Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology – Front Cover Reveal

Dear Readers,

I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season. I am thrilled to share the front cover of Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology to be released by Literary Revelations Publishing House late January 2023.

Given the high volume of submissions only 75 contributors have received news from me. Please check your email. You may be one of them.

We are still working on selecting new poems so those of you who did not hear from me, please stay tuned. I will be in touch.

Remember submissions are still open until January 3, 2023. You can find the guidelines for submission Here.

I would like to share some of my thoughts on the poems that I have already read.

Thoughts on Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology

As the editor, curator, and publisher of this this book, I am honored and humbled that so many poets entrusted me with their outstanding work. I thank everyone from the bottom of my heart.

I am mesmerized by the talent of the contributors, and by the range of stylistic approaches used to recreate the world of childhood. I must say from the beginning that this is not a poetry collection for children. The poems selected memorialize the beauty and magic of childhood – remembrance of love and fairytales – as well as its ugliness – abuses, poverty – that unfortunately still exist in our world. Some of the authors were brave enough to talk about the pain they endured in childhood. I salute all contributors: those who tell the world that childhood is love, and those who still bear the wounds of a very difficult childhood.

Charles Baudelaire wrote, “The child sees everything in a state of newness… Nothing more resembles what we call inspiration than the delight with which a small child absorbs form and color.” No doubt, during childhood we are first and foremost the recipients of the sensory world.

The academic literature on childhood – as well as our common understanding – frequently defines childhood as a period of our lives that precedes adulthood. Whatever happens during our first years is formative and important to our becoming. We tend to dissociate childhood from maturity. Most people subscribe to the dichotomy of childhood/adulthood.

Indeed, the prima facie reading of the magnificent poems we selected shows that the authors kept in mind the dichotomy of childhood/adulthood.

Yet, what strikes the reader during the second and/or third reading of those stunning poems is how present childhood is in the lives of the authors, now mature people. For these exceptional poets, whether they know it or not, childhood is not a simple memory filled with joy or pain. Childhood constitutes itself as an integral part of their poems, a part that continues to transform them as they write.

The strength of this poetry collection will be the capacity of its authors to blur the line between childhood and adulthood. Whether the authors talk about joyful memories, or sadly abusive childhood, the effect is stunning. We do not know anymore where childhood stops, and adulthood starts.

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I look forward to reading the poems I still have, and I look forward to new submissions too.

To those of you who celebrate Christmas, a wonderful holiday filled with magic. A hundred year of love to everyone. I will update everyone after Christmas.

Please visit Literary Revelations Publishing House HERE follow and subscribe.

Thank you.

Gabriela Marie Milton
Pushcart Prize Nominee
Award Winning Author
#1 Amazon Bestselling Author
Books:
Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women (ed.), Experiments in Fiction, 2022.
Woman: Splendor and Sorrow :I Love Poems and Poetic Prose, Vita Brevis Press, 2021.
Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, Vita Brevis Press, 2020

Life Collage by Gabriela Marie Milton

I experienced mama’s death before she died.

I hate the order of things with its self-indulgent predictability.

The airport – the point of departures and returns – smell of food and disinfectant. Gray overtones.

This world would be a better place if we were more interested in others’ creations than in their personal lives.

I used to run away from home when I was a child. Every rose tore my soul. I picked up the pieces and wrapped the sick and the hungry with them. What’s left of my soul?

When my second novel came out, you said, “What a splendid tribute to your master.” I asked, “Who’s my master?” “Patrick Modiano.” I thought, “Who on earth is Patrick Modiano?” Yet I understood. The past. My obsession with the past. I went out and ordered every book Modiano has written.

I have nothing to say anymore.

featured image: Rising Moon, Karl Schmidt-Rottluff

Updates on Literary Revelations

Literary Revelations Journal posted. Please read:

From Science to Poetry: Swarn Gill

Feature of the Week: The Tides of Change by Dr. Linda Best

I am deeply grateful to everyone who submitted to the Literary Revelations’ Hidden in Childhood anthology. You will hear from me soon. For those who still want to submit please remember that our deadline is January 3, 2023. We plan to release the anthology at the end of January.

Please read the Guidelines for Submission HERE. Do not submit before reading.

Visit Literary Revelations Publishing House HERE follow and subscribe.

Thank you.

Prose Poem by Gabriela Marie Milton

With stars in her eyes, the hour of the heart coils around my finger, iridescent scale after iridescent scale like the skin of a green Anaconda. I love you beyond the world of feelings, beyond the minutes of sands, beyond the unintelligible murmurs of night processions.

I can feel your fervor, your fingers unbraiding my hair, the aroma of chocolate kisses, the unforgettable texture of quinces – as you used to say the texture of carne de membrilllo – bitterness sweetened with honey.

The stairs toward the attic squeak under our steps, a few seconds and we are there, fresh lips, bodies glowing under the moonlight. Coming from nowhere an old song invades our skin. The ghosts of the Crescent Park Looff Carousel go mad: “And I’ll dance with you in Vienna.”

The next night, back in the attic, you shirtless, quoting Flaubert: To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost. I laugh. Forget about. I sharpen my nails on your back. I disappear in your arms like powdered sugar in the air.

Monday. Sun in your hair, eyes burning with desire, I see you running toward me, crossing the street a moment too soon, perhaps too late. The world flip-flops like a fish in a net. Dark.

No, it’s not Monday. Monday never comes. It’s Sunday. I am the forever Sunday. You smile. Can you hear the song my love? “And I’ll dance with you in Vienna.”

Announcements:

Literary Revelations Journal posted. An English Poet: Eric Daniel Clarke. Please read HERE.

I am deeply grateful to everyone who submitted to the Literary Revelations’ Hidden in Childhood anthology. We are looking forward to more submissions. Please remember that our deadline is January 3, 2023. We plan to release the anthology at the end of January.

Please read the Guidelines for Submission HERE. Do not submit before reading.

Please visit Literary Revelations Publishing House HERE and subscribe.

Thank you.

Amour by Gabriela Marie Milton

amour
your secret hides inside my name
inside the splendor of the night in which you didn’t say a word
feathers of macaw birds trace music sheets
the rays of sun stretch on the pebble beach
a fragrant song delights itself on my red lips
I rest my head on your left shoulder
into the lands of spices waiting to be born
we fall
some carnal dreams howl on the corridor
who cares?
I locked the door!
this morning we can die
we won’t tell a soul
and never ask for more
amour

From my book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings

Featured art: S. Splajn

Literary Revelations Announcements

Literary Revelations Journal posted – An American Poet: M. Taggart. Please read HERE.

Please read the Guidelines for Submission HERE. Do not submit before reading.

An interview with the Nobel Prize Nominee Gaetano Camillo is up at Literary Revelations Journal. You can read it HERE.

Our Journal will open soon for art submissions.

Please visit Literary Revelations Publishing House HERE and subscribe.

Thank you.

Poem by Gabriela Marie Milton

I call into being the taste of that which is hidden below the existence.

The breath of a salty ocean on my skin.

Everything is here between primal and the infinity of possibilities: the epistemes of love; the essence of beauty; the whispers of a language you cannot understand.

You need me in your bones.

The moon needs me in her naked light.

[from my book Woman: Splendor and Sorrow: Love Poems and Poetic Prose]

Hidden in Childhood – Call for Submissions & Other Announcements

Please read the Guidelines for Submission HERE. Do not submit before reading.

An interview with the Nobel Prize Nominee Gaetano Camillo was published in the Literary Revelations Journal. You can read it HERE.

Thank you for your submissions to the Literary Revelations Journal. We will reply to your submissions as soon as we can.

Please visit Literary Revelations HERE and subscribe.

Thank you.

My Dear Readers,

I would like to share with you a fabulous story of friendship and beauty. Several months ago, Virginia Mateias, a Romanian-Canadian poet and journalist, sent me a poem she wrote for me. She entitled the poem, “When an angel becomes unhappy.” I was touched. I was in tears. I read and re-read the poem several times.

After a while Virginia wrote to tell me she sent the poem to a fantastic Japanese painter – Hikari – to make an illustration for it.

Soon after, while traveling in Europe, the art of Hikari came to me in an email. It was a time of gratitude, and a time to kneel in front of friendship and beauty. It was a time of silence.

Below please find Virginia’s poem for me. The featured image belongs to Hikari whom I’ve never met. I hope one day I will get to meet her and thank her personally for her beautiful art.

When an angel becomes unhappy by Virginia Mateias

On a long winter afternoon

The woman with a childlike laugh

Told me

When an angel becomes unhappy

and collapses

tuberoses grow on earth.

Wrapped in loneliness

She suddenly conceded

Half of her sky

Of such a deep blue

To me.

With the strength of a rock and

With the delicacy of a tuberose stem

She analyzed the distance between

The soul of a child and the horizon line

The distance between the collapse and the rebirth

Cover yourself with the blanket, she said,

By night we will be drinking stars.

Bios

Virginia Mateias is the result of two cultures and draws her creative inspiration from her European roots and her North American perspective. Passionate about almost all art forms, she published two volumes of poetry: “The Persistence of Memory “and “In the Shadow of the Angel.” Her poetry has been called by literary critics “original and unique”. Her poems share the three fundamental values: truth, goodness and beauty. Virginia loves nature, travel and all the little things that give life beauty and meaning. She tweets at https://mobile.twitter.com/mateiasvirginia.

Hikari is an award winning Japanese painter. She lives in Tokyo, Japan. In 2022 she was recognized during the Grand Prize Exhibition of Platinum Art Association, and she exhibited with Jiyugaoka Gallery. Hikari’s art is inspired by the spirit of Japanese Nohgaku, one of the traditional styles of Japanese theater passed down from generation to generation for more than 650 years. In 2001 Nohgaku was proclaimed by UNESCO a “Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity.” [https://www.unesco.emb-japan.go.jp/htm/nogaku.htm]

About her passion for drawing and colors Hikari says that she “would like to convey a beautiful world in harmony with nature through the gradation of colors and the pattern of the costumes.” You can find Hikari at https://twitter.com/hikari2162554

An interview with the Nobel Prize Nominee Gaetano Camillo was just published in the Literary Revelations Journal. You can read it here: https://literaryrevelations.com/2022/11/07/interview-with-gaetano-camillo-nobel-prize-nominee/

Have a wonderful week everyone.

Coming soon: Literary Revelations Publishing House

Dear Readers,

It is with utmost pleasure I announce that the Literary Revelations Publishing House will open soon. It will be up and running in early November of this year.

Literary Revelations honors the memory of my mother whose passion for literature knew no limits.

I owe a great debt of gratitude to both my parents. However, it was my mother’s love for languages, literature, and arts that permeated every fiber of my being starting very early in my childhood. That love has never left me.

I am happy to tell you that Literary Revelations has already manuscripts under consideration, and it will open with a call for an anthology. Literary Revelations will feature a poetry journal and provide services for authors such as marketing, reviews, and Spanish translations staring January 2023.

Please watch this space for more updates and the launching of the press’ website. Follow me on Twitter @shortprose1.

Have a glorious weekend everyone and let me know if you have any questions.

Below please find a paragraph describing Literary Revelations’ mission.

Literary Revelations Mission Statement [excerpt]

Our mission is to feature emerging and established authors of poetry and fiction.

We publish most poetry genres: epic, lyric, narrative, or prose poetry. We expect work that dazzles the intellect, and delights the soul; work that makes feelings blossom into symphonies of love, beauty, and sorrow. Interpret the silence. Find the place where love was born, and tears are entombed. Be the voice of prophets. Be the soft whisper of Sakura.

Dream, create, suggest. Avoid cliches. Avoid the banal and the explicit, even if both have become trendy. Remember “To define is to kill. To suggest is to create.” (Stéphane Mallarmé).

We also publish fiction such as mystery, romance, fantasy, and other types. We do not publish erotica.

Remember a novel is not the mere act of outlining one thing after another. We do not look for tables of contents. We want you to love, and to suffer, with your characters. To remember the importance of the landscape, and to look over your shoulder where the unknown lies. Embrace it. Remember what Jorge Luis Borges said: “When writers die they become books, which is, after all, not too bad an incarnation.”

Make sure you get everything right.

Gabriela Marie Milton
Pushcart Prize Nominee
#1 Amazon Bestselling Author
Books:
Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women (ed.), Experiments in Fiction, 2022.
Woman: Splendor and Sorrow :I Love Poems and Poetic Prose, Vita Brevis Press, 2021.
Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, Vita Brevis Press, 2020

Love Poem

That night, the child – flowery eyes wide open, sweet skin like candy – stole the moon. He squeezed it in his palm and a thousand St. John’s Lanterns fell on the earth. He giggled. A lily of light bloomed on his shoulder. He touched it with his fingers, purred like a cat, and hid in its shadow.

Hushing sea. Latent waves on my body; tears on the cheek of the child. Our first night in Alicante. It was St. John’s Night. Fate was playing dice. Buried in the sand between our naked souls, between our fermenting lips, breasts of broken statues and Miguel Hernández’s Cancionero Y Romancero De Ausencias. We were two ghosts finding each other from afar. He wrote that, didn’t he?

The sky opens. The child continues to sleep, the moon tightly squeezed between his little fingers. In the bathtub my hyacinths, and the aroma of sandalwood invert their positions. I took too many sleeping pills. I fell into the exaltation of my own double. Grabbed by the claws of a bird the loneliness spams. A conch shell releases your voice. Stars and sea salt. My last I love you.

Announcement

Literary Revelations Publishing House will open soon. It will be up and running in early November of this year. Excerpt from its mission:

Read more here.

Thank you.

Image: Gabriela Marie Milton, 2022, Interior of Capela dos Ossos, Évora

Autumn. The day after Helen left for Madeira. The city’s noises vanish in a moribund sun. A paraffin lamp burns on a glass table. The light trickles on the walls like water. There is something familiar about this room. Vague scents of dried flowers. Tear-like motifs on the walls.

I hear footsteps.
I shudder.

– Miguel, let’s get out of here.

He put his hand over my month.

Laughter comes from upstairs. It’s Jacques’ laughter. His and the laughter of a woman. She is not Helen. It can’t be her. Helen left yesterday. What am I thinking? The laughter can’t be Jacques’ either. He is dead. Jacques is dead.

The smell of the dried flowers Helen put on his coffin on the day of his funeral invades my nostrils.

I pull away from Miguel’s arms, my soul dark, the tightness in my throat stronger. In a mirror I replace my image with that of my mother. My voice is not mine anymore.

– Miguel, with you or without you, I am getting out of here. Where is the door?

He bites his upper lip.

–Anastasia, I know you are surprised.

I am enraged.

–Surprised? Who? Me? If Winston Churchill would walk in this room right now, wearing Josephine Baker’s famous top hat instead of his, and Bottega Veneta stiletto sandals I would not blink an eye. From now on until the end of my days I swear nothing is going to surprise me anymore.

The light from his eyes vanishes.

– Anastasia, how many times have you asked me for the truth?

I shout.

–Oh, the truth. Stories masquerading reality: the plot, the characters, the setting, the conflict, the theme. Spare me the banalities. I do not need your truth anymore. I want to get out of here. There are dead people in here, or ghosts, or whatever. I want out.

—Anastasia…. Listen…

The geometry of the space changes. Through a little square cut from nothingness, I see a lonely blue jay feather floating in the sky.

Paraffin and dried flowers.

Was Jacques dead?

*draft – modified version of The Blue Jay’s Feather, a piece published in my #1 Amazon Bestselling Book: Woman: Splendor and Sorrow I: Love Poems and Poetic Prose.

Announcements:

I wrote in a previous post that I was going to launch a new project in mid-October. Thank you to all my followers who expressed interest. The launching may come a bit later due to circumstances that are out of my control. Please be patient. Much love to all of you.

I am deeply grateful to everyone who reads and supports my work. Your likes, comments and shares brighten my days. Thank you to those of you who brought to my attention that my posts are getting reproduced on some WP sites on their entirety without my permission and without any links to my original work. To the very few of my followers who do that a gentle reminder for now: unauthorized use and/or duplication of my posts without express and written permission from me is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Thank you.

Lethargic trees, nights dripping verses in our bed, Baudelaire’s ennui silhouetted against my soul. A young autumn, breasts stuck to the moon, cloudy eyes caught between sunrise and sunset.

There are too many eyes in this place: mine, yours, those of the portraits and the photographs on the walls, why do we have so many portraits and photographs?

Facing the armoire, left arm under your head, you sleep. Black dahlias invade the bedroom. I listen to the sound of nothingness.

I sit in front of the computer. On the screen, Sebastian’s letter.

Anastasia, I have no idea why Jacques fell in love with you. Your mild manners, your lipstick always in the right place, banal essences of Coco Channel on your clothes. Why do you dress in black all the time? Oh, wait, I know, Baudelaire, À une passante,

La rue assourdissante autour de moi hurlait.
Longue, mince, en grand deuil, douleur majestueuse,
Une femme passa, d’une main fastueuse
Soulevant, balançant le feston et l’ourlet

That’s the way you got Jacques. Soft black fabrics, mixtures of innocence and mysteries, the majestic air of an untouchable nun burning with desires.

I try fitting in one of your dresses. Why do you pick taffeta all the time? It’s so yesterday.

I look down. Ravishing view from your balcony. The moon bathes in the water, nightingales sing, the air is soft like the touch of a virgin… Beauty and then forever night… How I long for the forever night… the black of your dresses…

I am not in our bedroom anymore. I hang onto the balustrade of my condo’s balcony. Void. Impulses of self-destruction. I taste their ashes. A mannequin floats in the air. I am scared…

Jacques’ arms wrap around my shoulders.

–Anastasia what are you doing in front of the computer? It’s 3am. Back to bed.

–Sebastian…. Sebastian’s letter on the screen…. Read it.

–What letter, love? There is no letter on the screen. There’s a website that says, “Travel to Corsica.”

*draft

…