An Interview with Gloria Mindock, Founding Editor and Publisher of Červená Barva Press by Amanda Newell

An Interview with Gloria Mindock, Founding Editor and Publisher of Červená Barva Press

 

AN: Gloria, Thank you for taking the time to speak with Plume. I’m excited about this interview because I want to know what your secret is and how you manage to do all that you do! You’re an incredibly prolific writer, and as the Founding Editor and Publisher of Červená Barva Press, you’re deeply engaged with the writing community both in the United States and abroad.

 

I’ll circle back to your work at the press, but I’d like to begin our conversation with a question about your latest collection of poems, Grief Touched the Sky at Night (Glass Lyre 2023), a deeply stark and profound meditation on the human cost of war in Ukraine—it’s been tremendously successful and has won numerous awards, most recently (just this month!) the NYC Big Book Award. You composed it during the early stages of this ongoing war, and my impression is that the poems sort of “tumbled” out in quick succession. As someone who tends to write slowly, I’m curious to hear what that experience was like for you.

 

GM: Back in 2014, I was outraged about Putin invading Crimea. I knew in my heart that Putin was not done. When he invaded the rest of Ukraine, I was heartsick. I have friends who are Ukrainian and Russian. My Russian friends feel that they can never visit their homeland again (They are US citizens). I have always written about the atrocities in the world to be a voice for those who have no voice. The disturbing articles and what was reported on the news motivated me. The bravery of the Ukrainian people and my friend in Bulgaria, Svet Di Naham, (threatened with the same poison, Novichok, as Navalny by Putin’s men for his activism) gave me much to write about. The images seen and stories I heard needed to be told. Once I started writing, I could not stop.

 

I usually am a writer who takes long breaks between writing poems. It is not unusual for me to go months without writing but when I must write about something, I will write until I know that I am out of steam. I was so disgusted by Putin and the war crimes committed in Ukraine, that it brought out an urgency to get the words/poems out right away.

 

AN: You mention being a “voice for those who have no voice.” I’m interested in the multiplicity of voices—the people—who show up in your collection as witness to the human devastation wrought by this war. For example, the speaker in “Memory” simply asks, “Why am I in this world at all?” then observes, “I bleed soundless.” I wonder if you might comment on your approach of writing in different personas. This is something you do quite well and naturally—I’m thinking too, of many of the voices that populate your prior collection, Ash (Glass Lyre 2021). Do you find that writing in persona opens up possibilities for you on the page? What are the challenges?

 

GM: Writing in the first person feels more powerful and impactful, allowing me to convey emotions more effectively. My natural empathy influenced my career in social work, which spanned 40 years. When crafting poems about war, I vividly recall the stories shared with me.

 

In Ash, people confided and told me their relationship troubles in cafés, stores, and during my travels. My clients discussed their personal issues, and my very first poem in the collection is inspired by a client, though I altered the final stanza. (This client, who tragically passed away from a drug overdose, was a humorous and kind individual, making his loss particularly sorrowful.)

 

A challenge for me was to write about these experiences making sure each poem remained different from the other. Toward the end of the book, I introduced a theme of murder—despite it not being a subject shared with me—adding humor to provide some relief.

 

In Grief Touched the Sky at Night, I immersed myself in extensive research, drawing on insights from friends who are Ukrainian and Russian, and listening to accounts and testimonies online. Over the years, I’ve personally spoken with many affected by such tragedies.

 

One of the greatest challenges I face is the assumption that I’ve experienced the events I write about. This is frustrating, as my work never is about my personal experiences. When innocent people are being slaughtered, I must write about it.

 

AN: Why do you think it is that readers so often assume that if a poem is written from the first-person perspective, that it must be autobiography? It seems that poetry is particularly susceptible—more than any other genre—to such readings. I’m also interested in your comment that your poetry is never about your personal experiences. Why is that?

 

GM: I have no idea why this happens. It might be because I use the word “I,” and they can’t distinguish between what’s true and what’s made-up. I do not write about my personal experiences because I am a very private person. There is not much to share. What I’m really interested in, is bringing the experiences of others into print.

 

AN: Let me be more specific: when writing from others’ experience, do you feel a heightened sense of obligation to “get it right?” I ask because this is a question I often grapple with, particularly when writing about other people’s traumas, which I have done. At some level, I suppose I’ve always felt that in order to get it right, the speaker has to implicate herself in some way.

 

I also think we also need to acknowledge there are different kinds of truth, right?—and also that what we ‘make up’ or imagine may often resonate as “truer” than the actual facts of any given situation. I’ll admit: it’s hard for me not to read many first-person poems autobiographically, even when I know not to make this assumption. I mean, I was trained not to make this assumption, but I still do it! Maybe that says more about our humanness, our need for connection?

 

GM: I do not worry about getting it right. I know it is right because of the research I do and from listening to personal stories. Being a social worker most of my life, I had to document everything in great detail in the records. There was no room for error. When I write, it just happens so automatically for me. I am documenting what is coming from their mouths. I keep what I think away from it unless I say that it comes from me. I am a witness for them. It cannot be any truer than that.

 

I never make assumptions in any book I read that it happened to the author unless it states it in the book or it is a memoir. I can make connections even if it has nothing to do with the person writing it because somewhere, a person is going through that. There are only so many things in life that can happen. I have that empathy.

 

Going back to the “I” again, it seems we’re all taught early on that “I” means “I” (from my perspective). In my readings and even in one of my books, I emphasize that none of this is about me. Yet, people still approach me with statements like, “I never knew you were a widow,” when, in fact, I’m not. It’s frustrating, especially when I’ve clearly stated that none of this is about me. I do understand what you are saying, and I get it. My brain just works differently. This is how I am able to write and be passionate about my work. I want my audience to wake up to what is happening around them whether it be atrocities or failed relationships.

 

Flash fiction is different for me. There is some written in first person and some not. Most of my stories are made up. Sometimes, there might be one small true thing in there. I will never tell.  I take liberties with my stories but I do not take liberties with the poetry I write.

 

AN: Your dedication to community, and to witnessing, is also a hallmark of Červená Barva Press, which you founded in 2005. I’m thinking of the ways in which the press has supported the work of international writers who are and have been outspoken critics of oppressive political regimes. In 2023, for example, the press awarded its inaugural Červená Barva Press Dissident Award to the Bulgarian writer Svet DiNahum (Escape from Crimea, Červená Barva 2020). The 2024 award recipient was the writer Mbizo Chirasha of Zimbabwe, whom you recognized for exposing “corruption, human rights abuse, gender disparities and political decadence.”

 

How did you become involved with the international community of writers? Was it that involvement that led you to found Červená Barva? “Červená barva” means “red color” in Czech; can you speak to the import, as well, of the name you selected for the press?

 

GM: I’ve witnessed atrocities around the world since the Vietnam War and the Cambodian Genocide. In the early 1980s, as I began writing poetry and plays, I started to express my concerns about our troubled world through my work.

 

In 2007, when my book Blood Soaked Dresses was published by Doug Holder’s press and featured in an article by Ellen Steinbaum in The Boston Globe, I was contacted by many Salvadorans from El Salvador and the U.S. I spoke out and protested during the Salvadoran Civil War, a devastating conflict that lasted twelve years. I always hoped to meet Rufina Amaya, the lone survivor of the Massacre of El Mozote, but sadly she passed away before that could happen.

 

El Salvador marked the beginning of my journey to amplify the voices of the oppressed. Through various publications, I connected with writers from different countries, who introduced me to their networks. My book Whiteness of Bone addresses atrocities in places like the Congo, Rwanda, Darfur, Argentina, and Guatemala, further expanding my circle of writers and activists. They find me.

 

I conduct extensive research and listen to testimonies, whether in person or online. Beyond writing about these horrors, I wanted to honor courageous writers, which led me to establish the Dissident Award. Svet DiNahum’s book, Escape from Crimea, was published in Ukraine and Bulgaria, and later, I published it in English. In Bulgaria, Svet’s life is constantly threatened by Putin’s regime, yet he bravely speaks out on television, podcasts, and on YouTube, interviewing top officials, including those from the U.S. He has even been threatened with Novichok, the same poison used against Navalny. I am honored to name the award the Svetoslav Nahum Dissident Award.

 

Mbizo Chirasha interviewed me and I got to know him. He spoke out about the situation in his country, Zimbabwe and had to go into hiding. Many of us who knew Mbizo communicated through Facebook Messenger, worried about his safety. I contacted two of his friends in Africa to check on him. Once, I received a phone call on Messenger from a man asking if I had heard from Mbizo. I didn’t answer, fearing it might be someone from his government trying to find him. When I presented the award to Mbizo, he asked me to change the wording, which I did, prioritizing his safety.

 

In honor of Václav Havel, a hero to me for his fight against Communism and oppression, I decided to call the press Červená Barva. When Communism fell in Czechoslovakia, it was a peaceful transition. Havel recited a poem in Wenceslas Square, and years later, I published the first English translation of poems by dissident Jaromir Horec, who turned out to have written the poem Havel recited. At the time, he was in the hospital and watched the events unfold on TV.

 

When I sent him his printed books, his brother received them because he was once again hospitalized. Later, when he discovered the books were gone, he remarked, “The Communists are at it again.” This was relayed to me by the translator, Jana Morávková-Kiely, of his book called, Anežka Česká. Havel was not only a writer but also a playwright, known for his unique and often strange plays. He and his fellow dissidents were imprisoned multiple times, yet they are heroes for freedom who should never be forgotten.

 

I also published a fiction book by Jiri Klobouk, and he sent me two photographs from a theater awards ceremony featuring himself and Havel. One shows them standing together, and the other captures them signing their awards. I cherish these photographs. Lastly, I want to acknowledge the countless brave women and men whose stories go unheard. We must remember and honor all those who have suffered, and we cannot remain silent in the face of evil.

 

AN: How do you see Červená Barva evolving as a press? What would you like its legacy to be?

 

GM: Červená Barva Press will increasingly focus on translations in the future, as I believe it’s important to bring work here from different countries. I hope the press will be remembered for its diverse publications, its stance against oppression and violence, and for valuing the words and voices of all writers, regardless of their subject matter. I also want to be remembered for the friendships built worldwide and our commitment to humanity. The press and myself aim to be a voice for the voiceless. Besides this, to continue to publish work that has a strong voice and is unique. Not everything I publish is about atrocities. A wide variety of topics is covered in the books I publish.

 

AN: My first introduction to Červená Barva was close to fifteen years ago—you were publishing my neighbor on the Eastern Shore, the late poet and Bogg magazine editor John Elsberg, who had collaborated on a book of tanka sequences with the poet Eric Greinke. I mention this in part to underscore your point about publishing a wide range of voices, subjects, and styles. John was also a Beat at heart and not necessarily interested in what was trending or fashionable in literary circles at any given point in time. Would you say that you share a similar sensibility in your approach to running the press?

 

GM: I take an independent approach with Červená Barva Press, focusing on my own vision rather than following trends. Since starting the press, I’ve published a diverse range of voices in poetry from around the world, and it’s been exciting to showcase such work. If it’s good, I want to share it, regardless of style. This commitment to variety has helped the press thrive for 19 years. I truly appreciate every book I’ve published and all of my wonderful authors. I want to give a shout out to them.

 

We published two chapbooks by John Elsberg and Eric Greinke: “All This Dark: 24 Tanka Sequences” in 2012 (which you mentioned) and “Catching the Light: 12 Haiku Sequences” in 2009. Both are remarkable contributors to the poetry community, and working with them was just the best!

I was sad when John Elsberg passed away. A huge loss.

 

I also want to acknowledge the many other presses out there doing fantastic work. I love buying their books; surrounding myself with their incredible publications inspires me as both a writer and a publisher.

 

AN: I’d like to close by asking you what you’re reading, so: What are you reading?

 

GM: I am reading In the Hour of War: Poetry from Ukraine (Arrowsmith 2023), edited by Carolyn Forché and llya Kaminsky. For fiction, I just started reading Outside Voices: A Memoir of the Berkeley Revolution by Joan Gelfand (Post Hill Press 2024).

 

Thank you, Amanda, for the interview and to Daniel Lawless, editor of Plume.

 

If I may, I would like to thank and acknowledge Doug Holder (Ibbetson Street Press) for publishing Blood Soaked Dresses in 2007, Ami Kaye (Glass Lyre Press) for publishing Whiteness of Bone, Ash, and Grief Touched the Sky at Night, and Michael McInnis and Annie Pluto (Nixes Mate), who published

I Wish Francisco Franco Would Love Me. All these books are about atrocities except for Ash.

 

 

Plastic

 

1.

X was only two months sober and was telling everyone he had a date.
Despite being told to concentrate on his sobriety and not women,
he would not listen. The next day, he said they went out for dinner.
Afterwards, she invited him to her place for coffee. When they walked
into her apartment, there were dolls sitting at the kitchen table, on the
couch, in the bedroom, and even on the toilet. Doll eyes watching him.
Creepy. He left. We all teased him and said he should have kissed a doll.
There would be no heart beating. All he would have to do is keep his lips
closed. Then there would be no feelings.

 

2.

X was sitting in the car with his date, about ready to go to dinner when
she said, “Wait! I have to wrap my head up in tin foil! It is important for
me to communicate with the aliens.” X looked at her in disbelief. He took
the tin foil box from her and wrapped his head up with it, waiting for a
miracle.

 

3.

It has been a while since X went out on a date. He sat in the car with
her as she smacked her gum and then stuck the chewing gum on the
dashboard. Then she dug out her lipstick from her purse. X was still
focusing on her gum on the dashboard. He looked around her car more
closely and saw gum stuck all over the place. He felt a knot in his stomach
and was disgusted, got out of the car without saying a word. About a
block later, as he was thinking, he reached in his pocket and unwrapped a
piece of gum and chewed…

 

4.

The sirens were going off. X knew it was time to get out. His heart was
beating quickly. X was scared he would not make it. Heavy black smoke
was filling the apartment up. He jumped and realized it was just a dream.
Next to him was a woman, young and very pretty. His heart smoldered…
He thought, what did I do to deserve such a thing. Just then, a fireman
knocked down the door and resuscitated him. There was no girl. Just a
firehose through the broken window. Sometimes X, a flame is just a flame.

 

 

On Top of His Stomach, a Boat Was Floating

A flower out of hell nailed his coffin shut. Someone paying respect to his
dead body kneeled. It was a “she.” She wore the color red and inside, her
embryo wore the flag. She felt like a loser being stung by a million bees.
One morning, she wore white, aqua and green, but most days blue. Why
red today? These colors accommodated sensibilities and took away her
awkwardness. Emotions were always down to the core. Life was a pattern
with motion. She felt like she was in a whispering opera. Nothing in her
life ever materialized. A paper-thin brunette, down to a skull, she kneeled
by the coffin, with eyes closed, everything was erased.

 

 

 

Stone

It is never over—
the dying, one after another.
A procession like words on a page,
used continuously.
Gravestones firm on the ground.
It is the only time you can be secure.
Take a stance on the ground.
The weeds will no longer make you itch.
Your heart will not bleed from sadness.
Belongings all gone taking shelter somewhere.
The people you know will be gone soon,
if not already.
Take comfort like me.
There will always be chaos, no
matter where you are.
But once in the coffin, rest.
Roots reach for the dirt,
bones grab for texture.
An object only, collected on earth,
trying to find a place among stones.
Once again, you want to be heard.
You want to be remembered each time
the wind hits the face of the living.

 

 

Winding Road

Where does this road end,
I think as I wander piecing
my life together.
But I think it’s too late.
It can’t be reunited.
If I shoot, will you live?
I won’t wrap your wounds.
Blood seeps out one way
or another
leaving everything dry.
I am just going to stand here
and watch for the red puddle
to form on the ground.
The clouds look unhappy making a noise.

 

 

Acknowledgments: “Plastic” and “On Top of His Stomach, a Boat Was Floating” appeared in Ash (Glass Lyre 2021). “Plastic” was first published in Nixes Mate Review, and “On Top of His Stomach, a Boat Was Floating” was first published in Gargoyle. “Stone” and “Winding Road” appeared in Grief Touched the Sky at Night (Glass Lyre 2023). “Stone” was first published in Muddy River Poetry Review.

 

 

 

Gloria Mindock Bio:

Gloria Mindock is editor of Červená Barva Press. She is an award-winning author of six poetry collections, two translations, and three chapbooks. Her poems have been published and translated into twelve languages. Her recent book, Grief Touched the Sky at Night (Glass Lyre Press, 2023), won the NYC Big Book Award, International Impact Award, the Speak-up Talk Radio International Firebird Award, the Book Fest Award in Contemporary Poetry, numerous Creator Awards and the Independent Press Award. Gloria’s book ASH (Glass Lyre Press, 2021) won several book awards and was translated into Serbian by Milutin Durickovic and published by Alma Press in Belgrade in 2022. Gloria has had numerous publications including Gargoyle, The James Dickey Review, Growth: Journal of Literature, Culture, & Art (Macedonia), KGB Lit, Ibbetson, Lily Poetry Review, to name just a few. Gloria was the Poet Laureate in Somerville, MA in 2017 & 2018. She is the recipient of the Sam Cornish Award by the New England Poetry Club presented in August. For more information about Gloria Mindock, visit her website at: www. gloriamindock.com (under construction)