Category Archives: Dr. Harte Weiner

It All Started with Coffee…

In a time-honored tradition of the literary arts, our latest story began in a coffee shop. CambridgeEditors founder, Harte Weiner, met with Somervillian poet, Doug Holder at Bloc 11 Cafe. Holder wanted to get the inside scoop on the life and work of a seasoned editor.

Harte Weiner

These kindred spirits discussed everything from W. H. Auden to the Cambridge-Somerville arts scene. You can find the full article on The Somerville Times.

Doug HolderPhoto credit: Jaclyn Tyler Poeschl

This month, its Holder’s turn to be in the spotlight, as he was recently named February Artist of the Month by the Somerville Arts Council. Holder’s love of poetry was sparked  in the 1970s when he stumbled upon a copy of On the Road, by Jack Kerouac, and he has been writing and teaching ever since.

Bloc 11 2Photo credit: Eater Boston

While CambridgeEditors is proud to work with writers and editors across the globe, it is hard to imagine setting up shop anywhere besides this city by the Charles River. Decades ago, acclaimed poets and editors would gather as part of Boston’s Saturday Club. Holder and Weiner’s meet-up and hundreds more like it prove that same spirit of artistic community pervades this metro area to this day. We feast on coffee, on scones, on Lowell and now on Holder.

To all our Cambridge- and Somerville-based artists, thank you for making this place such a vibrant arts community! We love working with you and living beside you.


by Veronica Wickline


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Filed under cambridge, Coffee, Dr. Harte Weiner, poetry, Somerville

Magic is Might: A Fond Farewell

Another season passes us by, and the interns are taking their leave. We’ve all had great, lively, laughing fun here at CambridgeEditors this summer, passing the time with all genres of Pandora stations, researching the most obscure of publications that cross our paths, and of course wildly composing SEOs with abandon.

Please enjoy this documentation of a standard day in an ever-changing office as we capture  a moment before it flees for good.

Happy August, friends!


From Talia: “Number one way to avoid writing SEOs: Re-brand companies.”


From Silas: “Spent a lot of time outdoors this summer, and have concluded that ‘I’d rather be a creature of nature than a creation of culture.'”


From Cara: “Rather unsure where to post prose poems about physics now that my SEO days are coming to a close.”


From Sandor: “The summer has been hot! Hot! Hot with activity. I’m losing my mind.”


From Dr. Weiner: “This is short and plain: I owe this summer’s extraordinary laughter, creativity, productivity, personal and interactive energy to my two fabulous interns, Cara Haley and Talia Rochmann.”


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Filed under Cara Haley, Dr. Harte Weiner, Sandor Mark, Talia Rochmann

Of Interest to Literati

CambridgeEditors has noticed that bookish Bostonians are lucky this season. Back in December, the Modern Language Association held its annual conference for academics and literati at the Hynes Convention Center and surrounding Copley Square Hotels. Representatives of University English and Foreign Language Departments were present–over 7,000 attendees. Among Academic and Trade presses, CambridgeEditors hosted an Exhibition Hall booth. Meanwhile, in just about a week’s time, The Associated Writing Programs annual Conference meets at the Hynes. The four day conference, featuring panels and readings by our foremost creative writers, boasts Seamus Heaney as its keynote speaker. Toward the end of this month, meanwhile, the NeMLA meets at Boston’s Hyatt Regency near the Commons; literature departments and presenters from across the North East Region will be present. At both the AWP and NeMLA conferences, booksellers are represented, including Cambridge’s Shakespeare and Company—The Grolier Bookshop at the AWP.

ImageWhen the February 25th’s edition of The New Yorker half-flippantly defends (the now quite rich) Gerard Depardieu’s tax-evading flight from France to Belgium, the phrase emerges: “[Depardieu] was a Rabelaisian sensualist, not a Balzacian crook.” If your self-characterization falls in line with Depardieu’s, and you’ve chosen an artist’s or scholar’s path–no matter the pocketbook impact, at least at the outset—I urge you to wander these ballrooms and bookstalls, while they’re only a T Ride away.

~Dr. Harte Weiner, lead editor

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Deep in Snow and Thought: In Sympathy with “The Seafarer”

Almost thirty years ago, I crossed the Eucalyptus-scented campus of Stanford, the home of my PhD in English literature. From the C parking lot, on circuitous paths flanked by exotic fruit and the scent of Eucalyptus, passed by nodding elders out for a jog, their nearly hairless white legs blank against the blue-wash sky; as a wind whipped up of ten speeds passing me to class, their blond heads all a blur, and their Cardinal backpacks sitting high on their necks like parachute gear—I’d duck but there was nothing up above but sky, during the days when government-sponsored MedFly sprayers often dove and rose near the earth. Underneath the high arches of Spanish Cathedral architecture, my heels clicking like horse shoes on the stones set perfectly symmetrically on the walkway, glancing to the right and left and seeing no one and nobody—aside from an occasional middle-aged professor in shirt-sleeves with a face still wrinkle-free; I made my way to Old English which began daily at 9am right off the central oval. How incongruous the closely manicured and exotic cacti, planted in gravel and blooming. From “The Seafarer”: “my freezing feed, by frost bound tight/In its blighting clutch; cares burned me,/ Hot around my heart. Hunger tore within/ my sea-worthy soul. To conceive this is hard/ For the landsman who lives on the lonely shore–/ How sorrowful and sad on the sea ice-cold,/ I eeked out my exile through the awful winter….”

Stanford University: Vast expanses of grass lit and sprayed to luster from underneath; a seeming paradise, yet empty, entirely empty of students who lean on posts, sit or lean on trees, backpacks, and lie sprawled out with their books. Some orderly circles having convened to turn identical editions to pages where they could look on as the teacher lead the discussion, probably a lecturer. What had this seeming paradise to do with the horribly rough days of living in Medieval Times, its crags and crannies? I think of one main commonality: the sense of isolation, of complete isolation from the world at large—be it flat or round—with the exceptions of one’s 12 classmates or so: thousands of miles to the continental divide, even; nevermind friends, family, others back East.

And since this past weekend has been one of confrontation with snow, ice, cold feet in the bed, blankets draped our shoulders, as we stir pots on the stove, holding our noses to the steam, I share (in translation) yet another chunk of the once-memorized, and amazingly beloved, experiences of the wretched Old English poet in his verse, “The Seafarer,” in his wretchedness, no less the eloquent for it:

IMG_1714“deprived of my kinsmen,/Hung around by icicles; hail flew in showers…..the note of the gannet for gayety served me;…The sea-bird’s song for sayings of people,…/’mid the cry of gulls,…icy of feather; the eagle screamed,/The dewy-winged bird. No dear friend comes/ With merciful kindness my misery to conquer.” (

~Dr. Harte Weiner, lead editor

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