EDITORIAL

Issue V signals a remarkable year since Tryst has been a presence on the internet.  The Anniversary Issue is a double issue packed with over thirty-eight contributors.  Add to that number a growing list of readers which reached an all-time high at 1,019 visitors to the site in the month of May alone and I can only surmise that "someone" is reading these issues besides my contributors.  As an editor I try to remain in the background as much possible and let the work unfold, speak for itself.  Besides nobody wants to hear a speech and what the editor has to say - I certainly don't. But, it seemed a befitting occasion to say a few things on the behalf of my contributors: Tryst simply could not have existed without its contributors.  Contributors whose work, journeys, dreams and visions were entrusted to Tryst's care.  Loyalty and trust are some credos I do not ever take lightly or for granted.  My gratitude to my contributors knows no bounds.  Thank you for reading our journals.  Enjoy--Tryst Editor

The above photo image, "Blush" is by Helyn Davenport who has been my feature artist in two previous issues.  Issue V marks the end of a three-part feature series on Helyn.  

A new section, "News & Reviews" has been added to Tryst.  Guidelines and Links Pages have been updated.  Please be sure to read over the guidelines page even if you're a past contributor.

What are the defining moments of happiness as cause for celebration?  I suspect most people would recall a wedding, birth of a child, bar mitzvahs, quinceañeras, holidays, vacations, birthdays, job promotions.  For artists, I would think book releases, published poems, art exhibitions, a growing portfolio, accolades would be cause for much fanfare and celebration.  But memories that are date-driven give rise to the question, "shall we wait until that time is at hand to celebrate, to mark the occasion?" and I think that involves too much waiting and planning.  Is there a blueprint for happiness?  Could it be that any given moment in which we are most present, aware of ourselves in relation to the world is a defining moment of happiness; even if we're thrown into a catastrophe, war, and the next day is not assured, when we're most aware of how fragile and valuable life is?  But then, is it necessary to wait for a tragedy to strike before we become aware of our own mortality?  

This Anniversary Issue was a cause for celebration not just for the occasion but for life's exact moments captured on film - on paper - on canvas.  Whether that moment is as T. Birch expressed it in "Leap":

for what we all feel when it happens -
our movement toward something

unknown; and delicious

recklessness
and its consequence

spectacular in its excess 

Or, as Charnley expressed it in Tom Sheehan's, "Charnley and Leonard the Blind Man":

Everything is love, Leonard, or no love. Everything. You don’t need a girlfriend to have love. I don’t have a girlfriend. My wife’s been dead two-three years now. I love this poem. You made me see what it’s like, this poem. I just want to know what it does for you. If it does anything. I am never sure of things like this, such argument or reasoning. You sew a seed, take care of its bed with tender care, it grows. If it doesn’t, better find out why.

Or, the "duende" of Jim McCurry's, "Concierto de Aranjuez":

I love my friends, the women I have loved and lost, the departed elderly ones, all the old ones that I recall from the early Forties on, yes, and the gone students, and the dead animals, too, all of them, both ‘road kill’ and pets. And I fondly imagine, at times, that I am loved--have been loved-- by them, in return. 

Or, here in the steady beat of Coleen Shin's, "Born Again":

We are here, there, now, before-
rehearsing our parts on an airless stage.
Faith, laid on the palms of atheists.
Hope, within pain's fisted crush.
Birth, into a personal second coming
or the dreams of other's, we are unborn.

And there in Lisa Zaran's, "There I was":

It was the kind of night
Where the stars come out
Swinging. Suddenly thousands,
Hundreds of thousands, each
One like a memory, sky full
Of old scars.

Or, Carolyn Adams', "Death of a Rose"; and, Helyn Davenport's "Dance of Trees"; David Winston's, "Father & Sons"; 

...I thought of all those immeasurable instances where one could bask in the greater sphere of existence by defining happiness as individual and unique as John Carton's: 

Sit with me awhile longer
and help me name 
these gathering crows.

And I wanted to shout, "Come, celebrate with us! Share in this moment enough, take the journey and let your own joys be realized."--Mia

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