Dearest readers,
How do you write about noise? Or rather, how do you write about anything in general?
For our second issue, we wanted to explore the idea of noise in all its variations. Each of our editors focuses on one specific discipline, but noise is the ever present constant we can identify. How did we define noise this time around?
The universe humming itself to life in little pockets of chirps and whistles; reading on public transportation and almost missing your stop; the buzz spreading through your bones that you can’t quite name; turning your clavicle into a musical instrument.
These were all very personal things to me that I can pinpoint to specific moments where I have felt confused or anxious. They are coping mechanisms of sorts, soft reminders to let me know thatFor myself, I never know whether to write about the material or the temporary; perhaps that is the way noise is slated to be. Why do we talk about bones and skin and thoughts? Commonalities in writing and art, differences between space and nothingness, and subjectivity and objectivity.
What is a migraine, then?
This issue came together as we winded our days into a new year. I have missed the sun for far too long. This issue is a little bit different; you cannot mention noise without, inevitably, arriving at music. As a literary journal, this is not our primary focus, but we wanted to address it in some way. We have a brilliant curated playlist, put together by Mary Guan, which you can listen to on Spotify.
There is so much to look at and read in this issue that brilliantly captures and expands upon our original concept. We have an astounding collection of poetry and pieces that explore the self, identity and their relations to noise.
Of course, it would be a disservice to not mention the onslaught of harrowing events that, while are not exactly new, have picked up frequency and resonance in the past few weeks. Working on this issue meant that we could choose to focus on aesthetics, but this could inherently be a fatal flaw of our magazine. We could have, “a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs,“ as Donna Tartt once put it, but to not comment upon this would be a disservice. Thus, an addendum to our original version of noise:
The way that Orion always seems to light up the vacant yawn of the evening; the crows at dusk, winging along and bringing you home; snow on an evening that petrifies the night sky; the hidden corner across the branches of trees.
Bombus Press supports and will continue to publish the work of diverse creators. We are now in the works of putting together the ideas for a special print issue that will hope in some way to confront this in our way. More will be coming soon.
(And remember, the gentle humming of bees is there too.)
As always, we are grateful for all our wonderful contributors and everyone who has helped to support our magazine.
Marilyn Schotland