Poetry roundup

June 28th, 2012

Some of the favorites I’ve stumbled across this week:

Hunger” – this sestina by Sandra Beasley blows my mind.

I can’t remember how I first became aware of Saeed Jones, but his poem “Thallium” in Blackbird should give a clue as to why I’ve kept my eye on him since he first popped up on my radar.

The Mechanical Home Care Bed” by April Ossmann in Valparaiso Poetry Review spoke to me especially this week.

Did you know that The Missouri Review posts a poem of the week? You can click on the “Poem of the Week” link on the bottom of their homepage each week for a new poem, introduced with an author’s statement. Check out this week’s poem, “Paracusia” by Steve Gehrke.

Enjoy, and if you’ve read something this week you want to share, drop a line in the comments; links to online works are always welcome. Happy reading!

Finally, an end to the draught – new poem up!

June 25th, 2012

My poem “Infatuation” is in the Winter/Summer 2012 issue of Poetry Quarterly. It’s a bit hard to navigate on-line, but the above link takes you to the issuu image of the magazine (it might take a minute) and then you can navigate your way through to my poem on page 197 if you care to make the effort. My poem was a response to a call for “five sexy lines for summer” if that provides any needed encouragement!

I’m happy to be in this issue and happy that what feels like a long dry spell has seen a tiny spring shower.

Dreams of my father

June 24th, 2012

I dreamed about my father last night, which is unusual. I rarely dream about him; I cannot remember the last time I did. I think about him, off and on, irregularly but more often than I would have expected after half of a lifetime; he comes to mind more in the winter, in those hockey rinks that bring him so sharply into focus. Sometimes, the sound of a whistle at SB’s training will make me turn my head sharply as if he might be there on the bench. But he doesn’t come to me in dreams; he rarely did. Even in the months immediately following his death, I rarely dreamed of him.

Last night, I dreamed he had a heart attack, which is odd – of all the things that plagued him as his cancer progressed I do not recall a heart attack ever being one of them; he did have a series of small strokes, but not, that I can recall, a heart attack – and I ran into the room where he was. It was not a hospital room, and he was in a regular bed and nobody was treating him and there was no sense of medical urgency, although in the dream it was quite clear that he was having a heart attack even though he was clearly not having a heart attack. You know how dream are like that. He was lying down, and when I came rushing into the room he turned to me – his face was so clearly my father’s face, and sometimes I think I have forgotten what he looked like, but no, I have not forgotten – and said “I miss you.” I stroked his forehead and said “I’m here.”

And that’s all I remember.

When I think about my father these days, I think about all the things that he has missed. I myself have grown used to being a woman whose father died a long time ago. I used to think it was so unfair to me that my father died when I was still so young (and the older I get the more I realize how young twenty-one still is to lose a parent), but the unfairness that sticks with me now is how unfair to my father, what he missed and misses.

I dreamed about my father last night. He came to say that he misses me. It’s been a long time for both of us, I guess.