Foreword
Twenty issues, over two hundred contributors, and nearly a decade ago, Lunaris Review embarked on a journey to become “an enabling platform where astounding creativity is sought, and the interstices between artists (creative minds) and readers (the creative populace) are finally bridged.” If there is one thing evident today, it is the boundless surge of creativity, one that continuously grapples with, resists, and sometimes surrenders to the ever-evolving socio-political, cultural, economic, environmental, and now technological landscapes. This twentieth issue marks not just a milestone of persistence for us as a creative collective but, more significantly, a testament to the imagination and the ever-expanding constellation of narratives we have been privileged to host.
In this issue, we celebrate the new and the familiar, the experimental and the traditional, the voices that push boundaries and those that affirm the profound power of simplicity. Christian Barragan’s “Offspring” introduces us to an unnamed narrator and the ordeal of bringing another creature to life, a narrative that highlights the tensions within the human creative imaginary: the hunger to create an equally sentient being and the existential dilemma that attends such ambition. As the narrator reflects: “I knew, presuming the process was successful, that the creation would have difficulty adjusting to life. Communicating. Developing a personality.”
Martins Ndubuisi’s poems are charged with rage and jarring imageries, bearing witness to the unsettling socio-political realities of postcolonial Nigeria. However, in “In the Icy Hands of Vetrnik” and “In Prague: Names like Staroměstská,” the poetic persona explores Prague, its oddities, beauty, and distinctiveness, as both a site of estrangement and possible belonging. But this is no mere romantic or survivalist gesture; it is an active engagement with the vortex of vexation that characterises Martins’ poetics, provoking the “vast satellites of futures yet born.” We find echoes of this concern in Tares Oburumu’s “Grenade,” but with a different creative bend and complication. Like Warsan Shire expresses in “Home,” “no one leaves home unless home chases you,” Tares reminds us that beyond war and terror, environmental disaster also forces people into exile: “When the rain/ stopped we became ripples, small fishes, swimming in an oasis,/ the ocean.” Yet, the anxieties of migration linger, where even in new homes, one remains suspect:
Now here I am, safe in the south that is flooded. In my sleep,
I could hear them drowning. They could see me as I reach
for my passport like an emigrant, praying that it leads me
to someplace where I can hold water in a cup, set free
my thirst, and be cocksure I am not showing you a grenade.
Man’s inquisitiveness and the limits of perception are captured in “Not Pictured,” where the poetic persona questions what remains outside the frame of an image, what is equally significant but unseen: “to see who was behind the camera.” This poem subtly deconstructs our understanding of perception, luring us toward the unseen and the overlooked. The same concern extends to “They Grow Everywhere,” which highlights humanity’s indifference to its surroundings, as flowers grow freely but “never get to breathe anything but fumes.” These are reminders to re-evaluate our affect and effect on everything around us.
Nick Young’s “The Test” is an unflinching narrative centred on Ren Warren, a young woman grappling with the aftermath of an unwanted pregnancy following a sexual assault. Through vivid prose, the story immerses us in her psychological turmoil and the harsh realities of her small-town existence. The opening scene, where Ren hesitates before confirming her pregnancy test results, sets the tone for an unvarnished exploration of trauma, desperation, and the weight of difficult choices. Likewise, Jonathan Vidgop’s “From the Life of Sheep” is a fascinating mix of satire, absurdism, and existential commentary. It reads like a Kafkaesque nightmare intertwined with the grotesque humour of Gogol, bringing to life a town of eccentric characters locked in a timeless stasis. Through the barber, we navigate a world teeming with pent-up tensions, where a “virus” drives people into irrational violence. Is this a metaphor for human nature, a commentary on isolation, or an absurd reflection on societal decay? This is the very nature of narratives: at one end, they evoke aesthetic admiration, and, at another end, they beckon on us to reflect on things through a more critical and introspective lens. Dear readers, as we celebrate this twentieth issue, we invite you to immerse yourself in the diverse but compelling voices that continue to shape Lunaris Review. Here’s to more issues, more narratives, and a steady commitment to the curation of creativity.
Tolulope Oke
Publisher, Lunaris Review
