NOVA FACULTY, STAFF, AND ALUMNI:
The pandemic experience–its isolation, fear, discovery–has inspired remarkable creative works by your colleagues. We are proud to share them with you.
Mike Maggio is an adjunct professor of English at NOVA’s Loudoun campus. Mike has published fiction, poetry, travel and reviews in many local, national and international publications including Potomac Review, The L.A. Weekly, The Washington City Paper, and The Washington Independent Review of Books. His novel, The Wizard and the White House (Little Feather Books), was released in 2014, his novella; The Appointment (Vine Leaves Press), in May 2017; and his collection of short stories, Letters from Inside (Vine Leaves Press), in October 2019. His newest poetry collection, “Let’s Call It Paradise” (San Francisco Bay Press), was released in March 2022. He is a graduate of George Mason University’s MFA program and is the Northern Regional Vice-President of the Poetry Society of Virginia.
About “Innominate”: When COVID struck, I , like many, was trying to find ways to express a reaction — not just mine, perhaps a collective reaction. I wanted to express symptoms: fever, loss of senses. And so you have images like “When I awoke, \ it was to the delusion of dream.” Or the fear of going out and coming in contact with others like “Today, a tulip trembled in the breeze: \ an urgent temptation to bloom.” Perhaps the one most resonating for me and which, as I recall, was the impetus of this poem are these lines: “In a moment of delirium \ I journeyed to my mother’s grave.”
Innominate
–Spring 2020
I.
Today, a tulip trembled in the breeze:
an urgent temptation to bloom.
II.
When I awoke,
it was to the delusion of dream.
III.
Outside, a vicious wind.
Outside, the trees. Fearful.
IV.
One moment, seclusion.
One moment, a prickly crown of memory.
V.
There’s nothing we can’t touch.
Nothing we can lay a finger on.
VI.
Sweet dove, waving from the wilderness,
Wherefore this social distancing?
VII.
In a moment of delirium,
I journeyed to my mother’s grave.
VIII.
Nothing on the horizon.
Not even a ghosting of sun.
IX.
200,000,000+sick. 200,000+ dead.
I cannot count to infinity.
X.
One dark night,
I witness my reflection taunting the reaper.
LeeAnn Thomas is professor of English at NOVA’s, Woodbridge Campus, where she has taught English composition and literature since 2009. Her poems have been published in Phoebe, So to Speak, The Washington Review, and The Northern Virginia Review. Her hypertext collaborative poem, “Weepers” is published in Mason’s new media journal, English Matters. She has an MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry from George Mason University and a BA. in Journalism from Temple University, Philadelphia, PA. She is a native of rural New York state.
“On poetic creativity: I believe that writing, like any other artistic endeavor, is both private and public; it is a political act. Writing is difficult and time consuming which runs counter to modern society. Finding the right words that speak your truth requires patience and submission to the creative forces of language play. Each poem is like going for a walk in the woods alone without knowing your final destination but trusting the journey.”
Ode to Finches with Apologies to Mary Oliver and D.H. Lawrence
I prefer the pair of gold finches at my feeder—
the calligraphy of yellow feathers takes my breath away.
My friend prefers the vulture—
grim sentinel keeping us safe from disease.
Mary Oliver says “we all want to be in a happy place in a poem”—
in a pandemic, we all want to be in a safe place.
A pair of vultures patrol my neighborhood from the rooftops—
I walk on the sidewalk under their protection.
Still, the inconsequential finches fix my gaze—
and I would happily freeze to death on a bough so transfixed.
The Voice of Birds
“out of the cradle endlessly rocking”—Walt Whitman, “Sea Drift”
The voice of birds sings to me sings to you also,
so sweetly singing little poets, each one singing her song sings to me, sings to you.
She sings to her mate who answers in song, sweet love sweet love, fading and returning
in morning bliss before the day begins.
Hear the voice of birds singing to me, singing to you also, sweet love sweet love.
Before the siren screams, I step barefoot on the floor like a child leaving her bed of dreams
listening to arias of sweet love, sweet love.
A subtle wind awakens me when the newspaper lands on the lawn wrapped in its thin coat
of blue plastic, chanting pandemic statistics.
The voice of birds still singing to me sing to you also, singing sweet love sweet love lyrics,
each song a soulful elegy of morning.
Hear the voice of birds singing to me, singing to you also, sweet love sweet love.
“Stupidity isn’t funny”—Wislawa Szymborska, “The Century’s Decline”
The sun spells revenge:
scorched grass,
Black-eyed Susans
choking to death.
The air is breathless:
this is no time for romance or
fruity drinks with umbrella straws
(it could be the last straw).
Rhetoric rules the day
without a college level vocabulary;
we are speechless and alone
with our technology.
Civil disobedience turns
upside down;
the social distance
between love and hate conflates.
We wear the mask of Red Death
masquerading our ignorance.
John Kinney is a professor of ESL and Linguistics at NOVA’s Alexandria Campus. His photographs have been featured in Float Magazine, Fraction Magazine, F-Stop Magazine, Don’t Take Pictures, New Landscape Photography, The Northern Virginia Review, The Cimarron Review, Oranbeg Press, and others.
“During the pandemic, I have spent much more time with my family. My children and I have done a lot of art together, and the pieces submitted here were created with my children’s influences. This work most likely would have never been made if not for the pandemic and my children’s’ insistence to do an art project together. So, because of this, although most likely not apparent in the object itself to others, to me, these sculptures connects me to disjointed emotions: the loneliness and dread of a pandemic, and the joy and love when creating with family.”
Foam Head
I think the foam head and sculpture were prompted by me watching old art documentaries, specifically one on Bruce Nauman Sculpture 2020. The Foam Head came about more specifically from a call for art on Anonymity, from the Postcard Collective, which asked me to be a part of that call. It probably took about a month to think of the idea and create it. My family thought I was nuts when I pulled out two foam heads from an eBay package, and they thought I was even more nuts when I started carving the foam away …(Felting scissors work great for such a task by the way.)
Sculpture
With the sculpture, generally, it was something I was just trying to get right. I had to shape the metal in a certain way, and I wanted the sculpture to spin a certain way. I even filmed it in a low-fi way to get the effect of an old art documentary. The sculpture started, however, when I was doing clay crafts with my children. I started to add metal to clay and cut the metal in various ways.
Aurora Teal
The photograph Aurora Teal was created by my daughter playing with lights in a pool. She would do her light show, and then want to see how it turned out
on the camera’s display. I let her do anything she wanted with the lights, and she appreciated this freedom.
Yeumin He is a professor of English at Northern Virginia Community College. she has published book chapters, reviews, essays, short stories, and translations. Her poetry translations appear in Oxford Anthology of Modern and Contemporary American Poetry (2nd ed.), Metamorphoses, and Ezra.
A
These Chinese poems were written early this year when Covid-19 was raging on the other side of the world. They capture the overwhelming power the virus wielded over the human world. The new year failed to usher in joy and happiness, rumors skyrocketed, and symptoms of alienation, despair, and hatred began to sicken the soul. Meanwhile, these heartfelt poems concoct what resembles a poetic potion of “parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme”; each contains one element, but together they form a seemingly impossible yet magically loving and healing antidote.
—Thanks to my friend Hong Li for introducing these poems. With these translations, I wish that all of earth’s citizens find the remainder of 2020 hopeful.
Yuemin He
病毒与谣言
Coronavirus and Rumor
作者：马维驹
By Weiju Ma
谣言，与病毒同时爆发
Rumor, along with virus, is exploding.
两个不同的物种，喜好相同的环境——
Two different species, yet enjoy similar environment—
阴暗，潮湿，肮脏
Dark, damp, and filthy
A
病毒的形体和棘突，使人联想到日冕
The shape and tendrils of the virus, reminders of the stellar–corona.
无脑之人，把一顶诗意的帽子
The brainless put a poetic crown
送给了邪恶的幽灵
on this evil phantom.
A
每一株冠状病毒，都有一个伪装的壳
Each virus disguises itself in a shell.
谣言也是
Rumor is also
毒，就在破壳之后
poisonous, right at the burst of its shell.
A
我认为，之所以如此强调佩戴口罩
It dawns on me, the insistence on wearing masks
不仅在于阻塞带毒的飞沫
blocks the infectious droplets
也是为了堵住谣言
as well as rumors
.
开封日记
End of Lockdown
作者：张执浩
By Zhihao Zhang
重复生活的危险性
The danger of repetitive life
就在于记忆容易被消磁
is easy memory loss.
我已经不记得昨天的事了
I can’t remember what happened yesterday
就像昨天不存在似的
as if it had never existed.
今天是封城的第76天
Today is the end of lockdown,
也是最后一日
the last of the 76 days.
我坐在家里就像
Sitting in my home I feel like
坐在城外的空地上
being outside the city in the open air.
阳光明艳照见我有泪水
The glaring sun reflects my tears;
我必须眯上眼睛使劲看
I have to look hard
才能依稀看见
to make out the shadow of
一个未亡人
a survivor
闪烁在地平线上的影子
flickering on the horizon
扭曲，失真，不成人形
deformed, unreal and inhuman.
当他越走越近时
When he gets closer,
我会站起身来
I shall rise
奔过去
run forward
与他相拥而泣
to share a teary embrace.
调笑令 《新冠》
To the Tune of Tiaoxiaoling: Coronavirus
作者：董福永
By Fuyong Dong
新冠,
Coronavirus,
新冠,
Coronavirus,
豚鼠交班捣乱。You wreaked havoc at the turn from the Pig to the Rat year.
犹猪吃睡过年，
Like the pig, we ate and slept through the new year,
如鼠蜗居盼观。Like the rat, we burrowed in house to pray
观盼，
Pray to
观盼，
Pray to
庚子立春除患。
See the pandemic gone before spring.
庚子元夕
2020 New Year Eve
作者：蒿峰
By Feng Hao
上元烟火夜,
On eve of the Lantern Festival,
南望楚江头。
I gazed at the Yangtze River southward.
三镇阴霾重，
The three boroughs were covered in thick fog;
千城冷月愁。
numerous other cities stood saddened in moonlight cold.
萧疏辞旧岁，
The old year passed in desolation,
闭户作新囚。
and families became prisoners of their own abode.
十里空街静，
Miles and miles of empty and quiet streets;
寒灯照泪眸。
chilling light tears in my eyes betrayed.