Introduction

Introduction Jim Hicks "AN OLD MAN in great trouble . . ." Folks who know me, or those who have followed these intros over recent years, won't be surprised to see me returning to Beckett, my go-to author ever since I first stumbled onto Godot, back in my undergrad days. Never left that crossroads. Here, though, I'm citing a lesser-known play, Embers, mainly because, while putting together our Summer TOC, its phrases kept rattling around in my brain: "back against the hangings, hand stretched out widening the chink, looking out, white world, great trouble, not a sound, only the embers, sound of dying, dying glow, Holloway, Bolton, Bolton, Holloway, old men, great trouble, white world, not a sound." Not summery, I know, but it does capture a mood. Plus, this issue happens to bring together three works that capture endgame sagas with exquisite grace and wisdom. First, Robert Kraft's deadpan, deadly accurate description of his ALS affliction. Over time, Kraft develops a succinct answer to the inevitable query: "How are you feeling? . . . The same, except worse." Elsewhere, in "Man Crossing an Ice Field," Laura Glen Louis works through the ethical dilemmas of caretaking after she begins to lose her astrophysicist husband progressively to Alzheimer's. Finally, in the opposite of a tale of irremediable loss, Nadine Browne's "Real Person" recounts how taking care of a social worker and community organizer during his final years caused her, a struggling, expat MFA student, to find a true friend as well as herself. "Old men, great trouble, white world, not a sound." Not only not summery, perhaps also not what you've come here for—or come to expect from our pages. Never fear—there are certainly other voices, other themes, and other issues in this issue: we begin with End Page 8 a poem from Mahmoud Darwish about famine and end with a poem by Sun Tzu-Ping about a Hong Kong protest, each paired with poems from the great Welsh poet and pacifist Waldo Williams. The poetry throughout this issue is as innovative as it is memorable, both in translation and not. Take, for example, the work by Andrea Inglese, or Marie-Andrée Gill, or Jennifer Sperry Steinorth (with art by Jenny Walton). And I haven't even mentioned Raymond Queneau. We also present excerpts from Ifa Bayeza's stunning theaterwork, The Till Trilogy, and offer you a meditation on time in/as the novel from Sabina Murray. I would be remiss if I didn't mention Bhavna Mehta's poetic reflection on the intersection of disability studies and ecocriticism—an essay that has clear resonance with the art of Daisy Quezada Ureña, featured in this issue. In a lithe, light-footed essay in praise of the fetish, Peter Stallybrass—in addition to ballet, clowning, Woolf, Van Gogh, Muriel Sparks, Primo Levi, and Samuel R. Delany—returns to Beckett as I have, sharing a story that turns the Irishman into his own evil stepsister. Though Beckett was, as a member of the French Resistance, awarded France's Croix de Guerre and Médaille de la Résistance, one might wonder what connection his tales of old men and white worlds had with his politics. The short answer, for me, has always been that Beckett takes it all down, clearing space for others to build anew. He knew it was time to take out the trash. But before doing that, he jumped into the bin. End Page 9 Jim Hicks for the editors Copyright © 2024 The Massachusetts Review, Inc