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"Irony is beyond a boy like mine. As is symbolism.
Allegory. Metaphor, too. All is literal with him
though that doesn't rule out a wildebeest,
the one he meets each morning in the fallow field
beyond our yard, the one who lies beside him
each night now in the dark......"
Title: Judah's Lion,
Author: Anne Caston
ISBN: 9780915380718
Publisher: Toad Hall Press/2009
Pages: 96
One of the best books of poetry I have come across. Anne Caston writes about pain. But with courage and compassion. Suffering and endurance both co-exist. Written with beautiful language, this collection of poetry has the power to uplift us in the sheer pleasure of reading it. The rawness touches us. Yet the beauty of poetry sustains us as nothing else can. This book is for keeps. Anne has dedicated this book to her autistic son. That in itself touches our soul.
Haunts
There are places I go when I am strong.
One is a marsh pool where I used to go
with a long-ear hound-dog.
One is a wild crabapple tree; I was there
a moonlight night with a girl.
The dog is gone; the girl is gone; I go to these
places when there is no other place to go.
~Page 70, Selected Poems of Carl Sandburg
Title: Selected Poems of Carl Sandburg
ISBN: 9781566192644
Publisher: Barnes & Nobel/1994
Pages: 92
Starting with Chicago, this short book of poetry takes us to the real word of the working class. There are no embellishments but these poems speak of the struggle undergone by that class without whom the world cannot move. The poems depict straight from the heart emotions of what he observed and yet contains that mystical, mysterious element. Each poem makes us think and savour the beauty found in the mundane, normal word of the working class, but retains the mystery and needless to say he makes one think. Poetry ought to be like that.
Here I cite few of his poems. See for yourself what do they make you feel and think.
Cool Tombs
When Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs he forgot
the copperheads and the assassin . . . in the dust, in the
cool tombs.
And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall Street,
cash and collateral turned ashes . . . in the dust, in the
cool tombs.
Pocahontas' body, lovely as a poplar, sweet as a red haw in
November or a pawpaw in May, did she wonder? does she
remember? . . . in the dust, in the cool tombs?
Take any streetful of people buying clothes and groceries,
cheering a hero or throwing confetti and blowing tin
horns . . . tell me if the lovers are losers . . . tell me if any
get more than the lovers . . . in the dust . . . in the cool
tombs.
Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
I Am the People, the Mob
I am the people--the mob--the crowd--the mass.
Do you know that all the great work of the world is
done through me?
I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the
world's food and clothes.
I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons
come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And
then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns.
I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand
for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me.
I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted.
I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and
makes me work and give up what I have. And I
forget.
Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red
drops for history to remember. Then--I forget.
When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the
People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer
forget who robbed me last year, who played me for
a fool--then there will be no speaker in all the world
say the name: "The People," with any fleck of a
sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision.
The mob--the crowd--the mass--will arrive then.
Some of those poems blew me away completely and made me want to read more of his works. Simply look at this:
Pool
Out of the fire
Came a man sunken
To less than cinders,
A tea-cup of ashes or so.
And I,
The gold in the house,
Writhed into a stiff pool.
Thanks to Stacy of Stacy's Books, for sending me this poetry book.
Title: A House of Bottles
Author: Robin Merrill
ISBN: 9781615394494
Publisher: Moon Pie Press/2009
Pages: 29
It is a very short poetry book. That doesn't lessen that impact of the poems. The poems take us into various journeys, some real, some inside the mind. Playful too and with a such a depth that can't be fathomed. Sometimes funny, others sad. She openly shows the wounds and healing process too. The beauty of the poems comes from the realist way of portrayal. The troubling life of the people all over the world. It might have been written for American way of life but has universal appeal.
The vulnerabilty of the poetry touches us. The creativity of the poet surprises us. A collage of life depicted in poetry. With a such a range of feelings.
Here I share a poem, Hangman's Tree (page 10):
Not in the middle of the field
like on a stage
but on the edge
like a half-kept secret
One man dead a tragedy
Two in the same tree is folly.
What is three?
The third man
half-drunk early morning
trembled as he flung the rope
over the second-lowest branch
He had no second thoughts.
His last words,
curse this town of Manistee.
His last prayer,
someone cut down the tree.
Book Blurb:
At the heart of this comprehensive collection lies the Biblical character of Mary Magdalene whose presence is prominent in many of the poems and who haunts those which are, ostensibly, departures from the subject matter that dominates. However, departure and digression are not the hallmarks of this work and each piece of writing represents a different incursion into the topic from angles and perspectives that are startling, original and engaging. By adopting an overarching motif, the author is able to align more personal topics and themes with the main focus, at times appearing to move into territory not evidently covered by the title but always providing the vital connection somewhere in this sequence of compositions.
Title: Magdalene and the Mermaids
Author: Elizabeth Kate Switaj
ISBN: 9780979847066
Publisher: Paper Kite Press/2009
Pages: 56
As most of you know, I write poetry. That is one major factor, which leads me to read poetry. I read all kinds of poetry, classics, modern etc etc. Lately I have been exploring contemporary poetry. When I saw this poetry book showcased on various blogs, I requested a copy from the author and she was kind enough to send me one. It is a thin book of 56 pages.
One can't read poetry at one go as all images merge and one doesn't really enjoy it that much. Despite the thinness, it took me a while to finish this book. And I was really glad that I read it. As the blurb says, it does refer to Magdalene, the biblical character but that is not the only element here. In most of the poems, it is the metaphor of mermaid that speaks to us. Switaj has made the mermaid come alive for us. Her feelings, emotions pour forth. We can see the intense love, rejection, despair, angst and deep sadness. Yet there is hope, despite the sign of dejection.
In To Siren In Museum, we can see her resignation to herer plight after her lover left her:
I gather shelves of ancient clays
around my empty hours
Repeat their names
lekthos, oil flask
kantharos, drinking cup with two high handles
skyphoid pyxis, cosmetic box
and skip ages of painted warriers
who might take my tale
myself into their epic arcs
My story is nothing
left on some rock
You, then, surprise me
with your shaped smile
no teeth no peeling skin
in your pale terracotta
with sparkles for freckles
I touch my cheeks
You do not sing
and so I must for both of us
My story is nothing
left on some rock
It is not only the mermaid, it is about that inner us too, which faces rejection in love for whatsover reason. Yet we go on, defenceless but strong. Rawness is everywhere, yet we grow a skin on it. This is how I truly felt after reading this chapbook. Poetry lovers will like it. It is not an easy read, what with the usage of poetic language but it grows on us and slowly permeates our mind, touching our heart.
Take this:
Apology For Leaving You Behind
when the tide goes out and shows your name
rippled in sand where I sang
please understand
I know better
then to bend
my fish bones
and stretch my scaled skin
to flow up through your pipes
to stare
at white foam on your skin
than to think
our single night before I left
was love
but if I'd believed
it was love
stayed
to make love
I'd still have my legs
I am moving between real world and mythology, both familiar as as well as fairy tales. Comic books come alive and myth becomes reality, reality merges into magic. I am in awe of the all the dimensions I am going through. It takes me through such a range of emotions, that is undescribable.
~Becoming the Villainess by Jeannine Hall Gailey
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
While you pray beneath your mother's
tree you carve a phoenix into your palm
with a hazel twig and coal;
every night she devours more of you.
~Page 31, Little Cinder, Becoming the Villainess by Jeannine Hall Gailey
Title: mainline to the heart and other poems
Author: Clive Matson
ISBN: 9781587901393
Publisher: Regent Press/2009
Pages: 85
I had read this poetry book a while back but got around reviewing it now. I had not heard of Clive Matson before this.
Clive Matson wrote this book of poetry in 1966, that period in which sex, drugs and religion were burning issues. His poetry too pertains to that with an exploding intensity. With raw honesty, those touch our inner core.
On the surface, his poetry might depict celebrating sex and drugs but those also show that true joy has nothing to do with the baser instincts. The poems dwells on the wounded, bruised state of mind. Hitting hard at times. The poetry may border on pornography but are handled with such sensitivity which is very rare to find.
....She's is not good enough for me, oh no!
Besides her breasts are too small.
I give woman a disease.
A woman in love with me:
......................................Trouble.
.............................Man's conceit
~~~Page 19, Talk about love
.......................................Even the peyote/LSD
taste of ecstasy and peace with the world
soured to nausea by a growling stomach
and my aching groin
~~~Page 25, The Jungle
................Opium today.
..................................My Brain is loaded.
.....................Put down
the spike, wipe a red dribble
oozing out the hole in my arm.
The whole arm lit bright by the sun.
......................................................Blink-Blink
~~~Page 27, Psalm
I tried to turning on love when its blush had faded
Pressed her hard for salvation and she burst
in my hand exploding bile that
brought me down to Earth.
~~~Page 73, Love Soured
The poems stay within the mind for a long time after reading those. The emotions ooze from each page. A book worth reading but not for those who like everything nicely tied up.
Title: A Climb Through Altered Landscapes
Author: Ian Parks
ISBN: 09552855739
Publisher: Blackwater Press/1998
Pages: 50
I got this book from Ms Alex of Daemonwolf Books. As I write poetry, I am always happy to receive poetry books.
Ian Parks poetry touches many realms. The concrete as well the abstract. In the same poem you can find both. On a first read, most of his poems can be taken as love poems but not so. Those also make us glimpse nature, the seasonal changes. His love poems are in no way mushy but for me those are steeped in spirituality. I also see endless possibilities.
Quoting from his poems:
.......I'd left the wardrobe open:
in a queue behind the door
the stiffened shapes of our former lives
were waiting for the thaw......
~~~A Dream of Snow, page 11
Leaving wasn't easy
nor is this: the climb through altered landscapes,
different trees to find
each other as we really are.
~~~The Ridge, page 19
Afloat on a sea
of my own dreams, I was content
to let the pages fall while Sonny Boy was blowing
sweet and low. I woke
to a sunburst splintering
the trees: a rush of light.
~~~Hammock, page 17
Along with sense of loss, there is hope, beauty in that, regret and yet no regret. At places I found acceptance of that loss, after love was gone. Yet when it was there, nothing compared with that emotion.
For poetry lovers, readers as well as writers, Ian Parks' poetry is worth checking out. I am very glad I requested this particular book from all that she was offering to give away.
If interested, do check this interview with Ian Parks.
