Category Archives: Front Matter

by | December 3, 2024 · 3:17 pm

13.1 | Dear Readers

Dear Readers,

We are extremely honored and excited to be a part of this issue’s Gandy Dancer. As it is our first semester as Managing Editors, 13.1 feels extra special. We are so thankful for the work Gandy Dancer’s staff has done in order to make this issue happen, and for the writers and artists who trusted us with their work. This issue catches us—readers and staff alike—during an enormous period of transition. In the wake of the most recent election, and amidst uncertainty and fear, we are looking to art to sustain us.

Poet and former Gandy Dancer editor, Luica LoTempio, was on campus recently and her workshop and reading reminded us of art’s transformative nature, how darkness can grow into something beautiful. An interview with LoTempio and a review of her book concludes this issue and we hope that it is both informative and inspiring.

The fiction in this edition of Gandy Dancer offers us solace by suspending us in new realities. In Kaiser Kelly’s “Clearing,” ambiguity leads to clarity and we are told a story that gently toes the line between poetry and prose. Bruso’s characters long to reach a clearing in the forest, and find that it is both unlike their expectations and exceeds them. Their fear was justified, but no longer needed. Kelly writes: “We were sacrificing ourselves to warnings of the past, to dangers that no longer lurked behind the trunks. We saw all now as it was in these fresh grasses.” This story urges us to look outside ourselves as the characters do the same, journeying to a place they have yearned for, and to think about the consequences of both running and staying where we are.

Zoe LaVallee’s “Inherited Survival” navigates the complexities of time and familial ties. She writes, “time dances like grinding metal and sings like bullets. We hide but do not escape. We scream in silence.” She thinks through heritage, circumstance, and time beautifully, without hesitation. “Head-On” by Alex Fisher considers time in a similar way, writing: “go west down on thirty-nine for an hour, / almost exactly / an hour, / like clockwork, / every time.” The piece is exhaustive in its consideration of what ifs and repetition. The narrator knows their routine, knows what is expected of them, and learns that there is pleasure in those schedules and patterns being broken, in exploring what is beyond.

The poetry in this issue highlights the strength of our bodies, reminds us that they are our own, and yet also inextricably tied to the environment around us. In Giulyana Gamero’s “to the journal i carry (like a burden),” the speaker compares their body to a “living and breathing conch shell.” “my second daughter refused to come out at birth” by Liz Ann Young carries a reader through the process of giving birth, and explores how the speaker “taught / the crickets. / Screamed, / keened / until the crows pleaded with [her] enough.”

Though poetry is often thought of as illusive, these poems stabilize and ground us, despite what Ken Dukes Jr. refers to as “the world’s uncontrollable / unraveling around us” in his “Talk Like Trees.” We’re brought together through the universality of metaphor, through the act of creating meaning. Kelli Charland’s poem, “THIS LIFE OF MINE,” explores exactly that. She writes, “My girl, she calls, / what’s this life of yours / about?” You will find the art in this issue encourages this self-reflection. It is a mirror.

The visual art in this issue plays an important role in this conversation. Isabell Mathew’s “Control” shows an unnerving image of hands grabbing at the face and head of a person, prodding around the subject’s mouth and nose, one red tear falling. This drawing conveys the anxieties many of us share as we face an uncertain future.

Gandy Dancer recognizes that we’re a single organism, completely attached at the hips. What affects one of us affects us all. This journal lets us think through our heartache, our joy, the never ending cycle between the two. Crack open the spine and read along with us.

Sincerely,

Mollie McMullan and Jordyn Stinar

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by | December 9, 2022 · 12:01 pm

11.1 | Dear Readers

Not long before writing this introduction, the town of Geneseo was buffeted by both its first snowfall and many subsequent rainstorms, as if to say, “Wait a minute, winter isn’t here yet!” Through this confusing weather, the staff of Gandy Dancer trudged their way regardless of rain, snow, or shine, to work on our lovely magazine. We, your managing editors, both commend the determination of our staff and the courage of all writers and artists who submitted—there were many passionate discussions about what to publish this year!

Though COVID-19 appears to be slowly but surely releasing its hold on the local community, that hasn’t stopped the latest national and global news from troubling the minds of SUNY students. In this era of information technology, we encourage all to remain informed, but to also remember to breathe, reflect, and think about your own health and wellbeing. You may find that the works in this issue ask you to consider that perhaps the most meaningful change begins with the self.

In the prose we have collected, you will note a highlighted importance of personal growth fueled by human interaction. Aimee Maduro’s creative nonfiction piece “Drive” shows you how to find beauty in the world and solace in the people close to you, as she writes, “it was hard to know which direction was easier to look in; the heavy crescent and knowing winks in the sky, or the gentle hands beside me gripping the steering wheel.” Alternatively, Martin Dolan’s fiction story “Donato’s,” utilizes the rhythm of breathing, “One, two. One, two. One, two,” to center the story on the idea of prioritizing the self. Whichever you prefer, the potential for healing is multitudinous, and you will find many examples in this issue.

We encourage you to find solace in the people and writing that care for you, and to not forget that “people can be resting places / Soft places to land, to hang up your hat / And be washed of the day’s dust,” as Ashley Halm writes in her poem “Ode to a Cowboy.” We encourage you to let the poetry of Gandy Dancer remind you that you are allowed to begin the process of healing yourself, in spite of what is occurring all around us. We also hope that the work collected here reminds you that you are allowed to be angry about what is happening, just as Mollie McMullan’s poem “Lockdown Lockdown Lockdown” bleeds rage with the lines: “They think of mothers as expendable, / a mere body, / a husk bisected by birth, / a skin that can be shed.”

Themes of healing wrap around the prose, poetry, and art of this edition. The writers and artists featured recognize that this process is not easy. It does not happen all at once. Art, however, can be a start. And as we fall into the impenetrable cold of winter in New York, we hope that Gandy Dancer can act as a crackling fireplace, or at the very least a warm coat. May your reading bring you the feeling of being recognized that we felt while reading and allow for a healing process that continues into the new year.

Warmly,

Elizabeth Roos and Julia Grunes

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by | May 4, 2022 · 11:44 am

10.2 Dear Readers,

As we write this introduction, birds sing and the last chill (hopefully) melts from the windows. Springtime is tiptoeing in—except for the few wild days when it stomps around in bright yellow rain boots or disappears behind a winter cloud. And we, your managing editors, are trying to figure out how to say goodbye without being very, very sappy.

It’s a far cry from the early days of this semester. This winter, the Gandy Dancer staff set out to work on this spring issue with precaution, not sure what the semester would bring. COVID constantly reasserted itself even as maskless smiles were reintroduced. Snowstorms canceled classes, rainstorms brought floods, and yet, the weeks continued doggedly on. Sometimes, it feels like the only constant is uncertainty itself. In Western New York, springtime can fell a tree as easily as it softens the ground allowing for crocus, daffodils, tulips to bloom.

But while uncertainty continues to plague us (no pun intended), time has also brought new joy, surprising warmth, and unexpected community. Slowly, and then all at once, life adjusted to an almost-normal haze. College students braved the green in shorts, concerts and clubs found new life, and Gandy Dancer came together, our nineteenth issue.

We are proud to present the best that SUNY has to offer, pulling in excellent work from Albany, FIT, Purchase, Stony Brook, New Paltz, Oswego, Plattsburg, Fredonia, Potsdam, Binghamton, and, of course, Geneseo. Different genres harmonize to breathe life into themes of acceptance, parenthood, letting go of old hurts, and revival. Lidabel A. Avila’s poem “Where My Head Lays” invites us to remember the importance of growing past the trappings of old lives, while El J. Ayala’s “Dog Names” reminds us that life is a series of ups and downs, but with love and care, it’s so worth it. Digging deeper still, a poem by Allyson Voerg calls us to shed old shame to instead “stand straight within / my own self sovereignty.”

Throughout the issue, themes of rebirth climb to the surface like new saplings seeking sunlight. In this era, when the world is hoping COVID will soon be in the rearview mirror and peace is precarious, that rebirth can feel painful. It’s a struggle, discarding old comforts for the unfamiliar. And that’s why, at times like these, art is not only necessary, but a balm. Gandy Dancer hopes to be both and more—an atlas to understand old memories and a map to chart new paths, all at once.

It is our sincere hope that these thoughtful, engaging works provide something of substance to the uncertainty in your lives. With spring in the air and transformation around the corner, we want to say thank you for picking up (or clicking through) this issue. May your reading help release old habits, welcome new joys, or simply bring some needed comfort.

Your friends,

Maria Pawlak and Amina Diakite

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by | April 29, 2020 · 11:24 am

Dear Readers,

 

Normally we take time here to welcome you into the issue, and to tie the works within it together in a way that gives you some sense of the context of the journal and the value of our mission. The present being what it is, we feel an even more pressing urge to speak deep truths about literature, art, and life. It’s time to be profound. Please excuse us if we are not up to the task.

COVID-19 has transformed the context of our production and the daily context of all of our lives. The death toll in New York state alone has, at the time of writing this, surpassed 15,000. The struggles for all people, but especially the most vulnerable in our society, are severe. Given the transition to online education, the production of Gandy Dancer was different than it has ever been before. Due to the cancelation of our Visiting Writers series, you will note that this semester’s publication lacks our usual book review and author interview.

Luckily, technology has allowed us to stay connected enough to produce a journal we’re proud of, even in the wake of the unrest around us. Gandy Dancer’s mission is to connect readers, writers, and artists of all kinds across all SUNY schools. How timely. It’s easy to feel isolated in a time where we’re not in our classrooms, we’re not attending club meetings, and we’re not making art in the same way we were. But many of us are still making art.

Engaging with that art and literature feels equal parts impossible and necessary. We offer you this journal as a multipurpose tool. That is to say, we hope you will utilize this journal in whatever way, or ways, you need. Two purposes strike us as equally important. The first being escape, whether that be into the lives of characters and speakers, or into the words of a poem. We cannot, in good conscience, call Gandy Dancer a light read, but the contents of this issue are as engaging and vital as ever.

The second purpose we seek with this issue is one of reckoning. Through our “Remote Voices: Posts from the Pandemic” section, we want to invite you to face this moment through art. Why engage with challenging things during a challenging time? Maybe because when everything is terrible, sometimes it is just as relieving to cry as it is to laugh. Maybe because it is comforting to see you are not the only one who is angry and confused and worried. Find catharsis in the idea that, as Evan Goldstein puts it in his poem “Litany in April,” “your kindness was good, your anger / is good… and you were good.”

With that being said, we encourage you, to the very best of your ability, to continue making and enjoying art. Gandy Dancer exists as a lasting testament to the connections we have to each other, through the SUNY System, and beyond that, the connection we have to all people through our creative work. Maintain existing connections, make new connections when possible, and support one another endlessly. You are not alone in this.

Your friends,

Nicole Callahan & Natalie Hayes
April 2020

 

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