Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Poem of the Week


The Last Love Poem
        
I am obsolete as my ancestors, the Appalachian glass blowers,
provoking fire over and over to produce their artifacts.

I knew no writing could survive when we started calling children "vectors,"
when our own forests grew heavy with toxic spores.

A map? A list? A series of images? What could I write now
that would do anything? A poem orphaned, a crystalline ornament

with no Christmas in sight, swirled with delicate color, resting
gently on a ledge until the inevitable smash ....

So here in my last moments, let me set down my memories of you:
your rough skin, your green eyes, your slightly clumsy hands.

We turned and smiled at each other on the ugly concrete glinting with broken glass
as someone yelled obscenities and someone else handed out pizza slices to strangers.

When we ran out of flour, we learned to bake cookies out of nuts, seeds, flowers.
We decided, against all odds, to plant dahlias.

Do you see this as a rebellion? That after all this, the poet clings, stubborn,
to romance, to the idea that somehow a small connection,

a tiny universe of fire and friction, might be preserved?

Jeanine Hall Gailey, reprinted from Verse Daily 


I've been reading some of Gailey's poems recently and like her work. In other news, my flash fiction piece "Pigeons" will be out in the July issue of Parhelion Literary Magazine. 


Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Solveig Von Schoultz Poem









You Always Thought
You always thought dull fields were radiant green.
Believed more good was in store for you.
That earth welcomed the thunder of your hooves.
That there was room for your shining mane.
The sun dwelt in your great body.
Your flanks shone with life’s sweat.
Your muzzle was strength’s tenderness
and mares fell silent at your call.
Unsuspicious one, what did you know of boundaries?
What did you know of envy’s barbs,
of mean fences that tore at your leaping hooves?
No accusation in your mute eye.
Richly
your warm death runs out into the grass.
Your sun streams out of you
And your end is as your beginning:
trust.
Translated by Anne Born

It always surprises me how few Von Schoultz poems are out there on the internet. She was a Finnish poet who wrote 15 collections of poems, many plays for the stage, radio and television, as well as short stories. Von Schoultz (1907–1996) was married to the composer Erik Bergman.

I was looking for some of her poems today and also learned the publisher of one of her books I always go back to - Snow and Summers - is now out of print. 


Thursday, June 7, 2018

Poems

My poem "Mind Fishing" is featured on Storm Cellar's web site. Their new issue is up as well.



In other news, my poem "The Skirt" will be out in Right Hand Pointing's July issue. Their current issue is also great. I'm especially mesmerized by Stephen Mead's Water Angels photos.




Monday, May 28, 2018

Poetry & Art


Read yesterday at Galatea Fine Art in Boston as part of my aunt's exhibition "Unknown Terrain." Yvonne and fellow artists Constance Bigony and George Shaw all gave talks on their art. Turn-out was great and I loved visiting the area with my daughter. The neighborhood is full of art galleries and all kinds of delicious food.

For more info: Yvonne Lamothe, Constance Bigony, George Shaw 


Sunday, May 20, 2018

Netgalley TBR

Just got approved for a new book of criticism on some of my favorite poets. Reviews to come in the upcoming week on Badlands and The Liar's Girl. 



Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Red Room



Red Room
painting of a woman enjoying painting Harmony in Red by Henri Matisse
G. Boersma
acrylic on masonite
15 3/4" x 19 2/3" or 40 x 50 cm
2017