The Lune is animated by the quietude, gravity, and fidelity of its namesake. Seasonal editions explore a wide-range of approaches to literary poiesis, wherein mythos, memory, identity, and dream are fields as real and rich with resources as those we externally mine, amass, alter, and assign.
We wonder with Thomas Merton: "What can we gain by sailing to the moon if we are unable to cross the abyss that separates us from ourselves?"* Our feeling is that poets—who work in the deep space of language—guide the whole of society on this journey to the interior.
Simply witnessing lunar phases from where we stand, with what we have, we can divine essential truths about time, space, and our relative position in the universe. "The secret of seeing," writes Annie Dillard, "is to sail on solar wind." The crescent moon becomes an emblem of interconnection—"a cosmos of nothing but poetry."†
We hope that suddenly with the poet in the landscape of the word, you experience The Lune as a sliver of light hovering in the fathomless distance of the mind.
"[The Lune] has humble aspirations. It doesn’t really market itself to mass audiences and it isn’t necessarily hungry to grow. It welcomes new subscribers, no doubt, but it remains focused on putting the poets first and keeping the encounters with readers as intimate as possible."
— Ray Rinaldi, The Denver Post
From arranging looseleaf poems in pre-stamped envelopes to producing full-length perfect-bound collections, The Lune has always existed for the sake of communion. Our abiding goal is to regularly send beautiful, inventive, poignant word out into the world.
In lieu of asking for donations to offset our costs, we invite you to tell your local bookstore about our print editions. The Lune is distributed by Ingram Book Group. And of course we love hearing from booksellers directly, too.
Thank you for your love and support.
With the drawing of this love and the voice of this Calling
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
—T. S. Eliot, "Little Gidding" (1942)