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91 pp
6 x 9.25
April 2011

Emerging Voices

Misery Islands,
by January Gill O’Neil

Spooky Action at a Distance,
by Howard Levy

My Painted Warriors,
by Peggy Penn

Red Canoe: Love In Its Making, by Joan Cusack Handler

door of thin skins,
by Shira Dentz

The One Fifteen to Penn Station, by Kevin Carey

Where the Dead Are,
by Wanda S. Praisner

Darkening the Grass, by Michael Miller

Neighborhood Register,
by Marcus Jackson

Night Sessions,
by David S. Cho

by January Gill O'Neil

The Second Night of the Spirit, by Bhisham Bherwani

by Joseph O. Legaspi

WE AREN'T WHO WE ARE and this world isn't either,
by Christine Korfhage

Through a Gate of Trees,
by Susan Jackson

Against Which,
by Ross Gay

The Silence of Men,
by Richard Jeffrey Newman

The Dishelved Bed,
by Andrea Carter Brown

The Singers I Prefer,
by Christian Barter

The Fork Without Hunger,
by Laurie Lamon

An Imperfect Lover,
Poems and watercolors by Georgianna Orsini

Soft Box,
by Celia Bland

by Eloise Bruce

by Catherine Doty

Silk Elegy,
by Sondra Gash

The Palace of Ashes,
by Sherry Fairchok

Eyelevel: Fifty Histories,
by Christopher Matthews

by Joan Cusack Handler

So Close, by Peggy Penn

Snakeskin Stilettos,
by Moyra Donaldson

Grub, by Martin Mooney

Kazimierz Square,
by Karen Chase

A Day This Lit,
by Howard Levy

CavanKerry Press LTD.
CavanKerry Press

Night Sessions

by David S. Cho

Night Sessions by David ChoA collection that presents snapshots of the Korean American experience through poems ranging from the hardships of first generation Korean immigrants, their blue-collar work (though many had professional degrees), and arduous immigration to the United States, to the rise of the second and even third generation of culturally Americanized youth attempting to reconcile their bi-cultural heritage. Grounded in the Midwest and Chicago area, the poems invoke the difficulties of mediating American and Korean cultures and languages: the clash between the expectations of becoming medical doctors, versus the desire to play American sports; work on the Sears assembly line, or fulfill aspirations to write.

David S. Cho speaks for all of us who have families, who search for words to describe who they are, how they sound, what they say when they love us, instruct us, or find fault with us, and who have come to America and live next door to us and raise their children next to ours. —Shawn Wong

"How to say clothesline/ how to use the word ferocious in a sentence,” poet David Cho asks, bringing out the careful balance and grace and range of this book. Family, work, two countries, two languages, many secrets—all sleep and wake in these pages. —Marianne Boruch


David S. ChoDAVID S. CHO was born and raised in the Chicago area, along with his brother and extended family, the proud children of Korean immigrants in the early 1970s. As an Asian American, he is a man of many homes, balancing his American, Asian immigrant, and Asian American heritage. He has also lived, studied, and taught in Champaign- Urbana, Chicago, Seattle, and West-Central Indiana, currently splitting time between Western Michigan, and Naperville, Illinois, where he resides with his wife and three children. A chapbook, Song of Our Songs, was published in July 2010, and a scholarly manuscript on 20th Century Korean American novels in 2011.



It is not rain that makes
my father sing a loud
song. I hear a narrow
sound, the thresh of his

sickle, its staccato
making music with his voice.
It draws me near. He calls
this dark marsh field

heaven, the rice to fall,
snow. My father
takes the white
of his palm and lays it

gently on my face.
Two full counts
of callused tenderness,
my eyes sleeping

with the wind. Father says
I am his rice seed,
sprouted to a stalk. The
silence of the field

my only reply. He goes back
to his work, back to make
music, the wooden handle making
his hands hard. He,

the only worker. He
the one worker in this pond.
He in his heaven,
in this field, in his music.