Go Figure
Autor Carol Moldawen Limba Engleză Paperback – 15 sep 2024
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781961897045
ISBN-10: 1961897040
Pagini: 88
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 10 mm
Greutate: 0.2 kg
Editura: FOUR WAY BOOKS
Colecția Four Way Books
ISBN-10: 1961897040
Pagini: 88
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 10 mm
Greutate: 0.2 kg
Editura: FOUR WAY BOOKS
Colecția Four Way Books
Recenzii
In one of her unpublished essays, Elizabeth Bishop wrote, “The three qualities I admire in the poetry I like best are: Accuracy, Spontaneity, Mystery.” These three essential characteristics are all fully present and perfectly balanced in the poems of Carol Moldaw’s dazzling new book Go Figure. The precision of phrasing and keen focus of the imagery—the sense that every word has been weighed for its heft and sonic effects—dovetails with an openness to what might happen intuitively during the writing process, resulting in surprising turns that expand and deepen poem after poem. One of the thematic throughlines of the book traces the process of unlearning and self-discovery in the speaker’s quest to find an authentic voice and unique sensibility through which the poems are conveyed and refracted, as through a prism, at unexpected angles that make us feel more intensely and see the world more vividly.
—Jeffrey Harrison
Go Figure is the work of a deeply intelligent poet with a physical grasp on language. Everything Moldaw’s eye falls on takes on a beautiful, biting clarity. Her straightforward lines demonstrate both lyric intensity and tonal sensitivity: a fierce capacity for finding the emotional heart of things. There is a voice in this voice. You want to follow this mind at work wherever it turns. Poems about art and the making of art populate this collection, but overall, Go Figure is grounded in the textures of human relationship and the truths of a closely observed life. Small occurrences, clear sentences. And underneath, immense depths.
—Jenny George
Carol Moldaw’s poems are equally cerebral and sensuous, candid and inquisitive. She has perfected a warm tone that invites you to keep coming back just to be in her intelligent company. I felt less alone while reading her on marriage; on being (and having) a muse; on memory and aging; on loving landscapes and wildlife. Citing Elizabeth Bishop’s propensity ‘to double-check, / to verify (or correct) her notion / about which way a goat’s eye slits run, / across or up and down,” Moldaw places herself appositely in that poetic lineage of meticulous observation, subtly tinted feeling. Go Figure is a wonderful book.
—Ange Mlinko
—Jeffrey Harrison
Go Figure is the work of a deeply intelligent poet with a physical grasp on language. Everything Moldaw’s eye falls on takes on a beautiful, biting clarity. Her straightforward lines demonstrate both lyric intensity and tonal sensitivity: a fierce capacity for finding the emotional heart of things. There is a voice in this voice. You want to follow this mind at work wherever it turns. Poems about art and the making of art populate this collection, but overall, Go Figure is grounded in the textures of human relationship and the truths of a closely observed life. Small occurrences, clear sentences. And underneath, immense depths.
—Jenny George
Carol Moldaw’s poems are equally cerebral and sensuous, candid and inquisitive. She has perfected a warm tone that invites you to keep coming back just to be in her intelligent company. I felt less alone while reading her on marriage; on being (and having) a muse; on memory and aging; on loving landscapes and wildlife. Citing Elizabeth Bishop’s propensity ‘to double-check, / to verify (or correct) her notion / about which way a goat’s eye slits run, / across or up and down,” Moldaw places herself appositely in that poetic lineage of meticulous observation, subtly tinted feeling. Go Figure is a wonderful book.
—Ange Mlinko
Notă biografică
Carol Moldaw is the author of six previous books of poetry: Beauty Refracted (Four Way Books, 2018); So Late, So Soon: New and Selected Poems (Etruscan Press, 2010); The Lightning Field, 2002 winner of the FIELD Poetry Prize (Oberlin College Press, 2003); Through the Window (La Alameda Press, 2001), also translated into Turkish and published in a bilingual edition in Istanbul (Iyi Seyler, 1998); Chalkmarks on Stone (La Alameda Press, 1998); and Taken from the River (Alef Books, 1993). She is also the author of a novella, The Widening (Etruscan Press, 2008). She has received a Merwin Conservancy Artist Residency, a National Endowment for the Arts Creative Writing Fellowship, a Lannan Foundation Residency Fellowship, and a Pushcart Prize. Her poems, essays, and reviews have appeared widely in such journals as The American Poetry Review, The Georgia Review, The New York Review of Books, The New Yorker, Poetry, and The Yale Review, as well as many anthologies, including Western Wind: An Introduction to Poetry and Contemporary Literary Criticism. Along with Turkish, her poems have been translated into Chinese, Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish. A volume of her selected poems, translated into Chinese, is forthcoming from Guangxi Normal University Press in Beijing in 2025. She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Extras
Raccoons
On my way to water the strawberries
at dusk—I gardened in those days—
I saw a raccoon clasping the outdoor spigot
like a sailor’s wheel, using both paws
that seemed more and more like hands,
as it kept twisting until water gushed
out of the copper nozzle and it drank.
I hadn’t thought of it in years, not even
after I saw another raccoon, high-stepping
the coyote fence midday with a limp vole
overhanging its mouth. Such a singular sight,
I had to tell you, and blurted it out as soon
as I saw you, a piece of domestic gossip
like the first crocus or noisy neighbors:
common property, like so much in marriage—
a small business, a friend called it, down to
the cooked books. Only later, after I spotted
the raccoon sauntering through a line
in one of your poems . . . only after the pressure
cooker of my displeasure caused you to recast
your raccoon and vole as skunk and mole,
did I flash on the one I’d seen decades before:
its lack of furtiveness, the air it had
of being within its rights, the way it took its time
to retrace its steps to turn the water off.
—Or did it amble on and let the water run?
No copyright protects idle talk, you might have said,
or: The imaginarium of marriage knows no bounds.
On my way to water the strawberries
at dusk—I gardened in those days—
I saw a raccoon clasping the outdoor spigot
like a sailor’s wheel, using both paws
that seemed more and more like hands,
as it kept twisting until water gushed
out of the copper nozzle and it drank.
I hadn’t thought of it in years, not even
after I saw another raccoon, high-stepping
the coyote fence midday with a limp vole
overhanging its mouth. Such a singular sight,
I had to tell you, and blurted it out as soon
as I saw you, a piece of domestic gossip
like the first crocus or noisy neighbors:
common property, like so much in marriage—
a small business, a friend called it, down to
the cooked books. Only later, after I spotted
the raccoon sauntering through a line
in one of your poems . . . only after the pressure
cooker of my displeasure caused you to recast
your raccoon and vole as skunk and mole,
did I flash on the one I’d seen decades before:
its lack of furtiveness, the air it had
of being within its rights, the way it took its time
to retrace its steps to turn the water off.
—Or did it amble on and let the water run?
No copyright protects idle talk, you might have said,
or: The imaginarium of marriage knows no bounds.