The Sleeping

Caroline Maun

ISBN 0-9712676-2-6e

Merrick Press 2006

 

 

 

Maun, as a poet writes reasonably accessible poetry as presented in this collection.  By accessible, I mean that most people could read it, and understand what she is trying to communicate.  Since she is trying to communicate about her perceptions about various activities, it helps that her readers, whether casual poetry readers or devote's get her message.

 

I must say up front, that I don't believe I am her target audience.   The poems Maun has made for this collection are quite obviously feminine, both in tone and point of view.  She writes of going to the OBG-YN, and how her body is treated in that situation, also how her body is treated by a lover, she is treated by a distant father, and more.

 

This is not poetry that will sing to your soul, sweep you away on tides of emotion.  However, it doesn't strike me as that was Maun's intent.  It strikes me as poetry designed to speak quietly, or whisper, to make you ponder and think about the ideas and scenes Maun is writing about here.  Her voice in this collection is deceiving.  By that, I mean it appears simple, yet there is a level of poetic brilliance here that adds to the illusion.  For example, from the poem 'Affirmations' Maun writes
 

 

I have postcards with a few lines,

that tell me, even when you are far away

you bring me along.

 

These few lines communicate so much, the missing persons actions, and what it means to the poet.  Each word significant, each word needed, but nothing superfluous.  There is a concise precision to  her poetry.   Stripped of emotional hyper-activity, the emotions actually flow better, are more raw and more real.  Stripping away the gloss, to allow the shine to come through in a more natural fashion.

 

Or so it seems to me.  Not being an expert on poetry, these are simply my observations on Caroline Maun's fine collection of poems.  I would recommend this book to anyone, intended audience or not.  It is poetry of our time, for our time, which makes it vital and alive.

 

A copy of this book was provided by the publisher for purposes of this review.

http://www.humangenreproject.com/page.php?id=83

Something I wrote for the Human Genre Project.

Which is a cool project...

It tickles my Elmo to be included with such stalwart poets as therer2doors and reginaclarejane

http://4and20poetry.com/2009/09/14/september-2009--volume-2-issue-9/


On Page 10 is a little dittie I had published!

wOOt!

INRI
Raul Zurita
Translated by William Rowe
Marick Press 2009
ISBN 978-1-934851-04-3

I would never had picked this book.  Had I seen this book on the shelf, I would have put it back after reading the blurb on the back.  Shows what I know.

The theme of this book is The Disappeared from the days of the regime of Pinochet in Chile from 1973-1990.  He was moved to write this, to try to express that which did not exist until it was announced in 2001 by the President of Chile, Sr. Ricardo Lagos.  There was one detail that really stuck out.  Before the Disappeared were killed, they had their eyes gouged out with hooks.  In the text, nobody hears and this is why.  The victims were blinded, killed, then thrown out of airplanes in the Pacific Ocean, lakes, the Andes and into volcanoes.  They were disappeared.

Zurita described the feeling of hearing what had been suspected all along as a noise, a screech that had no name.  That the solemness of the announcement put up against such brutality brought forth a shame, that it had no name.   Thus, the screech.....

The book is divided into three sections.  The poems are long, broken down into smaller pieces on the page and filled with rich, descriptive language about the broken bodies, the lands and seas that took them when they fell.

The first lines hit me like a right cross;

Think on those first three words for a moment.  "Strange baits rain"  These are not supposed to be where they are.  Something is horribly wrong.  And so he writes.  Coming back the this throughout the first poem (The Sea), white daisies, an injured rabbit with blood on its fang, and more in the second (Bruno Bends, Falls), pink snow in the next, (The Snow) and the hull of a ship where no ship should be in the final poem of Section One (The Desert).  He weaves images together, slowly building throughout each poem, each section, each line towards the last two sections.  He brings it all together but it is still a sorrowful tale.

The writing flows, doubles back on itself through wonderful use of repetition.  He literally paints what hasn't been seen for those who can't see.  Only through hearing can you see what he is trying to show you.  It makes for involved, deep reading.  Not something to toss in your bag for a day at the beach.

This is harrowing, wonderful, flowing, lovely, tear inducing, and spiritual all at the same time.  I never would have chosen this book.  I shall never forget this book and I cannot recommend this book highly enough.  This is a work of true art.

=======

A copy of this book was provided by the publisher for this review

I have had the pleasure to have one of my little poems included in the most recent issue of physiognomy in letters.  It is a classy, well done publication. 

However, that's not the reason I am saying anything.  The big reason is to share with you my thoughts on the printed copy I got in the mail today.

They have it printed by Lulu.com, it set me back $7 (plus S&H) and is so lovely to behold.  Nice, heavy paper. Easy to read text.  Best of all, there is a variety of marvelous poetry from marvelous poets.  Including some friends of this here LiveJournal!

So, head on over and at least read the poetry.  Then, consider plunking down a few bucks to help support a fine publication.

Invictus
William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

----

This is a poem I come back to, time and again.  It buoys my spirits and soothes my soul.  Thought that I would share it with you...

Today, a brand new day at Read Write Poem has arrived.

Today marks the unveiling of the brand spanking new, community centered, Read Write Poem web site.  User profiles, groups, forums and more are all a part of this relaunch.

I was a volunteer site tester dude before the launch, and I must say that it is one snazzy site.  All poetry focused, all forms and all skill levels are welcome.  It truly is a community devoted to fostering the growth of poetry, both as writers and as readers.

My name at Read Write Poem is 'Mark' (Clever, no?) and I would both recommend and enjoy your joining the merry band over at Read Write Poem.

And hey!  I'm talking to ALL you poets on my Flist....

The drivel resumes....

---

Bundle of perfect
Resting in handmade cradle
The hearts perfect snare

For 3WW

For the present, I shall spare you the inane drivel I call poetry and share something with you that I just discovered.  However, I also felt I needed to read it, read it again and then think on it.  It is a lovely piece of writing and something I just wanted to pass along.


Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the others welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.



Derek Walcott

Selected Poems by Derek Walcott

Of course, should you decide to order a copy, do so from my friends at Village Books.  They do mail order.

(in which I emo all over my shoes...and quite possibly yours....)


Years ago, I used to sit at the now departed Denny's, swill coffee, smoke cigarettes, eat soup and grilled cheese sammiches, read books and write horrifically bad poetry.  At that time, I believe it would be safe to say that I was aspiring to be wretched.

I had the tormented, uber-sensitive shit down pat but I just couldn't write worth two shits.  It was dreadful.

For example


I am so very proud to admit that I threw away the notebooks with that drool in there.  To think I wasted paper and ink to spew such nonsense.  You'd think I was this guy...



Thanks be to G*d I got over all that...

Reflections


Reflections of the world I see
May not be clear to you
    but they are to me.

I say you are color-blind
You respond, "Not true"
We just perceive the same thing
    In a different hue.

So, who is right and who is wrong?
This we can debate all week long
Let us agree to disagree
    And put this topic aside
And return to the currents pon
    which we glide

Head for the setting sun to watch the tide
And thereby also to quietly abide

The upside of participating in projects like ReadWritePoem, Three Word Wednesday and other prompt/thought provoking sites and groups is the exposure of others to my work.  Another bigger upside is seeing others works.

The downside, or hard part for me, is leaving comments on the blogs of other poets.  Beyond, "I like this" or "Wow!" I have a hard time writing what I think sometimes.  Or even getting something concrete beyond "I like this" or whatever is going through my head at the moment.

I think some of it is due to the fact that where poetry is concerned, I am a neophyte.  It would be a true statement to say I probably write more of it than I read away from LiveJournal (That means I don't include you on the Mighty FList in that equation).  

So, I struggle.  Mightily...so much so that I have given thought to not playing publicly...but then I wouldn't get to read some great work because I wouldn't always feel like it.  And reading poetry from a variety of sources helps me because I am exposed to so much more....

Anywho, just a few thoughts for a Friday...

The Cow Face Seal of Approval today.

And it is also for the rest of you as well.  Why?

Well, I just got an acceptance letter from physiognomy in letters accepting one of the poems I threw up for thoughts on 6/22.  They took the first one, that I did the rewrite on and shared.  I ended up titling it "Automatic Frequency Adjustment"

I cannot begin to tell you all, especially those of you who read and comment regularly, how much I appreciate and geniunely value your time and thoughts that you share with me here.  In large part, it keeps me going.  Having this outlet here is a great comfort.  And a challenge as well.  A challenge to myself to get better, to keep throwing things at the wall, to see what sticks and what doesn't. 

So, to everyone...I bestow the Moo Cow Seal of Approval.

Let's all hop on the Pancake Truck, ride 'round the fountain and a jolly round of huzzahs for everyone!

I share my joy in this with all of you!  :-)

Oh yeah, there was this also....

In which I get my OverWrought on...


Cracked Lens

Contemplating you
Your visage I consider
To view you as you
Consider yourself
is my goal

This task, I cannot
Accomplish for where
I see glory and radiance
You, only tatters and
the bizarre.

A shame, that...

----

From the photo prompt at ReadWritePoem
 

For Cubs fans, I offer this haiku

Another collapse
Not so sweet for Cubs fans
Yearn (again) for next year

==========

My Now and Then

Blowing snow and frost
Covered windows keep
Me in the warmth by the
Fire sipping hot chocolate
Thoughts of summer or
Late spring fill me.  A
Longing for the freedom
of warmer times, fresh sweet
Corn roasting on the grill
The sound of the bonfire
As the husks of what used
to be trees collapse into
a Flurry of rising sparks
Even as the fire dies down

I succumb and yearn
for the days of my long ago
Where barefoot days and
mud and Mosquito bites
were just part and parcel
of Summer life.

I turn from the dismal scene
and my silly dreams
of I can’t go back there, to
go and awaken my own
Here and Now.  Maybe to
Play.  In the snow.


For 3WW

http://picturespoetryprose.blogspot.com/2009/07/decay.html


I took the photo being used for the prompt on Pictures, Poetry and Prose.

I'd write more about how talented I am, but my arm is really hurting from patting myself on the back.  ;-)

I have had a poem and a thought accepted for the wonderful project "1,000 Pieces of Peace" project

http://www.patchforpeace.com/patchforpeace/Authors_%26_Poets_Page.html

therer2doors (Angie) also has work appearing in this anthology.

There is still time to submit and contribute to this terrific project.

http://www.patchforpeace.com/patchforpeace/1,000_Pieces_of_Peace.html

Put on your thinking caps/capes/hats/scarves/bustier's/whatever and write something about peace
for this wonderful project.

New Deadline is July 4 of this year.  Still time.

"a small stone is a polished moment of paying proper attention." - Fiona Robyn

A Handful of Stones is a literary blogzine that collects small stones.  A new one is presented daily.  Head over to A Handful of Stones for a look at my contribution today.

There are a bevy of beautiful small stones to read and enjoy.  I cannot recommend this site highly enough.

Flashes of yellow
Gold Finches alighting
Feeding time

---

Black with a purple head
Swooping in, noisy and mean
Grackle attack

---

A pinch of salt
seems small
until you forget it