Poem: "Lou Reed in Istanbul," by Carol Moldaw; "Animals," a story by Edan Lepucki; free event in Oberlin
Posted April 10th, 2008 by cwhite
–By David Young, Oberlin College Press/FIELD Magazine
Come help us celebrate spring this coming Sunday, April 13, at 8 p.m. in the FAVA Gallery in downtown Oberlin (Located at the New Union Center for the Arts), when we will feature two fine writers, Carol Moldaw and Edan Lepucki.
Some of you will know Carol's work through the distinguished volume of poems, THE LIGHTNING FIELD, which won the FIELD Poetry Prize in 2002. What you may not know is that she has just published a novel, THE WIDENING. Both of these books will be for sale after the reading, and we hope that Carol will let us sample both in her choices for reading.
Edan Lepucki is the current Writer in Residence at Oberlin this semester, teaching the freshman fiction writing class. Some of you will remember her from her student days and some will have gotten acquainted with her over the past few months. She's an exhilarating short story writer who has begun publishing in excellent places (she's also working on a novel) and we're delighted to be able to feature her with Carol.
We'll have our usual book raffle and socializing afterwards. This is the final reading of the year and we do hope you'll be able to join us for it.
Click here to read the poem "Lou Reed in Istanbul" by Carol Moldaw in THE BLUE MOON REVIEW…
…and plush labyrinthian
women who glide up
from the foot of the bed,
who hide their emotions
even from the moon…
Click here to read the story "Animals," by Edan Lepucki, in Story Quarterly Magazine.
"EVERY TIME HIS WIFE, Alice, goes out at night without him, Mr. Blackburn can’t help but wait for her return. Tonight’s no different. He’d like to be awake when his wife gets home, but he’s tired, and waiting up would be embarrassing, like he’s her dad or something. Tonight he gets into bed real early without even bothering to read. He prays, twice, that Alice makes it back safely. He quickly imagines something awful, something unimaginable, and then his wife’s funeral (all those yellow roses), and the strained visits from her weepy parents a year from tonight. . ."
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