Poetry Books

Inspiring, eloquent and heartening for all God-seekers.

I was inspired by this poetry and came to understand the inner life better by reading it. There is freedom of spirit working here, unhampered by age-old traditions and habits. I recommend this to readers of all ages.

A friend of mine alerted me to this book which I have read and reread. I want to let others know about it. Excellent.

Once you start to read these poems you are carried on a wave of spiritual emotion right through to the end. You can't put the book aside. It is a collection you can pick up and read over and over. Uplifting.

Beautiful, serene, inspiring, moving... Real deep insights in human character and Christian life.

A friend gave me this book as a present and it's really wonderful. Lori Rubin writes poetry with an inpired honesty that not only moves me, but that I relate to. Her young daughter has done the illustrations which are truly amazing and the photographs give a great added touch and inside look at the author. I really loved this book and I highly recommend it! I hope she writes another!

A friend of mine sent me Lori Rubin's book of poetry "Inspired by you" and it is easy to see where she came up with the title of her book. The poems in this book were all inspired by people she had relationships with or about some kind of relationship. They are wise and lyrical and it is incredible to believe that she wrote them starting when she was only 14 years old. The artistry of how the poems are arranged in each stanza are very creative as if each poem is made to look like a design or object. The metaphors run smoothely in the poetry. The rythum and ryhme schemes serve to enhance the poetry. You can get caught up in the poems in" Inspired by you". Lori Rubin seems to capture the vulnerability of being in a relationship with someone very well. The fear of being misunderstood, left behind, forgotten, trying to move forward after your heart has been broken , hoping the person really sees and understands you and being afraid of discovery of our most vulnerable selves and being rejected for it. All this is part of the subjects touched on in "Inpsired by you". Six months ago an engagement was broken on me as well as my heart. Just the other day I read the part of her book that dealt with break ups and I felt that Lori Rubin knew what I was going through exactly. It brought tears to my eyes. As I try to move forward with my life and hope for something and someone better and summon up the strength and courage to try again,to love again her poems in this section of the book spoke to me and mirrored back to me what I have been going through.There are times in these poems when Lori is sure of herself and she exclaims to the person she wrote the poem about" You lost me.". And in other poems she exclaims" You will never find what's way too deep." And she has even feared losing the person in a poem. She has been afraid of seeing an end to a relationship as though she felt it had to be inevitable. In truth we all fear the end of a relationship with another and still we can never quite see the end coming. We go through elation and deflation in all our romantic involvements and feel like teenagers experiencing crushes for the first time. There are relationships that are meant to last a life time. Some last for years. And then there are relationships that only last for a moment in your life and we are told we are supposed to learn from them, grow stronger by them, more aware and learn to let them go and try again with someone new. The problem is when you are with someone , in a relationship with a person you haven't a clue which one is which, which relationships are meant to last a life time and which ones are meant as learning experiences and an extension of growth and when their purpose is over or fulfilled you have to let go of them. Our emotional hearts cling to people not knowing what purpose they have in our lives and if we have to let go of them as painful as it is for us to do. We want all our relationships to be the ones that are with us for the rest of our lives and when we discover that some of them have to end it hurts all the more. It does not matter whether it is a romantic involvement, friendship or a mother and daughter relationship or mother and son. Eventually we all have to let go of them and we hope and pray for the other person to see into, understand and accept our deepest most vulnerable selves and Lori Rubin successfully paints a picture of this in relationships. You feel understood when you read her poems. She just does not simply listen to peoples stories and voices, she also listens to their emotions and that is very rare. The illustrations done by her daughter Shylee are beautiful and enhance the book and set the stage for the poems in each section and the sexy and provokative photographs of the poetess are sure to get even men to read her poems and introduce them to poetry if they haven't already been. Three cheers for "Inspired by you"! This is a couragous and beautiful book of poetry about remembering the human side of relationships and love. We all can relate to what Lori Rubin writes about in these poems. And I hope I get to see more work by her and her daughter in the future. I hope they keep writing and creating.

Lori Beth Rubin's first published volume of poetry, Inspired by You, is both a self-revelation and an out-of-body emotional journey. Divided into ten chapters each named for a personal feeling or relationship state, Rubin explores her own life experiences which, while personal, are indigenous to us all.

If poetry is truly the economy of words, Rubin trades in a currency all her own. Her distinctive voice in this very impressive and inspiring collection resonates with a strong sense of passion and purpose. In her poem, `Soul Rising', Rubin asks, "What's my name? / I'm lost in you. / I can feel my soul rising." If truth be told it is Rubin's own poetic voice which she can feel "rising." For this is truly her "soul."

Rubin's flowing and honest verse is interspersed with the beautiful drawings of her obviously talented nine year-old daughter, Shylee, which serves to underscore the truly loving center of this exceptional book. Both the author and her daughter, like this poetic collection, are rare treasures and should be valued as such.

I really enjoyed this book.

It was at times very inspirational. Then I found myself being moved by the words and stories the author was telling through her poetry. Of course, those sections in the book that dealt with sex and relations was extremely hot. The author is very talented as well as very sexy as you can see from those pictures she put in the book of herself in various poses. Terrific abdominal muscles.

I thought all the drawings, which the author states were all original drawings by her young daughter, were very tasteful and full of life.

Inspired by You is a nice colaboration of writings and drawings by a mother and daughter. Looking forward to her next book.

inspired by you is a tremendous emotional roller coaster of ideas, thoughts and inner feelings of a women in touch with herself. i found myself looking into the soul of not only the writer but women in general. as a man, it confronted me with the complexities of all of us and the range of emotion we all have inside of us, though some like lori are able to express these emotions pen to paper in a provacative and challanging way. the art work by her daughter evokes similar emotions. we can all find a little of ourselves in inspired by you and if you do not see yourself, surely you will see someone you know.

This collection is among my favorites published in recent years. Janet McAdams lyrically links the personal with the political. Her work is engaging, memorable, passionate, yet not didactic--some poems will even keep you awake at night. Many poems reward multiple re-readings. I'm already looking forward to her next book.

As a poet myself, I can only stand in awe of the work in "Island of Lost Luggage." Janet Mc Adams is a major talent. I've turned my initial envy of her gift into a goad to write better and wider myself.

This Island of Lost Luggage is wonderful. Janet McAdams's poems are lyrical and gritty at the same time, swollen with life, drenched with place, and she never seems to take the easy way in or out. Highly recommended!

I used to write poetry, even studied with some of the greats, including C.K. Williams, Ellen Voight and Louise Gluck. But I found that in any workshop, I could rarely tell a great poem from a mediocre one. This made me feel less than smart about poetry. Janet McAdams has helped revive my love for the form, and my sense of poetic savvy. For with "Island of Lost Luggage" I Know I'm in the presence of Great poetry. That is clear from page one. How to say why this is Great isn't as easy, but I'll venture the following: Mc Adams is gifted with rich language, of course, but she is a more than a fine wordsmith. She takes on issues that have huge resonance, that go beyond any mere narcissim. Each time I enter one of her poetic worlds I find more layers within it, more associations building within me. So, Thanks Ms. McAdams for restoring my poetic sensitivity, and for this wonderful book, a gem, that's most highly recommended for all readers, lovers of poetry or not.

Even if poetry isn't your "thing" this book, given the quiet and serious attention it deserves, will unlock many mysteries. Highly Recommended.

We live in Paris (France) and Jack Prelutsky has spent a few days speaking to the children at my daughter's school. He has made such a positive impression on her that I am going to order his books. He truly knows how to write for children.

The Book was received in excellent condition. The author knows what children love. My gransons enjoyed it soooo much. I am sending another one to another grandson who lives far away. I know he will enjoy it as well. It will be for his 10th birthday.

One of the funniest poems we read was "I'm Stuck Inside a Seashell"! ...And one of the poems is "It's Raining Pigs and Noodles", just like the title (and they don't even just talk about pigs and noodles - they talk about all sorts of other things!)

All the poems are so funny and I was able to read some of them myself! ...And I learned never to take a bath all day and all night (Ha! Ha!)! I can't wait to read his other books!

Mom's note: "This collection of poems was simply adorable. I enjoyed reading them with my child as much as she enjoyed hearing them. ...And the simplicity of the poems allowed her to read some of them to me as well. A highly recommended bit of silliness!"

I just read this to a fourth grade class and they boo'd when I said poems. They wouldn't let me leave once I got started! They chanted for me to read more.

One of the funniest poems we read was "I'm Stuck Inside a Seashell"! ...And one of the poems is "It's Raining Pigs and Noodles", just like the title (and they don't even just talk about pigs and noodles - they talk about all sorts of other things!)

All the poems are so funny and I was able to read some of them myself! ...And I learned never to take a bath all day and all night (Ha! Ha!)! I can't wait to read his other books!

Mom's note: "This collection of poems was simply adorable. I enjoyed reading them with my child as much as she enjoyed hearing them. ...And the simplicity of the poems allowed her to read some of them to me as well. A highly recommended bit of silliness!"

This fantastic collection of poems explains the structure for many poetic forms, providing examples of each. My fourth grader read it through and found it fascinating and inspiring. She is now writing her own poetry. I also found the book educational and interesting. A superb book.

This book was a lot of fun to read to my students and really helped conjure up some creativity in them!

I bought this book for the children's section of my library. My niece loves it! It has sparked her interest in poetry so much that she is not only writing her own using the rules taught in the book for each form but she is also seeking out forms not included in the book! She has discovered that Tyger Tyger by William Blake is her favorite poem. I could not be more pleased with this book.

Every year Poetry Month comes along and every year there are children's librarians like myself who shudder at its approach. Poetry. It's not something that every person in the world is going to appreciate right off the bat. So, if you're like myself, you get out a bunch of poetry books, put them in an area labeled "POETRY MONTH SELECTIONS" and then desperately search the internet for further poetry-related activities you can hold in your branch. This year I decided I'd try to do some poetry with the homeschooler bookgroup I run. What I really wanted was to show the kids lots of books with different kinds of poetic styles in them. A collection of poetic forms, if you will. I couldn't find anything perfect, however, so I just chalked it up to there being too few useful poetry books for kids in this world. Then I attended the Children's Book Committee annual breakfast at the Bank Street College of Education. And the winner of the 2005 Claudia Lewis Award, as it happened, was "A Kick In the Head", as selected by Paul B. Janeczko. I was curious so I picked it up. And right then and there it hit me that THIS was the book I'd been so desperately searching for all this time. It's a truly interesting collection of poetic forms done in such a way that kids will not only understand them, but want to write some of their own. After I recovered from the shock I returned to my library and sure enough, lo and behold, there was the book sitting perkily on my shelf where it had always been. So parents, educators, and librarians, heed my warning. Discover "A Kick In the Head" for your own Poetry Months before it's too late. Don't make the same mistake I did.

The book contains twenty-nine different poetic forms. Everything from your basic haikus and limericks to triolets, aubades, and pantoums. There are blues poems and clerihews, and even the rare riddle poem or two. Janeczko has culled the most amusing and child-friendly versions of these forms possible, and it works. For example, take the villanelle. You might not think it lends itself naturally to a child's reading, but then you see how cleverly Joan Bransfield Graham has created, "Is There a Villain In Your Villanelle?". And into this lively jumble we throw Chris Raschka's brightly colored mixed-media extravaganza. The result is a high-energy introduction to poetry in all its wild and wooly forms. A lovely amalgamation to say the least.

None of this is to say that there wasn't an odd choice or two. For the "found poem", Janeczko reprints Georgia Heard's, "The Paper Trail". The poem is a beautiful list of different kinds of writing, and it soon becomes clear that these are the scraps of paper and floated to the ground when the Twin Towers fell on 9/11. No mention of 9/11 is ever made, but you'd have to be pretty dense not to get the St. Paul's Cathedral reference. Fans of that old Cat Stevens song, "Morning Has Broken", will see it listed under the "aubade" section. And I, for one, had no idea that poem/song was written originally by classic children's author Eleanor Farjeon. Go figure.

I'm not normally a Raschka fan, by the way. Something about his images, I find off-putting. But I did enjoy a lot of what the artist decided to do here. For the "senryu" poem, for example, he was able to construct a month old cheese sandwich using only paper fibers of various orange, yellow, green (bleck!), and cream-colored shades. And if you think he had an easy job of this book then YOU try making an illustration for Shakespeare's "Sonnet Number Twelve". Even worse, make a picture for a poem imitating "Sonnet Number Twelve". It's doubly hard. So a tip of the hat to Raschka's efforts.

Now people are going to wonder what ages to hand this book to. I say, all. Obviously some of the poems, like the sonnets, aren't going to charm very small ones. But kids who like silly limericks or tankas that begin with words like, "Fish guts" will find their favorites in this selection. As for older kids, this book is useful well into high school. At that point the students will start appreciating the difficulty behind some of the more elaborate poems. A lovely addition to every library and I dare say a necessary one. No poetry section is complete without this book.

This book is a wonderful tool if you are teaching poetry. It describes many different types of poetry with an example and a simple explanation. Very colorful pictures.

Reading the Bible on Kindle is pleasant. The ability to highlight passages and look up words is beneficial.

This was one of the easiest books to navigate through that I have ever seen because it emulates the hardcopy. In fact, it's better because I don't have to keep paging and paging to get to where I want to read. Instead, each chapter or individual book is just a click away. This decreases my frustration which increases my enjoyment. Thank you, it's fantastic.

When I first used my Kindle, I inadvertently downloaded the wrong KJV. It had no table of contents and to get to the New Testament I had to turn every single page. I wasn't through the first chapter in Genesis when I realized the futility of my task. I began a more thorough search for a Bible that was more "user friendly." This one caught my attention because Diana Mecom, the lady who formatted this version, offered to send a sample of it. I requested it and was pleasantly surprised to receive a personal note from Ms. Mecum which instructed me in how to transfer it from my computer to my Kindle. The sample was ample. It gave me Old and New Testament books to experiment with. I bought it and am delighted with it. I was extremely impressed with Ms. Mecom's kindness and follow-up on this transaction. I highly recommend this version of the greatest story ever told. STLemos

This offers book and chapter navigation - without such an ebook of this size is useless. I have tried a number and this is by far the best and worthy of 5 stars. Also includes a previous and next link on each chapter so you can easily navigate to the next. Great formatting of each page.

This was the 3rd or 4th purchase I made when I received my Kindle. I was pretty hesitant that the Kindle version of the Holy Bible would be as good of quality as an original paper copy. I took a few minutes to see if I could navigate through the books and chapters with ease. I am pretty critical when it comes to a Bible in terms of what I want and expect. But after a few short minutes of searching through the text, I had forgotten that I was actually reading the Kindle version. It is very impressive. I am enjoying having the Holy Bible at my fingertips. I have given this 5 stars...for the simple reason that I notice nothing different between my Kindle version and my favorite hard copy of the Holy Bible. A perfect addition to my newly expanding Kindle Library.

Wise takes convention by the neck and wrings it until it squawks out confessions that, if they are not exactly true, sound true enough to point into the dank corner of the subconscious where truth lurks. Though she does not announce herself as an experimental poet (apart from a note on the writing of "Autobiography", one of the most breathtaking pieces here - all the more so for its extraordinarily simple and rigorous method of composition), Wise stands shoulder to shoulder with the weirdest and riskiest. Take "Was heisst Rechtfertigung? Bewältigung der Vergangenheit", where she mis-hears each German sentence in uncanny formulations: "Was his right to finger good? / ... / Was history just a flirty theme song? / ... / Bore under verb's ache and hit. / ... / Be welted damage, a vague, anguished heart." Or in "Advice" and "More Advice", where a welter of just that (culled from dictators and teachers alike) forms a self-destructing authoritarian mask that effectively inverts the dramatic monologue.

Wise also sneaks the autobiographical in the back door, heavily cloaked in similar language play and semantic instability, such as in "Planted Document", where all the "i"s and "e"s have been removed. Self-construction, especially of a verbal kind, turns to a fistful of sand in her hands: "Basically, I was subletting a very unlisted condition" ("I Was Very Prolific"); "I could be in the dark without my being out there" ("What I Wanted To Know Was Through"). Less tour de force than tanz de force, Wise tiptoes the line of between - the uncertain mood of the subjunctive - deftly and seemingly artlessly. Due to the nature of an experimental poetics (or a method-based one) - not that Wise cleaves exclusively to one - there will always be works that diminish somewhat in their effect when placed beside such thrilling accomplishments as "Lunchtime in the Kingdom of the Subjunctive", but even Wise's lesser works provide their little bolts of jouissance. A first book to emulate and treasure.

The Kingdom of the Subjunctive distinguishes itself as a series of highly successful linguistic and formal experiments most active among the bruised inheritances of history. Narratives fly kamikaze through the rooms of an old house, spiral down the drain and travel underground through sewers before they rise back up to the surface of a neighborhood field turned parking lot. "On this trip, it is already too late: there's no avoiding/ the highway ahead, a one-way highway in a country/ of like-minded highways. There's nothing else to do/ but accelerate." While many of the poems in the book operate in the linguistic space of collage (only a few stepping outside narrative boundaries), Wise's narratives (though often surreal) generally maintain a sense of coherence, thus effecting a strong sense of urban and domestic confusion while still staying close to the reader. In "50 Years in the Career of an Aspiring Thug" (a prose poem in numbered sections), she chronicles the mundane progression of a life whose early antics include tying a girl to railroad tracks and pledging in a diary to "conquer," but whose later moments amount to a monotonous half-conscious cubical existence: "22. Wrote neat columns. 23. Of numbers. 24. Added with precision. 25. Punched. 26. The. 27. Clock. 28. The. 29. Clock. 30. The. 31. Clock."

Suzanne Wise shows her comfort with unrhymed couplets, but when she strays from this form, she does it with style. "A Girl's Life: in the Photo Album" consists of a four-lined poem in only 23 words with ample space allotted between the captions of what we realize must be missing photos meant to be imagined back into being. When Wise exposes her world's lacunae, it is always accompanied by a gesture toward amelioration and an invitation to the reader to participate in her project of reconciliation.

Suzanne Wise shoots from the hip. She's smart, angry, passionate, ardent, neurotic and inventive, and she feels responsibility to both sides of history. She writes about Germany, she writes about a trip to rediscover her past, but not very clearly, she blurs things up intentionally, blurs up the biography, smears it up, like the girl in Planted Document, so that we can see multi meanings and various reflections in the mixed up version of things. But she is suspicious of the I, illustrating instead a whole community of Is (Autobiography), she's not satisfied with exploring the attic, she showers all over "the parlor... the chandelier's candles" and then later "dents the parquet", dives headfirst into the basement in the poem Descent. Such a barreling, incisive momentum is apparent in her approach to self, gender and history. Many are the moments when the reader feels caught up alongside Wise in a whirlwind of language and imagination, in rapidly morphing yet unalienating images, like something out of an animation, as when the narrator of The Diarist describes the writing process as "a strange comfort;/it is like a brocade pillow sporting a pattern of inkblots/or a flower bed of bedsprings overgrowing a field/of mattresses or a field of mattresses unstuffing themselves--/innards breaking through seams, bloated with fungal life." Both reader and writer heave a sharp exhalation after that.
Wise is not afraid to get her hands dirty with language, to mix up words, forms and languages themselves (English and German in this case) in cooking up an unholy stew of terror-inducing howls laments and yelps. In "Was Heiss Rechfertigung" she never translates the title literally, but teases out meanings, scenes, from the sounds of the words, allowing the music to tell its story, for the relationship between the languages to act as a mysterious mirror to the author's own ancestral relationship to Germany.
The book is divided into 5 sections, one of which is the title poem, and the second of which is mostly concerned with questions of self-reflection as individual and gendered being. Simply the title of Wise Comma Suzanne serves to illustrate the rewarding ways in which Wise experiments with language: the spelling out of the punctuation mark affords it a new personality, alongside the other two words, making it a sort of third musketeer to the author's name and last name. The poem itself is both a meditation on and flirtation with subjectivity, which, like any powerful element encountered by a lively imagination, the author wields like a toy and regards with reverence. "She bears that bareness like a shield" is the end of the poem, and is indicative of Wise's attitude: her heart is on her sleeve but she expects no praise for it, especially no offers to take part in a fellowship of self-congratulation. Wise is an individualist through and through, though her anxious, powerful heart beats and bleeds for a great many.

In this hinged box of words, where the subjunctive--hypothetical or subordinated--is foregrounded (and with it--power relations), there is something so bracingly raw, something that clings to the face like animal hair to upholstery, something profoundly urgent that you will come back again and again to its persistent utterance sputtering: "Everything that has survived is in rehearsal." Wise depicts a difficult time/space--"the town of migraines and decapitation, / buzzsaws, bloody benches, and gin anesthesia"--where the mediascape & virtuality saturate, multiply, and blanch the self, even our bodies converting-" Splintered glass sequins your skin. / Your hands reaching for the doorknob / sharpen to cones." [...] "You become somber, colder, a kind of high-quality vinyl." Identity spins on a digital skewer -- "the fall is slow, granular. I am all tiny bits."

We feel ourselves burning under the pooled spotlights, then fading out into an emergency broadcast system tone-"you star in your own tactless drama" [...] "you are the expired / landscape soon to surrender / to a great divide." We see ourselves plugged into a network that is all network. We see ourselves losing control to the remote, the designed, the convention--"the audience turning its one gigantic head, / from left to right, then back again."--and the consequent erasure, "I was interference of a negligent nature, / the kind imbedded in TV's static." We sense, with our lessening, bedded senses, that everything is gleaming like waxed linoleum--"all the slick / friction of meaning's excess."

While Wise depicts an emerging dystopia where the Savior locks "himself in a footlocker for three days,"--"a flower bed of bedsprings overgrowing a field / of mattresses or a field of mattresses unstuffing themselves" and languages surfacing--it is how she evokes its effects on our individual selves that is refreshing and disquieting at once. We become transparent in "the vehement pink of the neon-lit sugar factory," but less comprehensible in that skinning--"No matter how precisely / I cross-referenced, no matter how many official reports / I downloaded, I was still not clear." Implicit in this critique is the implications of writing, each code, a departure & suture, a distance & drop line, each of us "shunted back and forth across [the] narrow plank" of incalculable, (expanding & contracting) languages. "To write down our passionate thoughts / at all is already, in some measure, to command / and have our way with them." We traverse Nicht, Nicht diversion. We repeatedly take the wheel, but we are saving nothing, ruining our lovely lack of definition: "Basically, / it is time to stop trying so hard. / Instead, lie back and listen to the waves / smashing shells to bits." This book bobs in its on brilliance like the unborn, is plugged into your wall. What this poet says might be the buoy. Listen:

When I learned what I had to be,
I sat down on my luggage set, and wept. Then I unpacked. I decorated.

[and]

We regret we were forced / to omit so much.

This is one of the most breathtaking, weird, original works of art I've ever read. It's like, "Wake up, boring poetry-world!" Wise is true to the crags and snarls of consciousness, while not sacrificing meaning and readability. Sharp, ruthless, and yet so full of heart this book is bloody. Nothing is spared from Wise's razorsharp observation and acupunctural penetration, especially not the "self" in these poems. Buy lots of copies of this book for all your friends, and lets all hope this frighteningly gifted poet writes fast, because this sad world needs as much of her as possible.

For anyone who has experienced the loss of their mother at a young age -- a very important reminder that grief is not always a bad thing...

This book is a touching collection of poetry and personal stories that will move any reader. Through these women's specific stories, we get to our own personal feelings; the feelings are universal. Although my mother lived till she was 96, I can relate to the depth of emotion expressed by the writers, the poignancy of their observations, the sweetness or anger or loneliness of their images. A non-Catholic, I am deeply moved by Ann Murphy O'Fallon's essay, "Lilacs." She tells how it was when she was nine and the priest came to give her mother Extreme Unction, and they had to dress up for him. Her 13-year-old sister tells her, "It's because she is dying, don't you know anything?" Joanne Kelley ends her poem, "Missing," with the lines, "Imagine a winter so hard that no birds survive and nothing moves in the ice." Cindy Washabaugh writes in her poem, "For Pam, Who Can't Remember," "Grandma stood at the stove crying in the same small voice she laughed in, making Campbell's soup for everyone at 8:45 in the morning because, she said, soup makes you feel better."

Such a brave and often amazing collection--in these never sentimental, always eloquent poems and essays, daughters tell it like it is to have lost the most important person in your young life. And I'm grateful that before each writer speaks, the editors tell me in what way and how old the daughter was when her mother died. In a perfect world, a mother should live long enough to be a comfort and then a vexation and ultimately the wise (or unwise) woman she always was. These women had to make that journey all by themselves. It is a privilege to hear how they did it.

Get out a new hanky or get the tissue box ready. You'll need it!

In Kiss Me Good Night the editors compiled stories from 47 women who recall their mother's death (if they remember) or how they feel now.

The women, through prose or poetry, tell about their mothers and how certain sounds, smells, tastes and things like seeing a purse (like their mother had) trigger strong emotions of loss and longing--and remembrance.

This unique sisterhood opened their hearts and souls to us, and make us appreciate our mom more--if she's alive, or relieved we were not a young child when she left this earth.

Many women are from an era when people did not talk about death or dying to children, and that left them confused. Many times when the mother died, young children were dispersed to relatives, raised apart, because the father could not work and cope with raising children alone.

Who do you talk to? How do you understand?

Missing their mothers as mom and role model and feeling the loss of her nurturing, these women found that talking to others, even all these years later, was therapeutic. And writing allowed them to help many others.

My most lasting word image is one woman looking through a photo album of a mom she vaguely remembers and seeing a "Kodachrome vitality." Maybe that's a reminder to us to keep family pictures updated to capture our own vitality.

Armchair Interviews says: Powerful, powerful words and the emotions they bring. Kiss Me Goodnight is for those women who have already lost their mother--and those who cannot even bear to think about that happening to them.

I have vastly enjoyed this book of writings and poems by those who have
lost their mother. It moved me to tears and then to an urgent sense that
I must share this book. We need more beautiful places to grieve our
losses. Becoming whole is a life's work, and grieving fully and sharing
stories that break the spell is part of the process. "Kiss Me Goodnight"
gives one a haven to do so and serves this sacred process."
Marilyn Zimmerman, Associate Professor, Dept. of Art and Art History,
Wayne State University, photography/installation/performance artist
and curator

Mathias's book is a navigation between gods and bodies, between trespass and impasse. It is language and syntax as frisson, as incandescence: a series of lyrical matrices that flutter like sundresses, more sensual than sexual, more haptical than optical. Mathias repeatedly employs the word "lush," precisely describing her own poems with their nod towards Herrick and his liquefactions. Yet, among light's liquidity and the lark's song, one "is supposed to call to mind / the murderous trees, / rootless and brooding for roots". There is a sense that the speaker(s) of the poems is well aware of Cavafy's terror at "how quickly that dark line gets longer, / how quickly the snuffed-out candles proliferate"; and yet, reading Mathias's book is to touch that electric hand in the darkness, reminding one what bittersweet eros is embedded in being alive.

The poems in this book may be a bit mysterious, but this is part of what makes them interesting. This book was recommended to me by someone who knows the poet and I am glad because I probably never would have found this terrific book. Not to be sexist, but she's pretty easy on the eyes too. Great pictures on her website.

The poems in Lark Apprentice burn with color, pale and
liquid, and they expand on the page, intense with brevity,
not spare or light. What it is to be a woman, or human,
or to love, or need love, to writhe with those tensions--
that's what's here. The book stands out on its own merits.
They could have been written by ANONYMOUS. Read the poems
for the poems.

This is a beautiful book. I heard the author read from it, and what she was saying about beauty being necessary to counter the darker aspects of life really comes across in these poems. Subterranean is one of the most beautiful, mysterious and tender poems I've read.

I saw Mathias read recently and she seems poised to become a bright light on LA's poetry scene. These poems are full of loose, delicate and lovely tendrils. Carefully composed yet full of fire and emotion-- poems that are equal parts poise and control and reckless beauty. That she has is a lovely physical presence perhaps shouldn't matter except that she was wonderful to watch read in part because of that.

When Joseph Brodsky emigrated to the United States in 1972 as an involuntary exile from the Soviet Union, he probably believed that he'd see his parents again, that political circumstances would inevitably change. Moreover, it is only natural to believe that a forced "political" separation from one's parents could not last for long. His parents spent their final years hoping against hope that they'd see their beloved son one more time-a death wish before dying. But that faithful dream never materialized. "I know," writes Brodsky, "that one shouldn't equate the state with language but it was in Russian that two old people, shuffling through numerous state chancelleries and ministries in the hope of obtaining a permit to go abroad for a visit to see their only son before they died, were told repeatedly, for twelve years in a row, that the state considers such a visit `unpurposeful'..." Letters were mostly forbidden, but Brodsky was allowed to call his parents every week. Phone calls were monitored. Brodsky tells us that they learned how to speak "euphemistically."

"In a Room and a Half" is Brodsky's last attempt to join his parents. Brodsky's father was a professional photographer and journalist. Something of the art of photography must have been passed on to his son. This beautiful narrative was as close as Brodsky could come to presenting a family album of photographic "takes" or "frames" which emerge in the poet's memory from his childhood days. There are forty-five photos that make up "In a Room and a Half."

You cannot possibly stand outside of this memoir as a "detached witness" once you begin to read it. It is as if you were sitting late into the night with Brodsky-the last log is burning out and he begins to tell you about something that is, under ordinary circumstances, a private and solitary affair of the heart. In this sense, we feel privileged, and we want him to go on-to keep turning the pages of his lost youth, to share whatever sacred memories he has left to share about his life with his parents. It is indeed an act of defiance that is anything but sentimental. And yet, who can read this eulogy without feeling their heart drop to the floor?

We listen, and, through Brodsky's genius, enter into these forty-five narrative photographs. We can see and touch the China that his mother saved for his wedding. We hear the sounds of a faucet, the odors from the kitchen. We see the quiet, grey light of this tiny space where father, mother and son lived out their daily activities. We walk around the room with Brodsky as he tells us about the story of his parents' cherished bed. We see a feeble table with a white, luminous tablecloth under the care of his mother's hands. We see the deep blue of his father's uniform and we reach out to touch those bright yellow buttons that remind the boy of an illuminated avenue. It is all so vividly real.

Joseph Brodsky is dead now-and there is nothing that can ever separate this family again.

I translated this book into Hebrew and it was published by sifriat poalim.
For a reader of the old testament in the original freedom and language are one and the same.
Giora Leshem

Brodsky's words flow with the gentle ease of a boat ride on a sunny sunday afternoon, until you find yourself floundering at the bottom of a crashing waterfall. Repeated re-readings of the 'waterfall' line do little to lessen the impact. Brodsky holds nothing back, as he brings his mighty pen to bear against the soviet government that exiled him, and would not allow either of his parents to visit him in the remaining 12 years of their lives.

Primarily known as a poet this volume shows that Joseph Brodsky was also a splendid essayist and his interests varied and his attention to detail deep and probing. Dealing with the trauma of exile his remembrance of things past is like the educational adventure of a long furlough from love and his country submerged in totalitarianism with his mentors either imprisoned, declawed or dead is still the theme upon which he is emotionally impaled.
He seems disgusted by America and in love with his disgust, the social utility of hypocrisy, the halo polishing in the upper echelons and the fawning sycophants chirruping inanely are recognizable figures on both sides of the cold war.
His paeans to poets as diverse as Mandelbaum and W.H AUDEN are astounding in their compassion , knowledge and unlike other critics never infected by logorrhea.
He can't cure what is lost in translation but he makes us aware that a poem is a form of aggression in its purest and most humane form. Brooding, dark and often pessimistic Brodsky is still an illuminating writer because he chooses to create rather than mourn and seems to say that sorrow observed is compensatory idealism but when your love cannot create you are in love with death. And he saw too much to sentimentalize sacrifice and the grim reaper.

This collection of essays is by one of the great Russian poets of this century. In it he writes of his life and poetry, and of those poets who have meant much to him. His memoir of his separation from his parents, their twelve - year effort to reunite while being refused by the Soviet Authorities is a tale of sadness, and pain.
I have just read the essay on Nadezhda Mandelstamm and through it received an insight into her life and literature. At the age of sixty- five never really having written at length before she wrote the two great memoirs of her husband's life that Brodsky considers the true cultural history of Russia in this century.
He writes of the poems of her husband and life together which she remembered.," And gradually those things grew on her. If there is any substitute for love , it'smemory. To memorize , then, is to restore intimacy.Gradually the lines of those poets became her mentality, became her identity. They supplied her not only with the plane of regard or angle of vision; more importantly, they became her linguistic norm.So when she out to write her books, she was bound to gauge-by that time already unwittingly, instinctively- her sentences against theirs. The clarity and remorselessness of her pages, while reflecting the character of her mind, are also inevitable stylistic consequences of the poetry that had shaped that mind.In both their content and style , her books are but a postcript to the supreme version of language which poetry essentially is and which became her flesh through learning her husband's lines by heart."

One of the most striking parts of this essay is Brodsky's description of the great Akhmatova's devotion to Nadezhda Mandelshtamm. Through poverty, destitution, persecution two great friends, one one of the greatest Russian poets of the century , the other the widow of another of the greatest of Russian poets stood by each other.
The humane voice of a great poet is in these essays. And they inspire and remind of the Literature that is not merely words, but rather the 'truth of life.'