and together. As ecstatic as this union may be, however, there is no passion in the tone. Throughout this section, the speaker remains resigned, as if he knows these moments of connection are fleeting. The personal isolation will return, and the speaker takes this as a matter of fact, not to be lamented or celebrated, only accepted.

poems centered around current events that do not, as is often the case, dominate the poems. No tirades or self-righteous pomp here, just perceptive observations spoken plainly and powerfully, with true poetic force. That force is sustained throughout The Border Kingdom as Nurkse explores the human experience of isolation felt even in the intimate relationships between family, lovers, and one’s own self. These poems bring to light how that mutual isolation connects us. This is an intriguing paradox worthy of Nurkse’s skills, and his writing does not disappoint. The

phrase. As the internal and external conflicts rage, isolating a speaker that is highly individualized but somehow feels as if he could be you or me or anyone, there is still a sense that everything is alright. The speaker seems to feel that the world is in disarray, and yet this is as it should be, a beautiful thing. These poems traverse the human world, aware at all times of both their love for the humanity and their desire to disconnect from it. Nurkse engages and expresses these universal tensions with intelligence and beauty.


HENRY KEARNEY 91

SUPER ROCKER | Lars P.

MARTIN ARNOLD teaches at Guilford College, and he is the Associate Editor of storySouth. His poetry has been published in Denver Quarterly, Crazyhorse, Poetry East, and elsewhere.

JULIALICIA CASE lives in Sacramento, California where she teaches at Sacramento City College and leads writing workshops for the homeless. Currently she is working on a collection of short stories based on her experiences growing up on a military base in Germany during the Cold War.

WILEY CASH has appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Roanoke Review, and

being shopped for publication. He currently lives in West Virginia

College.

STEPHEN COUGHLIN teaches at Ohio State University. His recent publications include the Michigan Quarterly, Green Mountains Review, New York Quarterly, and Slate.

KATE DOUGHERTY lives in Chicago. Her work has appeared in Court Green, Action, Yes, Columbia Poetry Review, and If Poetry Journal.

STUART DYBEK has written numerous award-winning books of

Northwestern University and a member of the permanent faculty for

C O N T R I B U T O R S

W I N T E R 2 0 1 0 | V O L . 6 0 , N O . 1


ROCCO de GIACOMO’S work has most recently appeared or is forthcoming in The Prairie Journal, The Antigonish Review, and Tower Poetry Ten Thousand Miles Between Us, was launched through Quattro Books in 2009.

K. A . HAYS is the author of Dear Apocalypse (Carnegie Mellon 2009), poems from which appear or are forthcoming in Best American Poetry 2009, The Yale Anthology of Younger American Poetry, Southern Review, and elsewhere. She currently holds the Emerging

MATT LANY

College.

DANIEL LIBMAN’S stories and essays have appeared in The Pushcart Prize, The Paris Review, Santa Monica Review, Other Voices, and

with his wife, two kids, a dog, and several dozen chickens.

MICHAEL MARTIN is a freelance writer and editor currently living in the Chattahoochee

Review, Wisconsin Review, and Cottonwood, among others. He was co-founding editor of the literary magazine Hogtown Creek Review. He just completed co-editing the anthology, Just a Game: The Best Sports Writing from Harper’s Magazine, due out in spring 2010.

MELANIE McCABE teaches high school in Arlington, Virginia. Her work has appeared in Nimrod, Crab Orchard Review, Barrow Street, Harpur Palate, the Evansville Review, and other journals.

CONTRIBUTORS 93

RON McFARLAND teaches literature and creative writing at the

converted one-room schoolhouse (built 1884) near Amish country in eastern Ohio. His most recent collection is a chapbook of baseball poems, At the Ballpark (2005).

PATRICK PHILLIPS’S Chattahoochee, received the 2005 Kingsley Tufts Discovery Award, and his second, Boy, was published

University.

CHRISTOPHER SHIPMAN’S poems have appeared in journals such as Exquisite Corpse, Red Actions, and Salt Hill, among others. His

Verse Daily.

JOAN SIEGEL’S most recent book is Hyacinth for the Soul (Deerbrook Editions, 2009). Recipient of the 1998 Anna Davidson Rosenberg

The Atlantic Monthly, The American Scholar, The Gettysburg Review, Prairie Schooner, and other journals.

CLARENCE SMITH’S The Bellevue Literary Review, Rosebud, and The Best of the Bellevue Literary Review. He lives with his wife in Nashville, Tennessee, where he works as a physician.

JOHN SAMUEL TIEMAN’S chapbook, A Concise Biography of Original Sinin The American Review, The Iowa Review, and River Styx.

THEODORE WOROZBYT’S work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Poetry, New England Review, Shenandoah, The Southern Review, and Quarterly West. He has published two books of poetry, The Dauber Wings, and I, which won the 2007


CONTRIBUTORS 95

Q U A R T E R LY PAT R O N S

The staff of The Carolina Quarterly wishes to thank the following patrons of the magazine —

FACULTY DONORS

Thomas Reinert

GUARANTORS

Brian & Michelle Carpenter Anne & William Harmon Howard Holsenbeck Richard Richardson Amber Vogel R. Alex Rankin

SPONSORS

Hunter C. Bourne Connie Eble

Jack W.C. Hagsrrom Kimball King Melissa Ross Matron

Regina Oliver Grady Ormsby Margaret Rabb Ann Cary Simpson & Bland Simpson


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FRIENDS

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MEMBERS

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for Academic Affairs, Carolina Leadership Development, the Bull’s Head

PATRONS 97

Readers of The Carolina Quarterly

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