We have a copy of A Wolff in the Family by Francine Falk-Allen to give away!
To win, sign up for our Free Newsletter on the right-hand side of the site and enter via the newsletter. Winner will be chosen by the end of October from subscribers who enter via the newsletter. Good luck!
Alison Stone’s poetry is a sheer delight to read, not just for the cleverness and elegance of her verses or for the insights to which we can all relate, the regret that we all recognize often comes with the territory of memory, but for the infectious positivity her poems ultimately exude.
Nature accompanies themes of motherhood, memories and imagination. Mead has an incredible control of the language and knowledge about plants and animals which is infused in poetry meticulously created.
Werba’s personal reflections and anecdotes are firmly rooted in data: an autism assessment, school report cards that highlight her “unsatisfactory” levels of self-control, and even developmental reports from when she was in preschool (all reproduced in full within these pages). Her blending of subjective reflections with objective data points make this a unique work.
Farris successfully grabs onto the reader and throwing them into the center of the action, along the meta, fourth-wall breaking asides that forces the readers to interact and not just observe. These unnamed characters who are often referred to their functions have broken through those constraining words. These forms created new life, new beings, and new meanings to what literal hybrid forms as Farris proves new literature should be just as bold as she demonstrated.
Spatz does an incredible job overlapping themes through the four short stories. Each entry feels like it’s picking up a thread from the previous story and then using that same thread as a baseline or expanding further on it. It also adds to the re-readability of this collection as in “What Could Be Saved”, “We Unlovely, Unloved”, “The Five”, and “Time and Legends” there are whiffs of reoccurring characters or motifs.
This is eloquent language. I find Swan’s syntax convincing and superior to many eco-poets I’ve read throughout the past decade. Her “Crop Duster” carries forth, in poetry, the very concerns Rachel Carson presented in prose in the 1960s and prior. Swan’s “Crop Duster,” (Pg.32-36) written in eight enumerated sections, tells of spraying used to suppress the gypsy moth, of an immune-compromised child, a lump in the girl’s neck.
Steve Wasserman has experienced enough for a handful of lifetimes. He is possessed of a great skill in weaving those allies and moments into a compelling narrative that is clear as a pane of glass. Though there are signs everywhere that he was an adept observer, one that takes good notes and has capacious memory.
The book is a combination of riddle poems and colorful, charming illustrations, challenging the reader to guess the mysterious animal on the next page. The animals are an eclectic bunch, from the well-known—bison, giraffe—to the more exotic such as the axolotl. The poems sneak in bits of “teacher” information and dashes of puns and humor. (To wit, regarding the axolotl, “You now know a ‘lotl’ about us….”)
Neither The Braille Encyclopedia, nor Rebecca Solnit’s “Cyclopedia of an Arctic Expedition,” which influenced Cohn, are mere catalogues though. While Solnit comments on the act of remembrance, a travelogue about a vanishing place using the form’s citational structure, Cohn’s use resembles remembering itself. If the absence of this web structure is felt, it also highlights how the book is less about its valid critiques of legalistic definitions of blindness or a piquant connection between the Andean abacus-like Quipu and braille as devices where “stories were stored in arrangements of strands.”
Ballet is dance—it is delicate movements set to music, illustrating a tale: it is adagio (slow movements) and allegro (rapid movements) and arabesque (the body’s weight on one leg, with the other leg aloft, backward) and changement (change of feet) and fifth position (the heel of one foot against the toe of another, the two feet close, turned out) and plie (bending of a standing leg) and sauté (jump); and it is the life, the creative work, Rudolf Nureyev wanted.