A Gaze Hound That Hunteth By the Eye: Poems: Pitt Poetry Series
Autor V. Penelope Pelizzonen Limba Engleză Paperback – 8 ian 2024
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9780822967217
ISBN-10: 0822967219
Pagini: 72
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 13 mm
Greutate: 0.18 kg
Editura: University of Pittsburgh Press
Colecția University of Pittsburgh Press
Seria Pitt Poetry Series
ISBN-10: 0822967219
Pagini: 72
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 13 mm
Greutate: 0.18 kg
Editura: University of Pittsburgh Press
Colecția University of Pittsburgh Press
Seria Pitt Poetry Series
Recenzii
"Pelizzon’s virtuosity underpins a collection that is urgent and elegiac, hilarious and harrowing, its detours into memory as vividly realized as the author’s obvious joy in literature and life."
—Ned Balbo, Literary Matters
“‘What a curator the mind is,’ writes Pelizzon of her ‘scrappy cabinets of curiosities,’ these poems that feel inlaid with acacia, ivory, and swarms of silver bees and wrapped in rarest silks, redolent of spice and tea and good old human sweat. I dazzled at the music and utter brilliance of this collection.”
—D. A. Powell, author of Repast: Tea, Lunch, Cocktails
“Like Tennyson’s Ulysses, V. Penelope Pelizzon is a part of all that she has met. With inexhaustible interest in the world and in the Aristotelian activity of living, she is a permanent student of people and other complex systems—cultures and landscapes, nations, economies, and empires, families, a garden, her dog, herself—and of how they are conceived, brought to term, nurtured, and mourned for. Pelizzon has the impartial eye of a naturalist and the pliant mind of a philosophical pragmatist but venerates words and word sounds and the figurative imagination like a true neo-Romantic. The result is an original, perspective-altering poetic sensibility that can be devastating, funny, hopeful, absurd, or attuned to the surprising harmonies of real experience.”
—Joshua Mehigan, author of Accepting the Disaster
“Elegies, romances, eco grief, comedies, recipes, histories, and keen instruction: these poems hold the world in their lines. V. Penelope Pelizzon is a poet like no other, straddling centuries and continents with every brilliant line.”
—Camille T. Dungy, author of Trophic Cascade
“This is a brilliant book. I love its variety of forms and music, its humor and intellectual seriousness (how often does one actually learn things from poems?), its high-spirited embrace of life. This is a book I will keep close over the years.”
—Christian Wiman, author of Zero at the Bone: Fifty Entries against Despair
“V. Penelope Pelizzon’s magnificent poems are epyllions, ‘little epics,’ that synthesize a stunning breadth of experience. Their geographical circuit—from Brooklyn to Africa to the Middle East—provides the backdrop for candid meditations on time and mortality, agency and accident. Like Elizabeth Bishop, that other consummate traveler, Pelizzon riffs on ‘assurance / of ruin’s recurrence’: Awful but cheerful.”
—Ange Mlinko, author of Distant Mandate
—Ned Balbo, Literary Matters
“‘What a curator the mind is,’ writes Pelizzon of her ‘scrappy cabinets of curiosities,’ these poems that feel inlaid with acacia, ivory, and swarms of silver bees and wrapped in rarest silks, redolent of spice and tea and good old human sweat. I dazzled at the music and utter brilliance of this collection.”
—D. A. Powell, author of Repast: Tea, Lunch, Cocktails
“Like Tennyson’s Ulysses, V. Penelope Pelizzon is a part of all that she has met. With inexhaustible interest in the world and in the Aristotelian activity of living, she is a permanent student of people and other complex systems—cultures and landscapes, nations, economies, and empires, families, a garden, her dog, herself—and of how they are conceived, brought to term, nurtured, and mourned for. Pelizzon has the impartial eye of a naturalist and the pliant mind of a philosophical pragmatist but venerates words and word sounds and the figurative imagination like a true neo-Romantic. The result is an original, perspective-altering poetic sensibility that can be devastating, funny, hopeful, absurd, or attuned to the surprising harmonies of real experience.”
—Joshua Mehigan, author of Accepting the Disaster
“Elegies, romances, eco grief, comedies, recipes, histories, and keen instruction: these poems hold the world in their lines. V. Penelope Pelizzon is a poet like no other, straddling centuries and continents with every brilliant line.”
—Camille T. Dungy, author of Trophic Cascade
“This is a brilliant book. I love its variety of forms and music, its humor and intellectual seriousness (how often does one actually learn things from poems?), its high-spirited embrace of life. This is a book I will keep close over the years.”
—Christian Wiman, author of Zero at the Bone: Fifty Entries against Despair
“V. Penelope Pelizzon’s magnificent poems are epyllions, ‘little epics,’ that synthesize a stunning breadth of experience. Their geographical circuit—from Brooklyn to Africa to the Middle East—provides the backdrop for candid meditations on time and mortality, agency and accident. Like Elizabeth Bishop, that other consummate traveler, Pelizzon riffs on ‘assurance / of ruin’s recurrence’: Awful but cheerful.”
—Ange Mlinko, author of Distant Mandate
Notă biografică
V. Penelope Pelizzon is the author of Nostos, which won the Hollis Summers Prize and the Poetry Society of America’s Norma Farber First Book Award, and Whose Flesh Is Flame, Whose Bone Is Time, which was a finalist for the Anthony Hecht Poetry Prize. She is also the coauthor of Tabloid, Inc., a critical study of film, photography, and crime narratives. Her recognitions include a Hawthornden Fellowship, the Amy Lowell Traveling Scholarship, a Lannan Foundation Writing Residency Fellowship, and a “Discovery”/The Nation Award. A diplomat’s spouse, she has spent the past two decades living and working part-time in Syria, Namibia, South Africa, Italy, and the United States.
Extras
EXCERPT FROM “THE SOOTE SEASON”
. . .
Here, with the utmost pleasure, I’ve cupped
the tapered chamfer of a greyhound’s skull
like a chalice in my palms, and bent to smell
her fur’s bouquet, the same flinted floral breath
mown grass exhales in summer. Though I am
a gaze hound that hunteth by the eye, her master
raises his look limply only as far as my chin
before he drops it like a gnawed ball
to roll across the greensward of his screen.
Incarnate time runs past us toward school.
. . .
Here, with the utmost pleasure, I’ve cupped
the tapered chamfer of a greyhound’s skull
like a chalice in my palms, and bent to smell
her fur’s bouquet, the same flinted floral breath
mown grass exhales in summer. Though I am
a gaze hound that hunteth by the eye, her master
raises his look limply only as far as my chin
before he drops it like a gnawed ball
to roll across the greensward of his screen.
Incarnate time runs past us toward school.