First, to business:
Last week was our first week with the magazine. We published but a singular poem: Benaiah, by the venerable Thomas L. Shak.
The clang of the spear meets the shock of the roar,“Benaiah” by Thomas L. Shak
And the combatants commence quenching that thirst for more
Than the trappings of modernity can ever provide.
A hope kept close is kept unsatisfied.
The Warriors assume their eternal stance,
Like actors, play their part in a timeless romance,
Beyond mortality! Shak sends us. Off and forward to eternity, into struggle and action and thus to Glory. Shak here damns the menial and the mediocre, the merely political or bureaucratic, and exhorts us to the glorious eternity of Heroic Man.
This week, we have a treat for you. John Grey has graced us with one of his fine sonnets. Eyes on the Nine Thirty-Seven goes live tomorrow morning at 8 AM. Some of Mr. Grey’s other work may be found here and here.
On a brief editorial note, we are engaged in a vociferous defense of our treasured, lovely Muse, who delights us with her song, who soothes, terrifies, allures, and exhorts us to the life beyond the petty mediocrity of mere existence, to the fulfilled, pre-existing essence of Humanity, and the unification with divinity. We see this in the onslaught-by-critique and subsequent replacement of all things heroic, virtuous, and, most-Hellishly, all things beautiful. The greatest perpetrators of this onslaught have been academics of the Ivy League, who, in their curation-by-obscurantism, have let Satan into St. Peter’s Basilica (so to speak) and let our Arts become the exhaust of a dying civilization.
This magazine does not participate in social criticism unalloyed to cultural artifacts. Nor ever shall we. However, this war has everything to do with cultural artifacts, and is in fact an attempt to redefine the very nature of these artifacts. The very word “artifact” is, in fact, anti-beauty theory-speak for “Work of Art.” As such, one of our editors has made this war the subject of another, significantly more cantankerous outlet, The War of Art.
As an aside, we are looking for more prose, both fiction and non-fiction. Moreover, we welcome theory, provided that it is not of the dyscivic, subversive sort.
Many Thanks and Best Wishes.
—Concentric Literary Magazine
St. John the Revelator,
Pray that we might so listen to thy dove
that our nightingale songs resound above.
That those two might chorus, so symphony,
and set aside their antiphony,
and that our muse leave the Owl to its Ivy League,
and come soothe our souls for sooth besieged.
Prithee, beg on our behalf thy dove may guide,
that truth and beauty may from us no more hide,
and that we might by rights be saved from wrong,
and that our eternal days may so be not made long.