Showing posts with label Finishing Line Press. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Finishing Line Press. Show all posts

Friday, November 10, 2017

What We Are Reading Now


We're always reading fine works of poetry. This month on Poetry Matters, instead of an in-depth review or interview, you�ll find three quick posts about what books have captured our attention: 
So take a look�you might find that next great book of poetry or a poet whose work resonates with you. And friends, please do share with us what you're reading. We're always looking for good books!



Karen George tells us about Roberta Schultz's Songs from the Shaper's Harp





Finishing Line Press, 2017
ISBN: 978-1635343175



I'm currently reading Roberta Schultz's second poetry chapbook, Songs from the Shaper's Harp, (Finishing Line Press, 2017). The book is populated by dreamers, singers, and ancestors, as well as fantastical and mythical beings such as sea creatures, ghosts, angels, seers, and sirens. The poems vibrate with mesmerizing cadences of lyrical language, and layered, interconnected imagery of water, shape-shifting, and the boundaries between worlds. She explores and celebrates memory and the imagination; the ways we invent and reveal poems, songs, stories, dreams; and the mysteries that saturate our lives. Color, motion, and sound infuse these poems, along with a deep sense of wonder and reverence for the natural world. These poems examine family and community connections, revealing ways to heal from loss and disconnection we endure as humans. Songs from the Shaper's Harp resonates with emotional intensity that pulls you into its worlds, and haunts you into returning for more. 





Anthony Fife discusses Jennifer Kronovet�s The Wug Test


The Wug Test
by Jennifer Kronovet
Ecco, 2016 (National Poetry Series)
ISBN: 978-0062564597


Through a careful balance of personal, character-based poems and disinterested, clinical poems, Jennifer Kronovet�s The Wug Test (2017), reminds me precisely what I love about poetry and language.  The spoken word, either through its presence in our lives or its conspicuous absence, in one way or another touches us all.  We often take language for granted, however, opting for lazy or thoughtless talk when we are capable of so much more.  Kronovet and her collection allow for no such carelessness. 

What of the child raised by the voiceless?  What of the child whose language is systematically prohibited?  Such matters are pondered in The Wug Test, and the reader walks away more knowledgeable and in awe of our spoken word.








Nancy Chen Long comments on Hannah Sanghee Park's The Same-Different

The Same-Different
by Hannah Sanghee Park
LSU Press, 2015
ISBN: 978-0807160091


The Same-Different is Hannah Sanghee Park�s first book and winner of the Walt Whitman Award, which is awarded by the Academy of American Poets to a poet for a debut book of poetry. While there is so much to admire in Park's book, the thing I'll lift up in this short overview is Park's deftness with language, her  celebration of it.

The Same-Different divided into three titled sections. The first section, titled �The Same-Different,� is comprised primarily of sonnets (or 14-lined poems, at least), that make use of puns and linguistic and sonic echoes to explore similarity and difference, and to a lesser extent, to work against a strictly binary view point. Take, for example, this poem that riffs of off true/false:

          T/F

          It is the long con,
          the construct of it.
          You are always on:

          Magnet and dragnet.
          No use avoiding
          the obvious us.

          We live on a wing
          and a prayer, thus:
          first cry foul, then wolf.

          I have had so much bad
          faith in our future
          I don't know what to do.

          This statement is false.
          This falsity true.


The second section of the book, �A Mutability,� contains 12 sonnets, one for each month of the year. The title of each sonnet references a mythical character from a different culture, such as �Narcissus in January� and �Norroway in February.� The poems in this section explore love and lover, for instance these lines from �Nagual in November�:
. . .
Shapes were aped: now you're the very man
to swap identities. To hell with costs

and costumes: child�s play, acting beneath
your skill for a life undercover.
I�m duped, and due for unending grief
by the form first took: someone�s lover,

someone's rock, someone's ever-longing con.
. . .

The third section, �Fear,� is one poetic sequence of fifteen untitled poems prefaced with a poem titled �Preface to the Fear/False Spring." These poems stray from the sonnet form and make beautiful use of white space. This section centers more on (a) relationship(s). The poems are exquisite and poignant, for example the portion of a poem, shown below.

I find The Same-Different to be an impressive and compelling book. If you are drawn to lyric, language-leaning poems, this book sure to delight. I'll leave you with this snippet from the third section of the book on page 52:

          The light flinches, and I fear.



          As the snow heaped proportional to sheets,
          trees balancing snow for some time,

          then the universal gesture for giving up.



          The snowplow darkens the road



          There are runs in my stocking like plowed road,
          revealing         a clearing.


          I adore you. Am I to pretend otherwise.
          . . .

Friday, June 2, 2017

Tucked Away: Dual Lives in David R. Altman�s �Death in the Foyer�

by JoAnn LoVerde-Dropp

For me, summers are for regrouping and re-reading favorite books.  One such work by David R. Altman, �Death in the Foyer,� continues to sink the plumb line of my appreciation for his attention to instinct and motive each time I read it.  �Death in the Foyer,� published by Finishing Line Press in 2014, is Altman�s debut chapbook. His website can be found at http://www.davidraltman.com.

�Death in the Foyer� contains a series of vignettes that convey the message nature may contain mysteries, but people keep secrets.

 The first of these is the book�s titular poem about a man who suddenly, and without resistance, succumbs to an aneurism in his home�s foyer. Altman�s use of an omniscient voice places the reader in an awkward position of knowing more than the dying man�s devoted wife whose �warm fingers [protect] now what no longer needs protecting.� 

Suddenly, the reader knows perhaps more than they should. Without warning, we�re in on it as the speaker divulges how, �his final thoughts were of wives and children;/and secret friends who knew him well,/thoughts that he will share now only with himself.�

And we know her, don�t we? This woman of �soft pleas� who emerges from �a living room landscape of family photos and dusty Bibles.� She is the hearth keeper; albeit, possibly not the first one as �wives� is unmistakably plural. 

I love this poem because every time I read the last stanza, I have to ask myself if I am obligated to care more about this man than the clearly ambivalent speaker. Altman writes,

            He was to die upon a rug he used to vacuum
            and had admired from a distance.
            Now moving toward a new life,
            less worldly than the one which at that instant he was leaving,
            but a new life, just the same.

We have to ask ourselves, what type of man (or woman, for that matter) sinks so comfortably into an �unexpected� death? Could it be one with �secret friends� suddenly offered a clean slate?  This negative capability allows the question to linger as long as we wish, as the dying man only �[moves] toward a new life� when we are ready.

More dramatic but equally compelling is the poem, �2:17 a.m.� Here, Altman carefully attends to setting, mood, and plot. We exist in both space and time, and the speaker uses the poem�s title and first line to create a sense of tension that does not dissipate even when the danger has passed.

Awakening to the sounds of destruction,
            the family presses one another to the hardwood
Unable to move or see or understand
            in one final act of unity they pray silently, hands touching.
Bullets fill the room, shattering photos and jewelry and bed posts
            While small children, life faceless rag dolls, curl beside their mother
Each family member pinned down like a spider beneath a jar
            waiting for the inevitable.

                                                Suddenly, things stop.

The crackling glass still rings as tires screech beyond shattered blinds.
            Quiet sobs fill the void
                        where gunfire had been.
The father sighs, his family safe, his home destroyed,
            His secrets so rudely revealed.
He peeks outside, in the dim light,
                   thinking only of how badly his grass needs cutting
                            and whether his house will ever be sold.

Here, the poem�s story is mirrored in its visual rhetoric. The first stanza consists of alternating but uniformly indented, end-stopped lines connoting order even in the midst of disaster.  It almost does not matter that a solitary line interrupts the terror in the night because the second stanza, with its craggy indents, betrays a father�s secret life.

While I personally find �Death in the Foyer� and �2:17 a.m.� two of the most intriguing poems in Altman�s first collection, this chapbook�s scope is far reaching.  He explores the lethal neutrality of animal instinct in the poems �Wake Up Call� and �Her Woods� in the same proportion as the will to live and love in �The Groom�s Mother Has Cancer.�

�Death in the Foyer� can be found on the Finishing Line Press website at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/death-in-the-foyer-by-david-r-altman/.

JoAnn LoVerde-Dropp is a Lecturer in the English department at Kennesaw State University. JoAnn received her MFA in Creative Writing from Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky. Her poetry has appeared in Gargoyle Magazine, Public.Replublic.net, and Bigger than They Appear: Anthology of Short Poems