Annual Issue of Catawba Released

Celebrating Catawba’s 2nd (or 14th) Year

Depending on your perspective, the new issue of Catawba, CVCC’s annual literary and arts journal released May 27, is either the 2nd or 14th issue of the journal. Not many magazines can claim such an uncertain history, but such is the fate of many things dependent upon changing annual budgets and the work of volunteers.

What is now Catawba began as Synaesthesia in 1987 as the brainchild of CVCC instructors Tim Peeler and Tricia Hayes. For four years Synaesthesia published art and literature by both CVCC students and artists and writers from around the country. When Hayes left CVCC, the magazine went into dormancy, only to be revived 7 years later by Peeler and Nancy Risch with the title Sanctuary.

Sanctuary, which focused more on student work, was published for 7 years before falling victim to budgetary belt-tightening. One more issue entitled Sanctuary was published as an online journal in 2009 under the guidance of Peeler, Jerry Sain, and CVCC photography instructor, Clayton Joe Young.

Then, in 2010, the format was once again changed to a print journal focusing exclusively on CVCC student work. The journal was renamed Catawba, and edited by CVCC instructors Peeler, Young, Scott Owens, Brian Morris, Kevin Keck, and Robert Canipe. The second issue in this format was released at a launch party at CVCC on May 27 with the assistance of Anne Williams and Linda Lutz.

At the launch party students whose photos had been selected were displayed while those whose poems and stories had been chosen read from their work. Featured student photographers included Weston Bethancourt, Joy Barr, Amy Frady, Micah Harshbarger, Todd Money, Ashley Mosteller, Tennille Mullery, Jessica Prieto, Lana Ruffini, Stephanie Turner, Tiffany Ward (Student Editor), and Chris Wood. Student poets were Bethea Buchanan, Jeni Conklin (Student Editor), Carol Howard, Spencer Huffman, Kaitlin Leathers, Dennis Lovelace, and Kim Teague. Short stories were published by Stephanie Jo Young and Micah Harshbarger.

Copies of this year’s Catawba can be picked up in the CVCC library or by contacting Tim Peeler at tpeeler@cvcc.edu. Here is a poem by Dennis Lovelace to serve as a sample of the journal’s contents.

Fatherhood by Proxy
by Dennis Lovelace

Standing at the bottom of the staircase,
“Girls, I’m going to work. Come and give
me a hug and a kiss.”
A herd of elephants descending
with you in the lead,
raven tresses surrounding your features,
head down, brown eyes peeking
up at me, “Can I have one too?”
Leaning down, your tiny arms encircle my neck
tightly squeezing, a peck on my cheek.
I feel the chink in my armor
as you slip past into my heart.

Kevin Keck, October 23, 2008

When I started Poetry Hickory 14 months ago, I had my friend Tim Peeler in mind. I thought, here is a great poet who is barely known in his own hometown. And I decided the easiest way to do something about that was to give local poets a venue through which local audiences could hear their work and get to know the poets. Fortunately, the owners of Taste Full Beans Coffeehouse already had a history of supporting local art and were willing to host the readings which followed.
It didn’t take me long to discover that Peeler wasn’t the only already successful local writer who was largely unknown by the people they encountered every day. One of the other noteworthy but underexposed writers I discovered was Kevin Keck, who at that time already had published three books.
Keck was born in Johnson City, TN, but raised in Denver, NC, where he still lives. His books include My Summer Vacation, Oedipus Wrecked, and Are You There, God? It’s Me, Kevin. He holds a BA from UNCC and a MA from Syracuse, and is currently a member of the faculty at CVCC. I want to thank Kevin for allowing me to print the poem below.

Sonnet from an Idea Stolen from an Unpublished Story Written by Randy Clayton in 1982

- for Kevin Rouse

After the girl who fell from the clouds
was carried aloft again, everything changed.
Reason, courage, love—all of it took
a back seat to waiting. The daily luster of life
slowly began to rust, as though the people
in charge of polishing up had disappeared
overnight, like her. And with everything
I know, all I want to learn is where
did she go? Who watches after her now?
If I knew the road that would get me
to her I'd take it, but as it is I'm just some
straw man alone in the pockmarked street,
looking skyward and dreaming of a strong wind.
If I only wasn't holding all these bricks.