The OrphanAGE, Vol 1.34
First Lines
I am an Invisible man. ~Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man
A photograph is a secret about a secret.
~ Diane Arbus
The self: a mine of artistic inspiration and expression. Buddhists sidestep the idea of the self as a fixed entity, believing it to be a process (anatta), like a flame passed from candle to candle. The ever-weird, Sigmund Freud expressed it as: The ego is not the master in its own house.
Yet, long before the selfie, there was portraiture.
Da Vinci’s mesmerizing eyes that follow the viewer. The inward look of Rembrandt. The fractured planes of Cézanne, further shattered by Picasso. Sargent’s bravura brushwork giving way to Warhol’s speculation that identity itself might be just another mass-produced image. Louis Daguerre, in the mid-1800s, pioneered a second line for portraiture: the photograph. Consider Phan Thị Kim Phúc’s “Terror of War” capturing a young girl fleeing a napalm attack, or Eddie Adams’ “Saigon Execution” capturing the very real brutality of a field execution. They became disturbing cultural icons of 20th century horror. Early cultures often prohibited photographs, fearing that the process risked stealing their very souls. Even today, the capturing of an individual’s likeness in paint or photo can stir controversy – Kehinde Wiley’s official portrait of America’s first Black president a radical step too far.
In this issue, we feature a handful of portraits by the Chicago photographer, David Turner. These images, captured during a 2026 Fourth of July reunion of the 80s/90s Kansas Crew team (Turner's image is also the flagship of this issue). I have relied on Dave's "eye" again and again across several decades — his composition and execution are nothing short of superlative.
Joining him in this issue, we feature three new poems by George Wallace. Rounding things out, are two tunes — one recent and one classic — by R&B hip-hop songsmith, Swoovi. A perfect summer aperitif.
Enjoy,
Dante
In this Issue
- Photography by David Turner
- Poetry by George Wallace
- Music by Swoovi
Photos by David Turner
Studio Turner / David Turner Photography / 312.342.7173
Photos by David Turner
Poetry by George Wallace
Writer in residence at the Walt Whitman Birthplace, author of 46 chapbooks, and winner of a 2025 PEN Award. Wallace has won top honors across the US, China, Europe, South America, and North Africa. In 2024 he was awarded an honorary doctorate from the Royal Academy of Spain (CIESART).
La Naranja
stole this orange from
the garden of the nuns
to bring to you Juanita,
and the sisters meditating
behind draperies and
cool windowpanes,
and the workman
trimming pyracantha,
and me slipping past
bright blossoming
camellias; and the sisters
did not see me, and the gardener
did not see me, though he stopped to
light a cigarette, sucking at it
with enthusiasm in the clear calm
holy air, he did not see me,
and I held my breath
Juanita, I stopped
my breathing,
I reached between
green fragrant forgotten
citrus leaves, praying nobody
would hear me, nobody,
nobody, and my prayer was
answered, Juanita,
and this orange is for you;
it dropped between
green shining leaves,
and I reached down
and picked it up
(and the gardener
gardening, and the sisters
meditating on the Acts of
the Apostles, behind
draperies and cool windowpanes),
and yes Juanita, there are
more oranges for you
from the garden of the nuns,
more oranges for you,
to release you from
your own meditations,
the ones that haunt you.
Quand Le Soleil Dit Adieu
They call this love they call this going,
they call this bayou when the sun says
adieu to lovers, poets, and old drinking
men in September; le soleil dit adieu aux
amoureux, aux poètes et aux vieux hommes
buveurs; and the young women, and the
men who fall for them, all fall away, and
children in their stubborn manner; quand
le soleil dit adieu aux amoureux soleil dit
adieu; and you and me, two poets old as
paint, count down our last hours together;
this grammar of going, each one of us fall
away, a leaf, a glance, a ghost, fall away,
a last departure; and the words that stay
and the words that go, and the wind that
takes our words away:
quand le soleil dit adieu aux amoureux,
aux poètes, aux vieux hommes buveu
Traveling As A Man
What matters to a man,
traveling as a man,
taking the great leap
into the unknown,
being true to blood
and bone, traveling
as a man, going by
the trade name man,
working in a kitchen
or hotel ballroom,
wrestling with a mad dog
named clarity, riding
the big rig west, traveling
through shadow and light,
on strong legs, Buick of
a man, man who never
hurt another man without
a good reason, wheelbarrow
heart, heart like sand,
traveling as a man,
the architecture of a man,
the man I learned to
measure myself against,
and every horizon
I have ever known