They considered themselves inmates, bit their sooty fingernails to the quick. Customer service is our top priority!. Come back as a crawfish, a leek, a handful of gravel hens ingest to use as teeth, a fake preacher who can't control his wolfish streak. You need to grow older, have those babies, try to describe what the other side was like, go ice skating. Connecting readers with great books since 1972.
I want all of it. The men in the ice-covered radio station play cards and drink bourbon. I don't care what you wear. The aged, whose natural heat begins to fail them, flail and rave, uncomforted. Find your way back to us. Its relentlessness a tedium, a closure.
Contents: Prayer for Jackson -- To a Young Woman in a Coma -- Nearby -- The Bear-Boy of Lithuania -- The Naturalist's Wife -- Yom Kippur in Utah -- The Story of Toasted Cheese -- A Nautical Tale -- Loss -- An Attempt at Solace -- Scorched Cinderella -- A Non-Christian on Sunday -- Lovesickness: a radio play for four disembodied voices -- The Bride Goes Wild -- Overheard at the Watering Hole -- Prescription for Living -- To My Husband, on the First Anniversary of His Mother's Death -- A Sage in Retirement -- Spring Tonic -- Cut-Up -- July 3rd -- Address to a Broom -- The Holy Storm -- Things That Loosen the Tongue -- Word Salad -- Mysterious Tears -- Retreat -- Medicine -- A Crushed House -- Corpse and Mourner -- Fugutive Color. How can any of us, daughters of our mother's disastrous first marriage, hope to land husbands with her around? You've had a fortnight's silence. You've no idea how long his tongue is. Half the planet away, a volcano's spitting up rocks big as trucks, then vomiting columns of water from the lake that's been stuck down its throat since it was formed. You're supposed to be a ghost now, living on in shipwrecked tatters like a shredded sailboat sail; sans dirty linen, gritty winds, and the bane of shaving every day, which you hated. I'd like to erect a monument to all loves lost to me.
The most recent lasted 90,000 years. Inside his head, cave paintings of bison leapt in the firelight, their horns spiraling upward, the tips smoking. About this Item: Penguin Books. She demanded we tattoo an axe and a skull on her pelvic girdle: guideposts for explorers hoping to plant their flags in her lost continent. Gerstler's more recent works include Nerve Storm 1993 , Medicine 2000 , Ghost Girl 2004 , Dearest Creature 2009 , which the New York Times named a Notable Book of the Year, and Scattered At Sea 2015 , which was a finalist for the National Book Award.
It included a volume of essays about dew, a monograph on what clings to the feet of migratory birds and the autobiography of a squid named William. If you do, he'll withdraw to the hollow of some tree, as my husband has done whenever offended since he first left the broad-leafed woodlands to live in this city, which is so difficult for him. I'd hope to honor your body as a whole, but it keeps coming apart and rushing at me. About this Item: Penguin Poets, New York, 2000. Tell it to float back, through the portals of mouth and nose, into its flesh envelope, so you may enjoy the privileges of being flooded with pain, inhaling rank hospital food fumes and seeing your family's patient, inescapable faces, too beautiful for words. Were they better versed--supplied with richer texts mourners felt embedded in as they sipped home-brewed oblivion at wakes? The virus decimates our ranks unchecked.
The Bear-Boy of Lithuania Girls, take my advice, marry an animal. The classroom is sort of like a white cube, in a way. Her little hands are cold as Saturn. He stamps and paws the air for joy. Or an office at the bottom of the backyard. Why not use two pair, like me? Pink or dark marble stones decorated with roses, praying hands, crosses or stars a young boy's marker is chiseled with dinosaurs preserve curious names like Wilfred, Adeline, Barnett-- solid citizens who knew the virtue of eating three big home-cooked meals each day. I like that poet Ai who died recently, especially her early work—I love dramatic monologues—I think some of her early ones are just incredible.
Gerstler's abiding interests--in love and mourning, in science and pseudo-science, in the idea of an afterlife--are strongly evident in these new poems, which are full of strong emotion, language play, surprising twists, and a wicked sense of black humor. A friend finds himself suffering unbearable facial pain. Give him his mother's swimming ability. Let him be adventurous as a menu of ox tongue hash, lemon rind wine and pinecone Jell-O. Their elusive collectivity suggests, but never quite defines, the floating authorial presence that haunts them. There were little Egyptian antiquity doo-dads. A blood-smeared boat's anchored in the Gulf of Mexico, motor still running.
Martian canals overflow their banks. Sadness inhabits your every cell. Not seeking revenge or relief, to which you're mightily entitled, but to meet your new darkhaired niece and answer a few routine questions. Flies zoom through sickrooms, loud as prop planes. . Lisping rivers whisper watery rumors, like Your dad's in jail, but he'll be back for Christmas, armed to the teeth.
The brave few who draw close to you are treated to a quick whiff: part eau de regret, part ruined brewery. In Bitter Angel Gerstler introduces a variety of narrators, including a saint, ghost, clairvoyant, father, child, and lover. Make sure he has black rubbery lips, and a sticky sweet mouth. . Did he touch this banister? Amy Gerstler has won acclaim for complex yet accessible poetry that is by turns extravagant, subversive, surreal, and playful. Do you see the places where they come together? We need a cloudburst or soothing landscape fast, to still this panic.
Puffers, rockfish and rays wait as he struggles into his wet suit to enter their element. The spine may show signs of wear. Maybe you can relate to the volcano's pain. That was the best job I ever had in my whole life. Gerstler's abiding interests--in love and mourning, in science and pseudo-science, in the idea of an afterlife--are strongly evident in these new poems, which are full of strong emotion, language play, surprising twists, and a wicked sense of black humor. Go slowly, past jars streaked with mushroom dust and enriched mud from the house's bowels.