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Here is a poet who dares everything--she sings, she philosophizes, she converses with the dead--to bring us closer, impossibly, to what we have lost. "I will be the spirit of your / departed," she writes. And so she is, in every haunted line, but she is also a guide to our arriving--in this world, where the living is. --Joseph Fasano, author of Vincent
These poems are of a seer - unwrapping time, being, the Change we are igniting. The considerations are hard-won -- who we are, what is coming upon us in this age, the passage we are entering and the exit - the seer knows it. There are no exhortations, no longings or forecasts, only the seeing, and the forthcoming Being that envelopes us more and more, "until all that is left of us." We need this wisdom book, clear elixirs from the Source. True mind-beauty, carved with Humanity - beam, everyone must touch this volume in order to traverse the present age. Bravissimo! --Juan Herrera, 21st Poet Laureate of the United States
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"If only I could step through / the canvas," writes Shannon K. Winston in this dazzling collection, and in these poems, she does exactly that; she inhabits the works of art that her poems examine, not to describe those works back to us, but to show us something strange and unknowable about ourselves. The Girl Who Talked to Paintings is a gorgeous book with a brilliant ekphrastic heart-tender, luminous, and unforgettable." Matthew Olzmann
Cleave, loss, spell, hand, home: words that have existed in the English language for over a thousand years. In the poems of Thousand-Year-Old Words, Nan Cohen explores such words, revealing both their touching sturdiness through a thousand years of constant use, and the radiant individuality of the experiences they describe.
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"One part ode and one part elegy to the last shimmers of a disappearing world, the luxury names the wonder and ache of a planet on a collision course. These poems bear no titles or punctuation, their form mirroring natural collapse with each vignette. But this is not an invitation for hopelessness. While Darren C. Demaree interrogates the guilt of having needs that 'are / bringing forth the ocean, ' and laments that even the poet must 'recreate the forests / on the page which is made / out of trees, ' he deftly catalogs the gifts we've been given - 'this was already / heaven' - as an invocation of what might still be saved. Though the impending climate crisis seems incomprehensible in scope, Demaree's words are a reminder that it's really about our home and each other. What else is worth fighting for?" -Ruth Awad, author of Set to Music a Wildfire
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