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More copies of this ISBNGrantedby Mary Szybist
Synopses & ReviewsPublisher Comments:Using natural, biblical, and classical imagery, these poems explore the difficulties of faith and love — particularly the difficulties of their expression, their performance. Moving between dramatic and interior monologue, and moving through intersecting histories, the ambiguities of inwardness and the eros of wakeful existence, these poems search for relationships with self, others, the world and God that are authentic — however quirky or strange. Review:"[T]he best of these...poems express an almost intimate relationship between the poet and the sacred....Using fresh metaphors...Szybist examines spiritual states from longing to abandonment to ecstasy." Library Journal Review:"[Mary Szybist] has a gift for music, a gift for aphorism, a gift for being haunted. This is serious work, so it is occasionally funny and sometimes strange and often beautiful." Robert Hass Review:"Mary Szybist's great poetic gifts confront the limits of human compassion, delving into some of its agonized consequences." Jorie Graham Review:"This is poetry of a rare fine delicacy. Its very modesty testifies to a great ambition — to overcome by the quietest of means." Donald Justice Synopsis:Using natural, biblical, and classical imagery, these poems explore the difficulties of faith and love-particularly the difficulties of their expression, their performance. Moving between dramatic and interior monologue, and moving through intersecting histories, the ambiguities of inwardness and the eros of wakeful existence, these poems search for relationships with self, others, the world and God that are authentic-however quirky or strange. "This is poetry of a rare fine delicacy. Its very modesty testifies to a great ambition-to overcome by the quietest of means."-Donald Justice In Tennessee I Found a Firefly Flashing in the grass; the mouth of a spider clung to the dark of it: the legs of the spider held the tucked wings close, held the abdomen still in the midst of calling with thrusts of phosphorescent light- When I am tired of being human, I try to remember the two stuck together like burrs. I try to place them central in my mind where everything else must surround them, must see the burr and the barb of them. There is courtship, and there is hunger. I suppose there are grips from which even angels cannot fly. Even imagined ones. Luciferin, luciferase. When I am tired of only touching, I have my mouth to try to tell you what, in your arms, is not erased "This is poetry of a rare fine delicacy. Its very modesty testifies to a great ambition-to overcome by the quietest of means."-Donald Justice What Our Readers Are SayingBe the first to add a comment for a chance to win!Product Details
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