Gloria Mindock is founding editor of Červená Barva Press, editor of the Istanbul Literary Review based in Istanbul, Turkey, and one of the USA editors for Levure Littéraire in France. She is the author of La Portile Raiului (Ars Longa Press, 2010, Romania) translated into the Romanian by Flavia Cosma, Nothing Divine Here (U Šoku Štampa, 2010, Montenegro), and Blood Soaked Dresses (Ibbetson, 2007). Gloria's poetry has been translated and published into the Romanian, Serbian, Spanish, and French.
Widely published, her work has appeared in Murmur of Voices, Vatra Veche, UNU: Revista de Cultura, and Citadela in Romania. Other literary journal publications include: Arabesques, Poesia, Phoebe, Poet Lore, Blackbox, River Styx, Bogg, Ibbetson St., WHLR, Web Del Sol, Lost in Thought, Bliss, and in the anthology Hildagards Daughters (Belgium). Her flash fiction has recently been published in Thrice and Thunderclap.
Gloria has had nominations for the Pushcart Prize, St. Butolph Award and was awarded a fellowship from the Somerville Arts Council. She was co-founder of Theatre S & S. Press, Inc. and was one of the founding editors of the Boston Literary Review/BLuR from 1984-1994. Theatre S. received grants from the Polaroid Foundation, The Rockefeller Foundation, The Globe Foundation, NEFA, Massachusetts Cultural Council, and the Somerville Arts Council.
Gloria works as a social worker and freelances teaching workshops. She facilitates events in her Červená Barva Press studio, located in the Center for the Arts at the Armory in Somerville, MA.
Her head, full of stabbing pain, stress.
Maria walked against time and felt
doom in this new city.
People were rushing with eyes downward. No one noticed her
or that she was lost.
On the bus, the people were speaking English and she didn’t understand.
Such a lonely feeling knowing she was going to make beds at a hotel
where no one ever sees her or knows her. Isolation…
Maria felt like she was falling into hell,
just a nobody in a sphere surrounded by objects, breaking…
sharp and cutting.
Darkness falls, skin moist,
Living here feels like doomsday—
a sickness rotting the body.
To die for this?
He escapes, illegal now…
Eyes sore, body cold, place to
stay, dirty and grey…
Gauntness, sadness, grief.
After months, he found a job, in a field…
happy to find employment.
Alive and better, he smiles and the
Friends are made. He can drift to sleep
dreaming of home, and someday going back to his country.
Perhaps he will go and silence the cruelty that
made him wrestle with death.
Not everything has to be despair.
There is a gentleness about those who surround you.
It has been awhile since you felt this.
Life filling you with voice.
Life filling you with tomorrow.
You, listening for meaning.
Open the window.
there is no gunfire here or
Open your eyes and inherit
With anger in your heart and a body that
wants to fight, you have to let go.
You are not at war in this country.
There are moments of crickets chirping,
lightning bugs, and a beautiful moon.
Look up at the sky.
Tonight you are safe adjusting to your new home.
The people, your audience to talk to.
Each word that comes from your mouth, innocence…
a kind of love, fragile and graceful
tumbling into infinity.