These books helped sustain me in 2020. I heap praise and appreciation on the writers for their wondrous art!
Figuring by Maria Popova The Tradition by Jericho Brown Summer Snow by Bob Hass Kill Class by Naomi Stone In the Lateness of the World by Carolyn Forche Arias by Sharon Olds To Cleave by Barbara Rockman A Responsibility to Awe by Rebecca Elson Bright Dead Things by Ada Limon Memorial Drive by Natasha Thretheway The Donkey Elegies by Nickole Brown Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay Just Us by Claudia Rankine Gordon Matta Clark: A Physical Poetics by Frances Richard Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America by Ibram X. Kendi
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I just received Sharon Old's newest book of poems--Arias. 'Can't wait to read this one!
I'm also looking forward to settling in with C.D.Wright's Deep Shade. I read lots of poetry this summer, along with a few novels, and a bit o' non-fiction: Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky Some Say the Lark by Jennifer Chang The Carrying by Ada Limón Be With by Forrest Gander The Bone of Winter Birds by Ann Fisher-Wirth Hold by Bob Hicok Casting Deep Shade by C.D. Wright Who is Trixie Trasher? And Other Questions by Jane Miller On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong Gordan Matta Clark: Physical Poetics by Frances Richard Flights by Olga Tokarczuk Overstory by Richard Powers I'm SO looking forward to the arrival of these two new ones: To Cleave by Barbara Rockman One Less River by Terry Blackhawk Boredom I used to burn leaves with a magnifying glass. Little curl of smoke lifting from the pointed tip. Some days the given world is angled, energetic, replete. Other days, I must find the magnifying glass or use Burt’s coke-bottle glasses from 4th grade again to make something else happen. Boredom would own us for as long as it took to break into a plaything with wheels or rope. Always on the lookout to change what we knew into what we must have right now-- we made forts, contraptions, gizmos from whatever we could find. An entire afternoon could burn itself open—that’s when we learned to stay out- side until darkness swallowed the trees.
Silk Map Perhaps your grief is a silk map that you carry in your pocket or wear inside your sleeve. It may be folded, crumpled, sewn into the hem of your skirt, stashed in the hollowed-out heel of your shoe. If you crash, if you lose your way, your silent map will show you star charts, ocean currents, the seasonal limitations of ice. On your way down, on your way over, on your way through, the ravine, the river, the mountain pass, your grief will be with you, at times as scarf, as tourniquet, as sling. And you may traverse a continent before you know-- You cannot arrive; you cannot return, though you are on your way, always, you with your silk map that feels like skin. At Each Moment, Air We’ll loosen, then, the ribbons of our grief And turn our talk toward the blood of years. Our mothers sift to air, become belief. A remnant slips at first then burns, a sleeve, a flush of hours, those days of waiting, fears. We’ll loosen, then, the ribbons of our grief. Embroidered horrors, each a ravaged leaf so fierce with green, no blossom reappears. Our mothers sift to air, become belief. Unstitching every hour, we find relief. We talk to threads in case there’s one that hears. We’ll loosen, then, the ribbons of our grief. Let fly these flags; the wind is likely brief. We’ve made a sail; still, nothing interferes! Our mothers sift to air, become belief. No resting place but wind, that magic thief. And if the ashes blow right back, we’ll laugh, so loosened, then, the ribbons of our grief. Our mothers sift to air, become belief. I'm always inspired when I learn how poems come into being, the revision process, etc. Check out Brian Brodeur's site "How A Poem Happens" for poems and interviews with fabulous poets. First, you get to read the remarkable poem; then there's the poet's discussion of the birth and evolution of the poem. The archive is extensive! http://howapoemhappens.blogspot.com/2019/02/lana-k-w-austin.html#comment-form .. I was transfixed by this amazing Harp & Trampoline Show by Yoann Bourgois and Laure Brisa. What good fortune to have come upon this performance when I visited Annecy, France in 2017. I'm just finishing "Lessons on Climbing & Falling: An Open Air Performance," a poem inspired by this impressive event. |
AuthorAliesa Zoecklein reads and writes poetry in Gainesville, Florida. Archives
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