Issue 17

Foreword

The thematics of the contributions in Issue 17 of Lunaris Review encapsulate a rich tapestry of memory, identity, adversary, loss, and transformation, each resonating with its unique cadence and creativity. It is our hope that as you delve into the tapestry of words carefully woven by our creative contributors, you will discover delightful moments of introspection and inspiration.

Clark Zlotchew’s โ€œThe City of Darknessโ€ is a serene contemplation of the echoes of guilt by association, a narrative that seeks redemption from unpleasant emotions just as the memory emerges from the โ€œsubconscious to break through a psychic barrier and surface in the conscious mindโ€”like an enemy submarine rising from the depthsโ€”it pushes emotional buttons. Meanwhile, Kofi Letsaโ€™s โ€œToastโ€ reincarnates the legendary Togbui, prompting us to question the complex interplay between salvation and de/colonial liberation. Kofi invites us to explore the rich embroidery of identity and the enduring spirit of freedom.

In โ€œAcrophobia,โ€ James Matthews takes us on a journey through the labyrinth of fear. He leaves us with a profound insight, which is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit: โ€œFear, then, cannot be overcome by one cavalier action. Rather, the process of overcoming fear is a long and arduous journey, one which cannot be taken lightly, and one which I have not yet finished.โ€ Similarly, he reminds us that companionship and camaraderie play pivotal roles in our triumphs, offering support, motivation, and the occasional challenge, like that of Angus: โ€œEventually, this proved to be too much for me. If Angus could jump twice, I must be able to do it at least once.โ€

Is walking by the Thames like walking by the Nile? And when does home no longer feel like home? Sarah Mina Osmanโ€™s โ€œThe Djinnโ€ is punctuated with jarring crises that reshape the life of a migrant character, her family, and her state. It transports us to the tumultuous setting of the 1967 Arab-Israeli War in Cairo, Egypt. This evocative narrative seamlessly weaves together the worldly and the otherworldly, introducing us to characters caught in the intricate web of these intersecting realms.

A settlement once prominent for its dense forestation, its abundant cocoa and kolanut plantations is now for its succulent dough of unsliced bread; what Pumpernickel is to the Germans, Agege Bread is to Lagosians. But Nurudeen Aribisala’s โ€œWater is Our Adversary Hereโ€ immerses us in the torrents of Agege, where the indispensable becomes a formidable threat. His narrative reminds us that we do not always have control over our adversaries, and fate has its own course: โ€œIt flooded, no matter how much we tried to avert it.โ€ And is this environmental adversary a repercussion of the deforestation that took place in Agege decades before or the lack of proper urban planning? William Doreskiโ€™s โ€œWindchill Fifty Belowโ€ also seems to be at a loss for answers. As climate deniers would ask, who sets the priority for preservation or the criteria for what is worthy or not of preservation? William teasingly writes:

Blame the weather on Karl Marx
and his fey historical outlook.
Blame it on Nietzsche and his grim
supermen posing for sculptors.

Blame it on Hoover for naming
himself after a famous dam.
Just donโ€™t blame me for stoking
a wood fire that makes us sneeze

while shattering the ingrown cold.

Adversary, pain, loss, and trauma are gender agnostic and Joemario Umana’s โ€œA Flower is Not the Only Thing that is Fragileโ€ tenderly explores the vulnerability of masculinism. With tranquility and brittleness, this poem paints a vivid portrait of vulnerability and emotional depth, reminding us that strength and tenderness can coexist harmoniously but when they are stifled or unchanneled, they erupt into unbearable emotions: โ€œtoday/my brother decided to speak/ and formalin dripped from his mouth.โ€

Dear readers, as you navigate the pages of Issue 17, we encourage you to savor each word, embrace the emotions and engage with the profound complexities of the human condition. Lunaris Review is not just a literary journal; it is a vessel for the human experience, a canvas for the artist’s soul, and a sanctuary for the literary explorer.

Tolulope Oke

Publisher, Lunaris Review