News From The Past-Mistakes Hermitage

BASSETT, Lee

Blue Begonia Press

But, the journal says,/ not a word said. The journal says,/ Discovery continues./ The journal says/ more can happen and does./ Pollock tips buckets of paint./ He hums his way through morning./ Charcoal never crosses his canvas,/ the canvas covering/ the floor of a barn./ The painter must draw/ on what’s out of sight/ in the little sketchbooks,/ in the little lost places./ from Crossing No Bridge And Seeing No Coat Of Paint Barry Grimes is a poet who explores what he calls, "the meandering line." His writing practice is daily, and his discipline with notebooks extends over three decades. He is one of the original sHADOWmARKS, and the creator of this particular spelling of the word. He is a Washington State Teacher of the Year and graduate of the Iowa Writers Workshop.

This Green

Literature & Fiction

Grimes, Barry

Poetry

What I want to say about blood/ is not acceptable. Women/ must not discuss the warm clots/ that slip between their thighs,/ the fear that sometimes/ this won’t stop and soon your life/ will drain away. What I want/ to say about blood has to do/ with men…/ 
Cover art from an original painting by Ann Bowker.

Still Life in the Physical World

Gayle Kaune

There must be a dark the eyes/  have adjusted to, have gained/  employment within,/  measuring the values/  of copper canisters, the stain of a seventh red/  in the rhododendron on the sill./    Cover art from an original Sumi painting by   Priscilla Maynard.

Beethoven and the Birds

Skillman, Judith

SIGNED BY THE AUTHOR VERY GOOD CONDITION.

Now the Day is Over (Women's Poetry Series)

Joan Fiset

Biographies & Memoirs

Orgasm is the dark brightness./ Its word doesn’t rise/ easily to the tongue/ nor fall from it gently/ once there./ We shirk its clinical gloss/ of the unspeakable,/ blinking in its laboratory light./ 
from After A winter of Snow,/ We Finally Get Back To Third Beach

Clearwater

Alice Derry

Linda Brown's years of listening to other people's stories serve her well in telling her mother's story beyond the facts of Alzheimer's. She also bears witness to the men and other women who have learned a new rhythm for their days. We recognize ourselves standing just beyond this walled garden. Brown invites us into the corridors of nursing homes. She doesn't gloss over the isolation of the sick and the dying, but tells the larger stories of people she has come to know in her weekly visits to feed a mother who waters plastic flowers, who puts on three blouses at a time. Brown invites us to step into 'secret waters'. Her vision is personal: men and women have names and stories that make us laugh, wince, and wink, sometimes all at the same time. We know these stories. This is our family. That is the secret. Jane Schwab

Secret Waters (Women's Poetry)

Self-Help

Linda C. Brown

Relationships

When I wish for you,/ it is too dark for crows./ Your hand rests in the hollow/ I leave behind. It is two hours/ before light, and this morning/ will last for days. In full light/ you will wrap yourself in fiction,/ turn pages slowly, savor the cut/ of fine print on crisp paper./ 
from In My Most Recent Prayer 
In Everywhere Was Far, Kevin Miller makes our familiar Northwest landscape and seascape altogether new. He resists the quick slide to transcendence…The higher truths await, though: Fleeting herons slip shadow over shadow,/ keep light away in layers, make paper of us,/ We struggle to fasten a place that will keep.

Everywhere Was Far (Shadowmark Poetry Series, Vol. 4)

Miller, Kevin

Loving in Time of War

Aliesan, Jody

Some say sparrows are stories;/ They return in the brain and change/ With the telling,/ When the facts get grim./ Some suggest that after death,/ Birds quietly enter our bloodstream/ And make us want to travel./ from Lucy and the Blue Quail Here are small, beautifully continuous sequences of poems, a big poetry of sharp focus, of tracts of darkness, a poetry of constellations, constantly in transformation. Bassett does not try to hold his poems down in one place; he pushes them out to keep in touch with the sensuous, primitive, initial rhythms of our lives. Meanings wobble, grow, burst, shift as we read. That is the music of passion and loneliness, of the frightening intensity of a love which anchors the whole book, in an almost religious mystery. It is important to point out that the poems themselves move by touch, by feel, as though nothing else is possible. The attempt is not the elimination of suffering, but rather the correct means of welcoming it quietly. Cover painting "Poetry Reading" by Milton Avery Ink drawings by Ed Cain

Poems of Lee Bassett, 1973-2000

Lee Bassett

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Books by Blue Begonia Press