January/February 2025

From the Publishing-Editor of Hubris: The first issue of 2025 opens with Hubris’s Poetry Editor, Claire Bateman, and a single poem by poet Wendy McVicker. This offering  comes in response to the United States’ November 2024 presidential election, and the collective horror experienced in its wake by Contributors at Hubris. I asked everyone here to respond, and this double issue comprises their answers, as varied as this group of writers and artists, themselves. Skip Eisiminger, my former colleague in Clemson University’s English Department, brought me real comfort and joy with his essay, and I share it with all of you this month. Near the end of the column, he writes: “Life is a river of incalculable length, width, depth, and direction. Like the biblical Jordan, which rises in the Syrian hills before crossing the Sea of Galilee, life ultimately dribbles into the Dead Sea, which has no outlet, being the lowest point on Earth. Eventually, the ripples flatten out and rise in a cloud of steam to seed the rains that make the desert bloom. As the steam of anger and disappointment rises following Trump’s win in 2024, I suggest we adjust our sails, recalculate our way home, and cultivate our garden, à la Monsieur Candide. I take hope wherever I can find or manufacture it. As Elie Wiesel, the Holocaust survivor, wrote, ‘I invent reasons to hope.’” The Rev. Robin White follows, with a meditation on a shoulder replacement, spiritual displacement, and coming to terms with both that also brought me a modicum of peace. Dr. Kevin Van Tighem, from Alberta, Canada, asks us to consider the devastating Kenow wildfire, and its counterintuitive aftermath, before jumping to conclusions. Dr. Guy McPherson reprises a Planetary Hospice column of several years ago, and provides us a primer for the years remaining to us: “We can work daily to minimize, or even eliminate, misogyny. We can point it out when we see it. We can develop policies in our schools, churches, and other common spaces that strive to recognize and eliminate misogyny. We can do the same with respect to racism and monetary disparity. [W]e can spend time in the streets cleaning up our ugly messes. We can speak with those less fortunate than ourselves. We can listen to them. We can learn what they need. We can attempt to fulfill their needs. We can prepare food and give it to the houseless among us. We can pay for the education of those in poverty.” Kathryn E. Livingston then files (on deadline) a gentle, thoughtful, poignant paean to truth, and truth in journalism, her own response-and-call to current events (and the coverage thereof). In closing, two of us went wildly off-topic in the hope of providing some comic relief. Matt Barrett, from Kea, remembers Kostaki, King of the Kamakis. (And your editor here, Elizabeth Boleman-Herring, dusting off her sense of humor, shares a catalogue raisonné from her misspent autumn on Facebook Marketplace.) Closing out our double-issue, and our year here at Hubris, Assistant Editor Tim Bayer, and Assistant-Assistant Editor Bubbles wish you, well, just click here.

About the Home Page Artist for the January/February 2025 issue of Hubris: Says Easton, Pennsylvania-based painter, weaver, and printmaker Elizabeth Snelling, “Color is the first thing you notice about my figure, still life, and landscape paintings. I paint and draw the details of life, the places I live and have lived: rooms, rugs, patterns, and furniture are interpreted over and over again. Visually democratic, I paint landscapes like interiors and interiors like landscapes. The backyard that I plant and tend is just as compelling as the drama of Nova Scotia vastness. Pets and people populate my work and are equally expressive, awkward and casual. I think of myself as a narrative painter. I like to use animals, people and scale to tell a story. I enjoy placing them together in unusual ways to upset the usual order of things so people have to think about the picture, and themselves, in a way that surprises them.” She continues, “I am a painter of domestic life. Objects, light, textiles, the yard, and garden. The still life is a springboard for color. I’m influenced by the frescoes of Pompeii, the 1700 Dutch painters of interiors and family life, Bonnard, and Jane Freilicher. I enjoy playing with scale, making very large pictures of common objects and, conversely, very small paintings of interiors. It’s all autobiographical, manipulation of color, scale, and form to tell a story.” After earning her B.A. in English Literature from Mount Holyoke College, Snelling studied etching at Pratt Manhattan, painting at The Art Students League, and weaving with Peggy Osterkamp. In the early 1990s, she continued her weaving studies with The Friends of Finnish Handicrafts and printing at The Philadelphia College of Science and Textiles. She has shown extensively: at the Ahlum Gallery, J. Lima Gallery, Connexions, and Laini’s Little Shop in Easton, Pennsylvania; Ambre Studio and eDavid Gallery in Bethlehem; LITM Gallery in Newark and Riverbank Arts in Stockton, New Jersey. Access her website at www.elizabethsnelling.com, follow her on Instagram here, and on Meta, here.

Speculative Friction

“‘Be Water,’ by Poet Wendy McVicker,” By Claire Bateman, Poetry Editor

GREENVILLE South Carolina—(Hubris)—January/February 2025—Wendy McVicker lives and writes within the curves of the Hocking River, in Athens, Ohio. She served as Athens’ poet laureate from 2020 through 2022 and is a longtime Ohio Arts Council teaching artist. She loves few things more than sharing her love of poetry and collaborating with other artists in a variety of mediums. Her most recent chapbook, Alone in the Burning, was released from Sheila-Na-Gig Editions in November 2024. McVicker shared with us some words about “Be Water”: “A few days after the recent presidential election, I came across Linda Hogan’s poem ‘The Way In’ and was electrified by her line “To enter stone, be water.” In the dispiriting wake of a dispiriting election season, I felt the only sustainable way forward would be to choose kindness and love—the soft power of water—not the obdurate hardness of anger and hate. In this poem, I hope to encourage myself and others who feel the same to persist in the quiet work of rearranging the world, to nourish the earth and those beings who share it with us.” (Read more . . .)

Skip the B.S.

“Beer Goggles vs. Rose-Colored Glasses: Optimism,” By Dr. Skip Eisiminger, aka The Wordspinner

CLEMSON South Carolina—(Hubris)—January/February 2025—According to Mark Kurlansky, author of Milk! if I’d been breast-fed for a year instead of three days, I’d likely be two to three inches taller and more optimistic. I had a difficult time at 6’ 4” and 210 pounds getting my students to speak; imagine if I’d been 6’ 7”. As for my optimism, I’ve always been an Apollonian sort of fellow; indeed, when teaching four sections of English 101, it’s a vocational requirement. Ironically, the shadow I cast affirmed my sunny temperament. Many years ago, when a dear friend sank into depression, I wrote her: “Dear Kate, From what Hans [her husband] tells me, it sounds as if you’re suffering from ‘the pale cast of thought.’ This is troubling because I’ve always known you as one who took skillet and spatula on every fishing trip. Your optimism impressed me because Hans is no more an angler than I am. So, unpack that skillet and return to your embroidery and the people you love . . . .” (Read more . . .)

Wing + Prayer

“A Spiritual Replacement,” By Rev. Robin White

PENDLETON South Carolina—(Hubris)—January/February 2025—I have a brand-new shoulder. The old one was, shall we say, defective. I couldn’t throw a ball for Scout. Swimming had devolved to a flutter kick wearing a snorkel and flippers; my arms stationary at my sides. I couldn’t raise my arm to retrieve a wine glass from the top of the cupboard or the cookies from the upper shelf of the pantry. Needless to say, I could have lived out the rest of my life with my old shoulder. I could have continued to compensate for its immobility but, when someone offered a replacement with the near certainty of a return to full range of motion, well, for me, it was an easy decision. At present, I am three weeks out of surgery and composing this with my left hand only. I find I can do much of what I need to do with respect to my daily needs, but everything takes great concentration and a much, much slower pace than I prefer. Putting my socks on, for example, takes immense patience! (Read more . . .)

While I Draw Breath

“From the Ashes of Kenow,” By Kevin Van Tighem

HIGH RIVER, ALBERTA Canada—(Hubris)—January/February 2025―There is a pinch point in the Rocky Mountains chain that geologists call the Lewis Overthrust. It extends across the US-Canada border and includes two of our oldest mountain national parks: Glacier, in Montana, and Waterton Lakes, in Canada. The subterranean paroxysms that gave rise to those western mountains were so powerful here that they pushed slabs of mountain rock over the top of each other, like overlapping dominos, until that shifting rock had buried whole ranges of mountains and foothills. Drive up to the Lewis Overthrust from the east and the effect can be startling: the prairie ends, and the mountains are there. No transition. That orthographic pinch point lies east of a flattening in the landscape: the Columbia plateau. Those two geologies combine to create the perfect storms. Storm after storm; westerly winds sweep inland from the Pacific Ocean and, finding little resistance through the Columbia plateau, pile up against that skinny bit of mountains before spilling over the top and sweeping down to the prairies. (Read more . . .)

Planetary Hospice

“Earth in Hospice,” By Dr. Guy McPherson

BELLOWS FALLS Vermont—(Hubris)—January/February 2025—For many years, I had a small sign on the bulletin board adjacent to my office door on the campus of a major university: “Keep Expectations High.” I encouraged my students to take on tasks that, to me, seemed impossible. Of course, I did not tell the students the tasks were impossible. Occasionally, I was surprised to discover that the tasks I believed impossible were accomplished by my students. Even when they failed, as they often did, I encouraged and rewarded them for their efforts. Among other factors, adhering to the expectations of others brought us to the brink of extinction. Retaining high expectations, even impossibly high expectations, demands more. It demands that we look within, regardless of the terrors there. It demands that we assume as a given the better human in each of us. It demands better, in every way, from everyone. Failure is assured, of course. (Read more . . .)

Words and Wonder

“Old News,” By Kathryn E. Livingston

BOGOTA New Jersey—(Hubris)—January/February 2025—At the age of five, I placed a sheet of tracing paper over a page in my Little Golden Book in order to practice forming letters, and ever since writing has been my passion. Though I tried my hand at creative writing, I was later drawn to journalism and reporting: I considered journalism to be a form of service—offering to the public, to the community—facts that would help people live their lives safely and knowledgeably. Ah, the naïveté of youth! And yet, I still believe this. At nine-ish, I produced a one-page “newspaper”; on my street in Schenectady, New York (if memory serves, called The Gillespie Street Gazette, but I can’t swear to that). For a very brief period (because hopscotch and roller skating swiftly won out), I interviewed neighbors, collected data, and kept track of lost cats, potholes, kickball games, and the like. My self-appointed mission was to be accurate, because no reporter wants to be called into an editor’s office due to misleading statements or mistakes (though I was my own editor back then, and I sure didn’t have an office). (Read more . . .)

Nothing at All to Write Home About

“Kostaki, King of the Kamakis,” By Matt Barrett

CARRBORO North Carolina & KEA Greece—(Hubris)—January/February 2025—Kostaki is the uncrowned King of the kamakis. There is no question about it. First of all, I know that you are wondering what a kamaki is. It translates literally as “harpoon,” as in spearfishing. What it means, though, is “Casanova.” It’s practically a profession in Greece. It is seasonal and the pay is meager, but it keeps the young men, and some older ones, busy during the summer. Most of the victims are tourist girls. Actually, all of the victims are tourist girls and many of them would not classify themselves as victims. Many women, mostly from cold Scandinavian countries, come to Greece with the intention of spending their vacation with one, or a few, of these semi-professional, hot-blooded lovers. A trip to Greece without a romantic experience would be an empty one. I have been told that on islands like Rhodes and Kos, where there are hourly flights from Stockholm, Oslo, and Copenhagen, the kamakis are organized. (Read more . . .)

Hapax Legomenon

“Chester Drawers & The Piedmont Hoochie-Coochie: Facebook Marketplace,” By Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

PENDLETON South Carolina—(Hubris))—January/February 2025—For me, it all began with Chester Drawers, but let me go back even further, to another befuddled listener, James Thurber, whose maid, Delia, announced to him one Christmas, “They are here with the reeves.” Perhaps, hereabouts, one always hangs one’s reeves above one’s chester drawers, and one is immediately understood? For anyone dropped down into South Carolina from the North, or farther afield, however, our tendency here to spell it like we hear it takes some getting used to, and even descendants of generations of Upcountry Carolinians and Virginians down our maternal line are, on occasion, flummoxed. It was my “booth partner” at The Rock House Antiques in Greenville, South Carolina (and a similarly pedigreed Southerner of A Certain Age & Native Speaker of Delia’s Tongue), Jeanne van den Hurk, who first introduced me to the addictive and inscrutable charms of local Facebook Marketplace listings, which would become one source of antiques and collectibles for our little business—if we could figure out what was being advertised for sale (and if we wanted such a thing). (Read more . . .)

Won Over By Reality

“Bubbles for a New Year,” By Tim Bayer

FAIRPORT New York—(Hubris)—January/February 2025—I wanted to help everyone start the new year with a smile. This is a quick post to share on this first day of 2025. Emily and I have discouraged Bubbles from barking when she wants something. Instead, of barking or whining (which we also discouraged) Bubbles has found another way to communicate that makes me laugh. With help from Bubbles, Happy New Year! (Read more . . .)

Our November/December 2024 Issue

Speculative Friction

“The Poetry of Joshua Michael Stewart & Amy Pence,” By Claire Bateman, Poetry Editor

GREENVILLE South Carolina—(Hubris)—November/December 2024—Poet Joshua Michael Stewart is the author of Break Every String (Hedgerow Books, 2016), The Bastard Children of Dharma Bums (Human Error Publishing, 2020), and Love Something (Main Street Rag, 2022). His work has appeared in Modern Haiku, Massachusetts Review, Rattle, Salamander, Brilliant Corners, 100-Word Story, New Flash Fiction Review, and many other places. Born and brought up in Sandusky, Ohio, Stewart has lived in New England for over 30 years, currently in Ware, Massachusetts. Stewart has worked as a counselor helping individuals with mental disabilities for over 25 years. (Read more . . .)

Wing + Prayer

“Before the Ides of November,” By Rev. Robin White

PENDLETON South Carolina—(Hubris)—November/December 2024—I remember waking up the morning of 9 November 2016 after a fitful night, my feeling of despair and grief and rage as deep as though I had just learned of a loved one’s unexpected death. I turned on the TV, hoping that something had changed, that some mistake had been made . . . or that, perhaps, it had all been just a nightmare, not real, a trumped up lie foisted on a gullible electorate. (Orson Welles’ “War of the Worlds” all over again.) But there it was. There she was, giving her concession speech. I raged, I wailed, I cried so hard I hyperventilated. Just the day before, I had proudly and gleefully worn a pantsuit to the polls. Just the night before, I had made tacos for dinner, referencing Trump proxy Marco Gutierrez’s “there’ll be a taco truck on every corner” assertion. (Read more . . .)

Eating Well Is The Best Revenge

“Paean to An Athenian Hospital,” By Diana Farr Louis

ATHENS Greece—(Hubris)—November/December 2024—Ever since I stopped scratching the skin off half my body, I’ve been itching to tell this tale. It all started in the winter when my back started sprouting little red spots—you know, right between the shoulder blades, which are often tantalizingly out of reach. Naturally, I went to see a dermatologist, the first of four. She was perhaps the worst, telling me to “avoid histamines.” I had never heard of histamines, only antihistamines, and it had never occurred to me to inquire what those familiar antiallergy pills might be working against. So, Google to the rescue, and I discovered that histamines exist in or are provoked by almost all foods. So, this would mean a starvation diet without determining what I might be allergic to. (Read more . . .)

Words and Wonder

“Yes, Virginia . . . I Still Hear You,” By Kathryn E. Livingston

BOGOTA New Jersey—(Hubris)—November/December 2024—I’m aware that not everyone has—or has had—a great relationship with their mother but mine was my dearest friend (though there were certainly things I didn’t tell her—like where I really went instead of to the high school dance!). She was also humble and private and would not want me to write about her.  But . . . sorry not sorry, Mom. I always was a bit naughty. My mother, whose name was Virginia, died a few weeks before our country’s infamous 9/11—of amyloidosis, a rare and in her case fatal disease. Though I was devastated by the loss I was also grateful that she was not alive when the terrorist attack occurred. (Read more . . .)

Skip the B.S.

“‘Hello,’ He Lied. ‘Shut Up,’ She Explained: Integrity,” By Dr. Skip Eisiminger, aka The Wordspinner

CLEMSON South Carolina—(Hubris)—November/December 2024—I was about seven when I found a quarter on the cloakroom floor of the Sunday school Mother insisted I attend. After placing a dime of my allowance in the offering, I figured the quarter was God’s way of repaying my unblemished attendance. I was fine with my windfall until she found the coin in the wash. “Where’d you get this?” she demanded. “Sunday school—I found it on the floor.” “Put it in the offering plate next week. In the meantime, go to your room and think about what you’ve done.” I thought hard about my quarter, but I knew that look she’d given me, so I told her I was sorry. Some 60 years later, Dad told me the following story. (Read more . . .)

West Side Stories

“My Lovely Face (-Book),” By Ross Konikoff

MANHATTAN New York—(Hubris)—November/December 2024—Lately, I’ve been under siege, buried beneath a surfeit of friend requests from individuals with very suspicious sounding names, their text worded in a strange “auto-translated” style, e.g. “The charm of music is that you can never tire of listening to it, it makes people feel comfortable, and it can also relieve stress. Because of its regular melody, it makes people feel very rational, but at the same time it is rational and has an emotional impulse. Do you feel the same way? I believe we have many common views. If you are interested, you can leave me a message so that we can discuss further.” With trenchant analysis like that, how could you resist the urge to run to this woman, take her in your arms and never let go? (At least not until she starts squirming.) (Read more . . .)

Planetary Hospice

“Lions, Elephants, Zebras, Buffalo, Ants & Whistling Thorn Trees,” By Dr. Guy McPherson

BELLOWS FALLS Vermont—(Hubris)—November/December 2024—A headline in Popular Science of 25 January 2025 reads: “Invasive ants leave lions scrambling for prey on the savannah in an ecological chain reaction.” And here’s the subhead: “One insect has led to a cascade of consequences.”The opening paragraph, citing a renowned peer-reviewed journal, provides an overview: “Lions, elephants, zebras, buffalo, ants, and trees are all locked in an intricate ecological web in one Kenyan nature preserve. But that web is unraveling as a small invader disrupts the natural balance of things, according to a study published on January 24 in the journal Science.” The small invader mentioned in the article is a species of ant. Specifically, an aggressive and predatory species called the big-headed ant is displacing the native acacia ants. (Read more . . .)

Hapax Legomenon

“Our Evil, Our Shadow, Our Trump: 2016-2024,” By Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

PETIT TRIANON Florida—(Hubris)—November 2016—A woman I know (let’s call her Cora) put down her animal companion this past week, a blind, deaf Great Dane (let’s call him Wotan), acquired from a shelter here in Florida. Wotan was, perhaps, the love of Cora’s life. The dog bonded with Cora, who rescued him, fed him, and attended to his special needs, but never with the other members of his and Cora’s little “tribe,” her husband, children, and small grandchildren. To these others, Wotan became a clear and present danger. Eventually, no “other of her tribe” was permitted to approach Cora without Wotan’s threatening her or him with physical harm, and he was a very large dog. Cora’s husband, finally, put his foot down, and the woman who had rescued Wotan as a terribly handicapped puppy, and whom the dog trusted, alone in the world, chose to end his life. (Read more . . .)

Addison

“At Least We Can Feel Insignificant Together,” By Mark Addison Kershaw

ATLANTA Georgia—(Hubris)—November/December 2024—Editor’s Note: By the time you cast an eye over Mark Addison Kershaw’s November/December 2024 batch of cartoons, the United States’ presidential election my well have been decided, we may have a final body count following Helene and Milton (or as final as we’re likely to get), Halloween will have passed, and Thanksgiving and Christmas will be on the horizon (along with, perhaps, rioting in the nation’s streets). At least that’s how it looks from where I sit here, a blue, blue dot in a red, red state. Mark’s over yonder a bit in Georgia, where things have been trending purplish of late. By mid-November, we’ll know whether that purple haze comprised swamp gas, or something more lasting. (Read more . . .)