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Directions to the Beach of the Dead (Camino del Sol)

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Synopses & Reviews

Publisher Comments:

In his second book of poetry, Richard Blanco explores the universal desire for home ("Should I live here? Could I live here?") through evocative narratives ("Today, home is a cottage with morning in the yawn of an open window"), playful musings ("what if I'm struck with Malta fever... dream of buying a little Maltese farm"), and lyrical power ("home is a forgotten recipe, a spice we can find nowhere, a taste we can never reproduce, exactly"). These poems take us on a relentless journey to Spain, Italy, France, Guatemala, Brazil, Cuba, and New England as they examine the ideal of home and the connections we seek through place, culture, family, love, and art ("the stars, this life, always moving and still"). An essential connection for Blanco is his Cuban heritage and exilio, his work is steeped in it. There are visits to his aunts in Cuba ("glad that I've come to sit at their table, eat what their hands have made, listen to their songs"). Tia Ida's woes over the revolution ("everywhere there are precious things suggesting she has not given up on herself"), memories of his father ("Here, I am my father working the sugar mill, swimming in the valley swales"); and his own nostalgic longing for a life in Cuba ("everything is mine, and yet all I can keep is the bare, silent spaces between mountains, the pause between the rustle of every palm"). This is a volume for all who have longed for enveloping arms and words, and for that sanctuary called home. Blanco embraces juxtaposition: the Cuban Blanco, the American Richard; the engineer by day, the poet by heart; the rhythms of Spanish, the percussion of English; the first-world professional, the bohemian. And at the center of it all, the mortalspirit on a journey ("So much of my life spent like this--suspended, moving toward unknown places and names or returning to those I know, corresponding with the paradox of crossing, being nowhere yet here") and the precious, fleeting moments when he can write: "I am, for a

Synopsis:

In his second book of narrative, lyric poetry, Richard Blanco explores the familiar, unsettling journey for home and connections, those anxious musings about other lives: “Should I live here? Could I live here?” Whether the exotic (“Im struck with Maltese fever …I dream of buying a little Maltese farm…) or merely different (“Today, home is a cottage with morning in the yawn of an open window…”), he examines the restlessness that threatens from merely staying put, the fear of too many places and too little time. The words are redolent with his Cuban heritage: Marina making mole sauce; Tía Ida bitter over the revolution, missing the sisters who fled to Miami; his father, especially, “his hair once as black as the black of his oxfords…” Yet this is a volume for all who have longed for enveloping arms and words, and for that sanctuary called home. “So much of my life spent like this-suspended, moving toward unknown places and names or returning to those I know, corresponding with the paradox of crossing, being nowhere yet here.” Blanco embraces juxtaposition. There is the Cuban Blanco, the American Richard, the engineer by day, the poet by heart, the rhythms of Spanish, the percussion of English, the first-world professional, the immigrant, the gay man, the straight world. There is the ennui behind the question: why cannot I not just live where I live? Too, there is the precious, fleeting relief when he can write "…I am, for a moment, not afraid of being no more than what I hear and see, no more than this:..." It is what we all hope for, too.

About the Author

Richard Blancos first book, City of a Hundred Fires, won the University of Pittsburgh Agnes Starrett Prize in 1997. His work has appeared in many anthologies, including The Best American Poetry 2000. Blanco, who received a Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing in 1997, lives in Miami, where he works as an engineer and writes. He was selected as the 2013 Inaugural Poet by President Barack Obama.

Product Details

ISBN:
9780816524792
Author:
Blanco, Richard
Publisher:
University of Arizona Press
Subject:
American - General
Subject:
Gay men
Subject:
Cuban Americans
Subject:
Poetry
Subject:
Poetry-A to Z
Subject:
Single Author / American
Edition Description:
Paperback
Series:
Camino del Sol
Publication Date:
20060231
Binding:
TRADE PAPER
Grade Level:
General/trade
Language:
English
Pages:
96
Dimensions:
9 x 6 in

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Related Subjects

Fiction and Poetry » Classics » Medieval and Renaissance
Fiction and Poetry » Poetry » A to Z

Directions to the Beach of the Dead (Camino del Sol) New Trade Paper
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Product details 96 pages University of Arizona Press - English 9780816524792 Reviews:
"Synopsis" by ,
In his second book of narrative, lyric poetry, Richard Blanco explores the familiar, unsettling journey for home and connections, those anxious musings about other lives: “Should I live here? Could I live here?” Whether the exotic (“Im struck with Maltese fever …I dream of buying a little Maltese farm…) or merely different (“Today, home is a cottage with morning in the yawn of an open window…”), he examines the restlessness that threatens from merely staying put, the fear of too many places and too little time. The words are redolent with his Cuban heritage: Marina making mole sauce; Tía Ida bitter over the revolution, missing the sisters who fled to Miami; his father, especially, “his hair once as black as the black of his oxfords…” Yet this is a volume for all who have longed for enveloping arms and words, and for that sanctuary called home. “So much of my life spent like this-suspended, moving toward unknown places and names or returning to those I know, corresponding with the paradox of crossing, being nowhere yet here.” Blanco embraces juxtaposition. There is the Cuban Blanco, the American Richard, the engineer by day, the poet by heart, the rhythms of Spanish, the percussion of English, the first-world professional, the immigrant, the gay man, the straight world. There is the ennui behind the question: why cannot I not just live where I live? Too, there is the precious, fleeting relief when he can write "…I am, for a moment, not afraid of being no more than what I hear and see, no more than this:..." It is what we all hope for, too.
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