The River Won’t Hold You: OSU JOURNAL AWARD POETRY
Autor Karin Gottshallen Limba Engleză Paperback – 10 dec 2014
Haunting and haunted, The River Won’t Hold You interrogates loneliness and loss with quiet insistence. In poems fashioned at the difficult intersection of imagination and experience, Karin Gottshall seeks an uneasy solace in the mysterious gaps between them: “I tell myself I can be content with the pleasures / permitted ghosts,” she writes in “Afterlife,” “but my body wakes up / leaking saltwater, and won’t let my ghost-self be.” Poetic structure and the music of language offer a seductive repository for memory, philosophy, and pain. These poems are generous in both their formal approaches and their palettes of sound and silences. But Gottshall never settles for an easy or artificial solution to the questions her poems ask; the beauty of her work comes, instead, from the directness of her gaze and the images that gaze fixes itself upon: “Wide-open, staring eyes of the tiger / I drew and had to destroy because it wouldn’t sleep.”
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9780814251898
ISBN-10: 0814251897
Pagini: 74
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 10 mm
Greutate: 0.11 kg
Ediția:1
Editura: Ohio State University Press
Colecția Ohio State University Press
Seria OSU JOURNAL AWARD POETRY
ISBN-10: 0814251897
Pagini: 74
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 10 mm
Greutate: 0.11 kg
Ediția:1
Editura: Ohio State University Press
Colecția Ohio State University Press
Seria OSU JOURNAL AWARD POETRY
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Recenzii
“The River Won’t Hold You is a haunted, burning house of poems. Karin Gottshall’s voice is completely unique, but there’s a strange ancientness here, and what is left to mystery in these poems is often as important as what is explicit. Gottshall is an imagery magician, and a musician, too. Her poetry is unforgettable, significant, and lovely.” —Laura Kasischke
“In Karin Gottshall’s award-winning second collection of poems, the world is something to be understood through careful observation, but also something to be understood by. The narrators of her poems grow into consciousness by way of the senses—you can hear, smell, see, and almost touch the scenes described here. Gottshall’s poems remind me of the contortionist in her poem “Circus,” “slipping so fluidly through her own knots.” These are brilliant, musical, magical poems, a circus of delights not to be missed.” —Wyn Cooper
Notă biografică
The River Won’t Hold You is Karin Gottshall’s second book. She lives in Vermont and teaches at Middlebury College.
Extras
Forecast
I remember thinking, before the snow started,
I wish it would start. The sky darkened
shadow on shadow. The cats, as usual,
slept through the morning. Then snow so heavy that even
my father, who was a kind of Noah—all resolve and solitude,
cabinetry and salt—couldn’t have steadied me. I remember—
and this was back when the sham fortune-teller sat
turning over cards, saying you will be lonely—
thinking it could be worse. Thinking loneliness
is nothing more than a cotton slip
and uncombed hair. A path you dig in the snow
once the snow has stopped. Thinking then let it begin.
The Tiger
Childhood was years of swallowing schoolroom clocks
like big aspirin tablets. Matching up blue socks hot
from the dryer. I was sometimes worried God
could see me when I stepped into the tub,
sometimes worried he couldn’t.
I learned the moon is a monastic,
exiled from the commerce of the earth. Our shirts
were made of softest starjuice. In the hundred
years I was nine I solved ten thousand math problems
but no one asked me what I loved, so I just
unbuckled my shoes each night, alone with it.
Places in the tall grass where the deer have lain.
A bird flying up when you didn’t know it was there.
I sat on the bench outside the stained glass
of the First Universalist, pretending I was inside. Tried
to pray for less shyness: what the old people called
making strange. Wide-open, staring eyes of the tiger
I drew and had to destroy because it wouldn’t sleep.
I remember thinking, before the snow started,
I wish it would start. The sky darkened
shadow on shadow. The cats, as usual,
slept through the morning. Then snow so heavy that even
my father, who was a kind of Noah—all resolve and solitude,
cabinetry and salt—couldn’t have steadied me. I remember—
and this was back when the sham fortune-teller sat
turning over cards, saying you will be lonely—
thinking it could be worse. Thinking loneliness
is nothing more than a cotton slip
and uncombed hair. A path you dig in the snow
once the snow has stopped. Thinking then let it begin.
The Tiger
Childhood was years of swallowing schoolroom clocks
like big aspirin tablets. Matching up blue socks hot
from the dryer. I was sometimes worried God
could see me when I stepped into the tub,
sometimes worried he couldn’t.
I learned the moon is a monastic,
exiled from the commerce of the earth. Our shirts
were made of softest starjuice. In the hundred
years I was nine I solved ten thousand math problems
but no one asked me what I loved, so I just
unbuckled my shoes each night, alone with it.
Places in the tall grass where the deer have lain.
A bird flying up when you didn’t know it was there.
I sat on the bench outside the stained glass
of the First Universalist, pretending I was inside. Tried
to pray for less shyness: what the old people called
making strange. Wide-open, staring eyes of the tiger
I drew and had to destroy because it wouldn’t sleep.
Cuprins
Forecast I. Lesson The Tiger Faith Vespers Parochial Circus Soap Virginity Pretty Stories Earthquake Blink Once To Celia: 1 To Celia: 2 To Celia: 3 To Celia: 4 Eve Once The Sliver After all, the river Conception II. More Lies The Wasted Years Luxury Sister— Cathedral Cities Even Forty Father— Permission Eros and the Reader Mending Why I Did It The Consolation of Philosophy Rain Translation When We Were Surrealists The Temple of Vesta Love Poem with Ebb Tide Love Poem with Darkened Lamps III. The weather is a better companion and by that I don’t just mean Yellow House Poem Operative Ghost Story Diorama The Snow House Raven Tell your phone to stop calling me Listening to the Dead Satellite The River Child Household Gods Afterlife Departure Lullaby
Descriere
Fashioned at the intersection of imagination and experience, The River Won’t Hold You interrogates loneliness and loss with quiet insistence.