Poetry Books

Great picture book with a wonderful story! I purchased it to share with high school students to show them how visualization is important when you read.

It's a great childress book, but adults will enjoy it also. Soon to be a collectors item.

If you want to know what the book is about and the feel of it,
take a look at the cover. It says it all - the scariness, the
unutterable sadness, the awfulness of the slavery & then the segregation in the South from which the Blues developed.

I just read this book and even as I write this review I'm feeling reluctant to continue. This isn't one of those books that you quickly glance through then immediately write your response on. It's that rare kind of book that you read, and stop, and then think about for long periods of time. It's the book you carry with you to quiet places, like park benches or sloping green hills, just to read it to yourself. It's a book that sings without straining, that ropes you in with its words and then traps you with its images. I shouldn't be writing this review now. I should stop and think more about this book, ponder it a while, and when I figure out what to make of it THEN I'd write this review. But I'm afraid that if I wait to puzzle this book through completely, I'll never get around to writing anything at all. And that would be the worst response to something this good, I suppose. So it is with great reluctance that I'm going to try to convey to you what this book feels like to read.

A little background first. Written by young adult book god Walter Dean Myers, the author switches his focus from long prose to picture book form. Accompanied by Christopher Myers (an artist in the sense that what he draws drips into you) the two have concentrated on the blues. There's a fabulous author's note at the beginning explaining what the blues is and how it was born. From the call and response singing form, found on the continent of Africa, this type of music mixed with European English to create the final product, the blues. Myers puts it this way, "When art from two cultures comes together, the result is often an exciting new experience". He goes on to explain a couple terms and how the blues moved from the fields to the cities. Then the book begins.

I don't know enough about the blues personally to be able to tell if all the different lyrics found in this book can be individually assigned to a particular singer or situation, though I assume that this is the case. Likewise, I'm not certain if the illustrations in this book are based on photographs, but again, I assume so. After all, I recognized the reference to "strange fruit" one one page, and on another I remembered seeing the photo of the two boys sitting on the street curb, one turning his head away to sob. The book does something near impossible. It conveys misery without depressing. Reading through these stanzas, it's almost as if the book is one multi-veined blues song itself. The illustrations compliment this perfectly. The book is black and blue, brown and white. But mostly blue, to be honest. My favorite two-page spread features women hanging their sheets to dry on one page, and a woman reaching towards a flying blackbird on another. I could sit and stare at these pages for hours, if I had a mind to.

The books ends with a timeline of significant moments in the blues as well as a glossary of terms. Y'know, there are hundreds of books out there today about jazz and the importance of the jazz musicians. Why have the blues been so ignored? I can only assume because jazz is the easier subject to write about. Writing about blues, you're in danger of only showing the depressing aspects of the genre, and not the art. It takes an artist to convey this particular form well. We are fortunate that not one, but two artists took it upon themselves to do just that. This is the book that took my breath away.

Father-son, writer-illustrator team Walter Dean Myers and Christopher Myers have produced a masterpiece. W. D. Myers's text is made up of poetic blues lyrics, the "call and response" depicting the African-American experience. The poetry is beautiful, unsettling and evocative; it is perfectly complemented by C. Myers's art. The artwork is done entirely in white paint, warm brown paper bags, and blue ink -- every blue tone from navy-black blue to ice-white blue. It is not at all obvious at first glance that his palette was so limited; C. Myers is astonishingly creative, using a wide variety of artistic techniques and tools, and his spreads are richly textured and diverse. The images are moody, haunting, and tense. Sorrow and pain are the dominant emotions, though hope, joy, tenderness and celebration make appearances as well.

As the title indicates, the book is a journey, and the verses and images progress forward through the timeline of the blues, from the end of slavery through the beginning of the civil rights movement. The pictures also show the gradual movement from country to city, the black migration from South to North. The blues timeline is printed at the end of the book, along with a glossary of symbolic terms used in blues lyrics. This back matter, in addition to the opening author's note giving an explanation of the history and meaning of the blues, provide a necessary key to understanding the layers of meaning in the verses and accompanying illustrations.

Several of the spreads are visually breathtaking, evoking deep feelings of grief and sympathy. A man stands facing away from the viewer, knee-deep in a gorgeously painted blue ocean, holding onto a fishing net. The verse speaks of "casting my love out to the sea;" the illustration speaks powerfully of loneliness. Another spread depicts two young boys sitting on the curb, one with his face buried, turning away from the other child, who is holding his hand in comfort. The very adult look of concern and hopelessness on the boy's face is striking. Coupled with the verse, which says "despair will scrape the bone/ misery loves company, blues can live alone," the illustration speaks of abuse and misery visited upon children helpless to protect themselves; a similar illustration shows two children sleeping on the same mat, head to toe, by a verse that describes their poverty. One of the strongest images in the book is a furious boy at the back of a crowd holding up a sign that says YESTERDAY A MAN WAS LYNCHED, which explicates the accompanying verse ("Strange fruit hanging high in a big oak tree") and summons an image that, while shocking, is an important part of blues history.

"Blues Journey" is neither upbeat, nor easily accessible; it a sophisticated, layered work that expands with every re-reading. Perhaps it is not the sort of book a parent will take home to read to a toddler, but it has a great deal to offer older children; in particular, the book would be an invaluable classroom tool for the study of African-American history and blues music. The Myers have expanded the boundaries of what a picturebook can do. The combined effect of the text and art is to create a visual metaphor for the music of the blues, and a powerful evocation of the black experience.

Patricia Machmiller has a command of the traditional Haiku form that is both unusual and delightful. Her knowledge of its requiremnts makes each poem seasonally aware. Her words do more than describe the beauty and color of nature; they also join movement and imagination. The reader is left with a melding of joy and sadness, just as the title conveys. This book, in form, content and design, is exceptional.

Patricia Machmiller is one of the foremost English-language writers of traditional-form haiku. Each of her poems contains a reference to a season and is written in three lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables. Ms. Machmiller deftly uses the seasonal reference to underpin the mood of a poem. Each haiku in this beautifully produced book invites the reader to share the author's deeply felt experience. This book will bring joy to experienced and inexperienced haiku readers alike. A few examples from the book follow:

just looking at it
you wouldn't guess there is a
dark side -- winter moon

closet of white clothes
whiter in summer moonlight
whiter than a vow

late night eatery --
neon lights give the waiter
the look of winter

Yep, I really mean it. I have read this wonderful book 3 times and each time brings me more pleasure. The author is a master at the art and craft of this most delicate form of poetry. It is sheer beauty laid gently down on a piece of paper. This book was a gift from a friend and I must say it has reawakened my interest in poetry after a long dormant period. Don't wait - beg, borrow or steal a copy. It is an especially good read on these cold winter nights when you see a "Blush of Winter Moon".

blushing winter moon
revealed by floating clouds
awakens my interest

This haiku is not from the book. Rather, it is my feeble attempt to pay some tribute to the author. I am without talent, but greatly inspired.

The first reading was great. The second even better. I look forward to the third.

The title of this beautiful book gives some hint of the delicate, subtle, imaginative nature of it. From the aesthetics of the arrangement of the poems on the page with the versions of the Japanese of these simple, yet wonderful haiku as illustrations to the perfect images of nature in these haiku, even a non-Japanese speaking, non-expert haiku reader, as I am, can experience deep satisfaction and even joy from reading it. Some of the haiku made me teary eyed in fact. Her family life, humorous modern references, and her interior life are all here. I encourage you to try it as your first haiku book, as it was mine, and I encourage Patricia Machmiller to give us another subtle delicacy.

I wouldn't say it is the greatest sketches/poetry about America as was stated by another reviewer. I have found Charles Erskin Scott Wood and John Muir to be a couple of the most descriptive writers American has ever known, however Muir's writings where not poetic, although they are so pure and eloquent, that they come off as such. Wood's 'The Poet in the Desert' is a nothing short of a looking glass, but his is once again poetry describing land and nature as where Kerouac was describing people places and things in such a low even rhythm that you not only see it, but you can smell it. Really, I love so many of the great poets, and Kerouac is way up there...in more ways than one, I suppose. This is one for your library folks...worth ever red cent.

I first read Kerouac when I was a teenager in Hopatcong High School in Hopatcong, NJ. My father had gotten me The Dharma Bums for one of my early teen birthdays, possibly fourteen but I am not really sure now. Well I was taken on this new style of writing that I up to that point had never seen before. I read a few more of his books but it wasn't until I left NJ on a bus heading for Denver, CO on February the 13th, 1996 that Kerouac changed my life. Before this I was trying to learn how to write with little to no success but then it all changed for me. I got what was to be my very last slice of NY pizza being I am now a diabetic and I saw some street peddler selling "On the Road" by Kerouac. I bought it and devoured it with someone else I met on the trip all the way to St. Louis ,MO.

I was in fact reading the same trip Jack took all those years ago and now I come to the "Book of Sketches." I have always liked jacks poetry and this is a great example of vigilance to write. All of these came from a notebook he carried around where ever he went. I used to be that vigilant when I was homeless so I understand where he is comming from. Anyone that likes Jack or poetry should read this amazing book. I emplore you to, and you will not be dissapointed I promise.

I know this was an accumulation of Kerouac's observations from the early 1950's until 1957 written in little notebooks...writings that capture the detail of the world (mostly America) as he mentally photographed it and transcribed it ( as a writer's exercise or batting practice)...and I know that he took all these observations and typed them up as a manuscript titled book of sketches...But upon reading this...this stands as the greatest poem ever written about America...

>
Sketches of `Sketches'

Jack Kerouac's 'Book of Sketches' is beautifully
descriptive - I want to keep quoting passages
for you.... Kerouac sees & then meditates on
what he sees but all in an instant while watching
it.

Incredibly perceptive, Jack puts into words
what you suspected yourself but hadn't noted.
He invents words & re-spells words all the time
when he sees the limitations of language. If
somebody says something to him in a local
accent he spells it the same as the person says
it, not original among writers it's true, but a
a mark of Kerouac's accurate honesty to the
subject. And this conveys the full feeling of
the moment to us without it being distorted by
convention.

Most women wouldn't like this book (as generally
women don't like Kerouac's writing). Women
like plot and a dialog, you'll find neither of
those here.

Kerouac, more than any other writer I know, is
a pleasure to read. Someone once said he had
a hypnotic quality and true enough reading Book
of Sketches in bed - it's one book I don't want
to leave my bed for, for the bathroom.

Jack has learned the immediacy of writing "on the
job" - actually describing the scene as you see it -
so that descriptions of everyday street life appear
vivid.
But Kerouac goes further his thoughts melt with
what he see's so that as the great Scottish Beat
James Morton say's it becomes a journey of the
mind.

Physically a chunky little book, printed on that
sort of imitation old parchment with ragged
edges. Jack types out the lines short like American
poetry, which reads like prose, (unlike Jack's prose
which reads like poetry) - so it can be assimilated
in bite-sized chunks. A deceptively small book
though, Kerouac fans will be delighted to know
that there's a lot of text in there - I found it a long
read that went right to the back of the mind.
So, a far longer book than it's appearance would
suggest. I would say it will take two days solid
reading to get through it (that's if you're going
to take it all in).

Jack's thought is so natural you can often read the
last line of a passage and `know' the theme of the
previous lines.

The truth is we see nothing without feeling an
attendant emotion. Kerouac's genius is in noting
the emotion with the observation, but his economy
with language is such that where with most
writers this would slow the passage down with
Kerouac it's just a glimpse and the text rolls on
un-interrupted.
But I think I've said that already, so I'd better
wrap this small review up...

The piece that sticks in my mind is the description
of the sunken boat with the seagulls sheltering in it
(about 2/3 of the way through), probably because I
come from the seaside.

The nearest comparison I can think of to Kerouac
when he's in this descriptive mood is the writing
of Katherine Mansfield. Jack may be the last
great writer because in this day of television, and
instant visual art through computers and eight
screen cinemas, no one these days is immersed in
books for their fantasies the way they were pre-
the nineteen sixties. Therefore nobody develops
the ability to write the way they did back when.

I should think Kerouac kept a diary back in 1953
at the height of his writing powers - and this is it.

Hail, Oh genius!

In the Kerouac canon Book of Sketches is as
important and artistic a book as Dr.Sax.

After completing his scroll version of On the Road in April 1951, Kerouac was still unsatisfied and wanted to break away from its "conventional narrative survey of road trips etc." In October his architect student friend Ed White suggested to Jack: "Why don't you just sketch in the streets like a painter but with words?" Kerouac tried it, and was gripped by the power of the new technique which lent a new form of spontaneity to his writing. He began straight away, enthusiastically rewriting his Road book in this new fashion. The first 36 pages of Visions of Cody are pure sketches, recorded in the streets, subways and diners of New York in the fall of 1951. This new publication, Book of Sketches, contains over 400 more pages of sketches, typed up by Jack in 1959 from the original small breast-pocket notebooks in which they were recorded. They begin with sketches of life at his sister's home in Rocky Mount, North Carolina in August 1952, just after Jack had returned there from Mexico City where he had completed work on Doctor Sax. Jack describes his work on the North Carolina railroad just before taking off on the road once more on a mammoth hitch-hike to California, via Denver, and the new Cassady home in San Jose. Then follow sketches of Mexico from December 1952, and one on an airplane flying from St Louis to New York, a previously unknown trip taking Jack back home in time for Christmas.

In the following year Jack sketched while on a visit to Montreal in March 1953, and during his railroad work at San Luis Obispo, California that April, before taking off by sea for New York and a meeting with "Mardou" during the summer of the Subterraneans. Sketches of Jack's work on the Long Island railroad in October are also included , as well as more descriptions of the streets of Manhattan and Long Island that fall. The book comes to a close with a glimpse of life in San Francisco in early 1954, and tagged onto the end are a few sketches recorded during Jack's big overseas trip of Spring 1957, to Tangiers, France, and England.

The writing is superb throughout, and particularly the description of what must have been Kerouac's longest ever hitch-hike, 3000 miles from North Carolina to California in late August 1952, via Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada, a trip not previously mentioned in his other writings. Jack lists each town he passed through and describes practically every lift he obtained on the way. Reaching Denver, Jack spent a whole day sketching Neal's old haunts, including Zaza's barbershop, the Glenarm poolhall, and Pederson's. But as well as sketching the scenes before him, Kerouac also explored philosophical topics, such as his Spengler-inspired sympathy with the Fellaheen, in his "Notes on the Millennium of the Hip Fellaheen, Oct. 1952, California" and planned his future with them -- "Go among the People, the Fellaheen not the American Bourgeois Middle-class World of neurosis nor the Catholic French Canadian European World -- the People -- Indians, Arabs, the Fellaheen in country, village, of City slums -- an essential World Dostoevsky."

This has to be one of the most important pieces of Kerouac's writing to have been released in several decades. As well as providing further examples of Kerouac's innovative sketch-writing, it also fills some gaps in the Duluoz Legend. It will become an essential part of the Kerouac canon. The marketing of the book raises some queries, however, since it is described on the back cover as a collection of "poems" and is published in the Penguin Poets series. Kerouac always seemed quite clear that his sketches were not poems but prose. In his definition of a sketch (in Some of the Dharma) he notes that "A sketch is a prose description of a scene before the eyes," and on the title page of his typescript wrote: "Book of Sketches -- Proving that sketches ain't verse." It is clear, though, that sketching led to Kerouac's development of the spontaneous poems he called Blues, which he began in 1954 with San Francisco Blues, continuing with his classic Mexico City Blues the following year. Whatever, it's the content of the book that matters, and this is quite simply outstanding, and essential for any Kerouac enthusiast.

If you liked this book I sugjest you check out Aliki's own work and for that matter her fathers. If you would like a compleate list of that work go to Barnstones.com. She is a wonderful poet and you will find that some of her inspiration comes from the poets in "A Book of Women Poets from Antiquity to Now". Her brother also writes wonderful poetry I recomend "Impure" by her brother. "Madly in Love" is her great work. I would suppose her book from her childhood is also wonderful. I look forward to more of her work.

This is my all-time favorite anthology; I give it as a gift whenever I can. I like the idea of presenting voices that have not always gotten the attention they deserve, but even more than that I am amazed at the the sheer range of genius. There's hardly a dud in here.

I particularly love the translation of Marina Tsveteyeva's "Poem of the End." The punctuation so accurately reflects the language and tone. I once saw another translation in one of those "Best Loved Poems of Insipid People" anthologies that was painfully stupid. I wish I could read the Russian original....

Anyway, I can't think of a better resource to introduce you to a wide range of poets you might not otherwise have access to.

I fell in love with this book when I lived for a time in the Barnstone 'barn' in Bloomington, Indiana, for a term in the early 1980s. I met both Aliki Barnstone, the editor of this text, as well as her father Willis Barnstone, a poet and scholar in his own right. Aliki Barnstone was a published poet as early as the age of nine. This was almost a guarantee for a lifelong love of poetry and literature, which comes through in this collection.

The collection begins in the very beginnings of written literature, with pieces from Sumerian, Akkadian, Egyptian, ancient Hebrew and Aramean literature. It is rare enough for works from these time periods to have any author ascribed at all, and doubly rare for women to be credited as authors, so this represents an important collection. Barnstone also includes some ancient poems from Asian languages such as Chinese later in the collection.

The organisation is not strictly by chronology, but does follow a more-or-less chronological progression both in terms of the overall languages (Sumerian as a language preceded the Latinate languages, which preceded the English language, and so forth), and the primarily chronological listing within the language groups. Thus, one gets modern Hebrew poets in the book prior to the listing of ancient Greek poets such as Sappho and Praxilla.

Some of these more ancient pieces could be questioned editorially - the Song of Deborah (from the biblical book of Judges) and the Magnificat (from the gospel of Luke) are included because they represent women's voices, but may not be originally women's compositions as literary texts. The more modern the language or composition, the more likely it is to have an identifiable author, so one cannot fault Barnstone for striving for inclusivity to this extent.

Not only does this represent one of the best anthologies of women's poetry overall, it also represents a grand collection for many of the subsections, such as the African languages, Chinese, and international French and Spanish. Barnstone's brief commentaries throughout are accessible and useful, introducing context and biographical information to help place the literary features and meaning-ful elements in such a way that readers will more easily identify with the poetry.

This is a great collection.

This is one of my favorite poetry anthologies because it covers such a wide expanse of time and includes women's voices from all over the world. This anthology has introduced me to so many women poets that I otherwise never would have met. It is incredible to realize that women have ALWAYS and everywhere been writing, and I am always inspired by the tradition of my mothers when I read this book. As Sappho said, "Someone, I tell you/ will remember us."

I read it ... cover to cover ... a little at a time, over a month perhaps. Poetry suddenly took on another dimension for me. I selected this book because I've read a lot of poetry, and never really had a sense of the unique contribution of women to poetry. After reading this book, I could see that women had contributed entirely new ways to write about their experiences, and very little of it had ever found it's way into the traditional anthologies, such as "Norton's". If you are interested in poetry, this book is really a treasure. If you are a woman, perhaps this book will speak directly to your heart. For me, as a man, this book simply opened up again the amazing diversity of life. I'm truly thankful to Aliki and Willis Barnstone for creating this book.

"Bound by Red Clay" continues to astound the contemporary poetry market! It has been nominated for these awards: Georgia Writers Inc. Book of the Year--Poetry Category, Tufts Discovery Award, and the poem "Gopher Tortoise" was nominated for the coveted Pushcart Prize. The first run sold out in 6 months, and the second printing has sold 50% in only a month. Neca Stoller's work is indeed slated to become one of America's best.

When I ordered Neca Stoller's book I wondered if the high standard I had admired in examples of her work I'd seen on the net would be sustained through a book. It was.

My other concern was whether poetry specifically drawing on a Georgia, USA, landscape would be relevant in Australia. It was. Australian friends have validated my opinion on this.

Like the book itself the poetry is spare, direct and captures the essence of her subjects. Her focus is not distracted by any vanities. The discipline of Japanese genres shines through. The poetry is strong and credible.

I commend it to anyone with a sense of place and community, no matter where in the world they are centered.

Neca Stoller is a poet rooted in the soil of the rural South. Her latest volume is filled with images of the red clay of her home state, as well as characters from her family, uncles and aunts and cousins, former college roommates, and others who populate the Georgia backwoods.

Stoller, born in Savannah and educated at the University of Georgia during the tumultuous 60s, has spent the past several years living, working, and writing on a Georgia cattle farm. Her love of the land and the gentle rhythms of rural life sparkle in her poems. Bound by Red Clay is a slim volume of 60 selections, arranged in five titled chapters. It comes after numerous accolades for her verse from such diverse organizations as the Palomar Showcase and the Haiku Society of America.

Ms. Stoller is at once both peaceful and poignant when she focuses on the slow and repeating meter of country life. "Sultry Evening" is an evocative short poem about the pleasures of rocking on a porch hammock while crickets harmonize on summer evenings. In "Red Clay," we follow along as she wanders through sites of the Civil War, still heavy with memory. "Baling Hay" reminds us of the heat of such summer work, but rewards us with an image of " an iced mason jar/ black tea thick with sugar."

Stoller's themes throughout the book are telling: homecoming, death, lost love, the summer's heat, rural life, the social history of the South. She obviously has roots in her homeland, and that foundation creates lovely verse. The truths she finds among Georgia's red clay and pine forests ring true through time and space.

Even the title of Neca Stoller's first book of poems--Bound by Red Clay--tells us we're dealing with a Southern poet who deals with solid images. Many of these pictures painted by this Savannah poet are Southern and specifically Georgian: magnolias, lowland graveyards, 1960's protest marches, Cherokee excavations, front porches on sultry evenings, even a moonshiner by the name of "Flem." Red clay is a good image for the poets of Georgia, especially those who have left the land: Anyone who has tried to scrub the knees of a child's pants or footprints left on a beige carpet knows that red clay stains will always remain. One might be able to dull their immediate brilliance, but the brick-red trace will remain truly bound to the material.

That fading but "bound" sense of images propels the poet--and then the reader--through this book. The volume contains poems that are slim on words and fat on images. Stoller paints tiny pictures that loom large in one's verbal and pictorial memory. A pair of pinking shears "left marks like a bobcat's bite." Corpses are freed from their graves during the Flint River flood of 1994; "their hands rose and waved . . . they sat in the mud, naked-- / grinning--not a bit shy." On the morning after a lovers' tryst, the poet bittersweetly proclaims, "Such a short night, / still out of breath."

The poet reminds us we are tourists passing by a world full of scenes; the most important admonition someone can make to us is simply to look. Her haiku-like poems resonate with ideas and emotions that emerge out of the things pictured here. For instance, there's "White Chrysanthemum": "tucked between / fallen leaves / a white chrysanthemum / once pinned to my lapel / by your unsteady hands."

After a while, the poems begin to resonate with each other. Arranged into sections that Stoller calls "Chapters," the volume is like a collection of minimalist short stories: The poet's youth, a set of scenes with a former lover, her experiences during the University of Georgia's first year of integration, scenes from nature, and Stoller's own shifting and meditative identity as a poet.

Every semester, I post a new poem on my office door. I try to find one that immediately charms and then provides an opportunity for me, pausing with keys in hand, or for my students waiting for their office conference, to reflect. Stoller has given me a new volume's worth of poems to place on my door; this book will provide you with a similar opportunity to recognize and meditate.

"Bound by Red Clay," by Neca Stoller, is a collection of poems which allows the reader a brief peek into Stoller's life in Georgia during the 1960s. Stoller recounts moments through lively, visual poetry. She is unusually attuned to her surroundings and is able to describe scences with sharp detail and flowing verse. A poem titled "The Shrimp Boat" displays this talent. "Pushing through, past the channel markers, her name so faint, blurred by salt and time the bow appearing then reappearing, as her distant, tall mast crosses the marsh... Docked; still the boat' hole brims with shrimp, as the sunset slips down through the rigging, and as the full moon rises to surf the black waves." This careful attention to minutia draws the reader into Stoller's Georgia, puts the the reader right on the deck of a coastal shrimp boat. Another fresh aspect of Stoller's writung is the absence of too much emotion. Some poets go so deep into their inner thoughts the reader can become derailed and miss the meaning. But Stoller incorporates just enough feeling to touch her audience without overwhelming them. "Never meaning to grow old, in the mirror I am astonished to see age spots in a face more my mother's than my own...,"writes Stoller in "The Fire." With only a few words, Stoller captures the experience of aging. "Bound by Red Clay" is an ensemble of mature and well-written poetry which parallels life, detailing a range of experiences, experiences that run from disturbing events to moments of calmness. In one poem titled, "Sand Dollar," Stoller describes the last moments of a young soldier's life, and in another, "Rain," she explains how rain falls to the earth. It is apparent poetry for Stoller is a craft and for lovers of poetry she is a great gift.

My 5-year-old granddaughter had me read it over and over. Now she quotes it. I think she has the whole thing memorized.

Hi! You can call me StoryMaker. Bow Wow Meow Meow is a great and unique poem book that focuses on cats, dogs, and their relatives. When we got it from the library, it was a much darker pink then it is in the Amazon.com photo. I memorized many poems in it. There are great illustrations and on the back, you will probably see two paintings, one of a cat and one of the dog. If you look closely, the dog has the word "cat" written on it and the cat has the word "dog" on it. An example of one of the poems is:

"Who always yanks the tail of the Manx?"

Short poem, isn't it? Here's another short one:

"Why ocelots have lots of spots puzzles oc-elot."

Don't worry, that's not as long as they get. For example, "Dog Log" is much longer, therefore I haven't memorized it. Great poems and lots of humor, too. However, I do not like how they insult bulldogs in their bulldog poem. Everyone is giving bulldogs a bad reputation because long ago bulldogs held on to bull's noses and were swung around. Bulldogs are nicer nowadays. Overall, a nice poem book all about pets, wolves, and every type of wild cat. Signed, StoryMaker. "Gotta trust the kid's review!"

As always, Mr. Florian writes and illustrates poetry on a young child's level. His poetry is short and to the point, and his illustrations are extremely creative. "The Poodles" and "The Dalmatian" is a great example of utilizing the features of the animal in the poem format. Mr. Florian gets young children excited about poetry and shows them that poetry can be uncomplicated and fun.

As always, Mr. Florian writes and illustrates poetry on a young child's level. His poetry is short and to the point, and his illustrations are extremely creative. "The Poodles" and "The Dalmatian" is a great example of utilizing the features of the animal in the poem format. Mr. Florian gets young children excited about poetry and shows them that poetry can be uncomplicated and fun.

Poet and painter Douglas Florian barks up the right tree in the young people poetry month release, "Bow Wow Meow Meow: It's Rhyming Cats and Dogs." Twenty-one brief, humorous poems about a kennel of dog and cat varieties playfully prowl its pages, accompanied by childlike watercolor portraits of each species being analyzed in verse. (Another quirky pleasure comes from the fact that Florian's loose, playful watercolors were painted on primed brown paper bags with bits of collage.) Setting the stage for the book's first half is "Dog Log" with its deadpan "to do" list of the average dog: "Rolled out of bed./ Scratched my head./ Brought the mail./ Wagged my tail.../ Chewed a shoe --/ Table, too." The next ten spreads all focus on a different doggie from the bulldog to wolf. Typical is "The Chihuahua" which manages to hilariously evoke the sound of the little beast: "Chihuahua seems a sorry sight:/ So small in stature, weight, and height./ But it can bark a brouhaha: / Chi-hua! hua! hua! hua! hua! hua! hua!" Segregating the cats from the dogs, the second half is devoted to the felines, starting with the lilting "Cat Chat" introduction, and ends with "The Black Panther": "Black on black / With big eyes green --- / At night the panther's sight is keen,/ A stalking shadow, sly and sleek,/ That every night plays hide-and-seek." As a poetry collection, this is the best-conceived, least-pretentious and most-fun work in years. The idea is simplicity at its best, perfectly conceived and cleverly executed with a just-right balance of smarts and playfulness. The witty, insightful nature of the poems is sure to delight all ages, particularly fans of ee cummings, Ogden Nash and Bennett Cerf. Even concrete poetry admirers will pleasantly note the subtly original ways in which simple type layouts are occasionally used to enhance the rhythms and rhymes, such as the lines of "The Poodles" which are each set in a tight swirl, mimicking their subject's "oodles and oodles or curls." Doggone good. To borrow a pun from Florian, it would "puzzle ocelot" if this didn't end up an award-winner by year's end.

Reading this book was like taking a guided tour through the deep and sensitive mind of the author. Seductively and honestly written, it offers fresh elements of insight, passion, pain and respect... every time I open it's pages. From Cover to Content, it glows with talent and intelligence. I am challenged by it's entries to re-evaluate some of my own experiences ~ to take a second look for overlooked depth. You will take a trip to a land of deeper thought when reading and experiencing the author's. . Brainwalking. This book will offer you something fresh and inspiring each time you reach for it . . a regenerating favorite!

Since writing this book, I have begun the process of writing yet another. It has been a dream come true to share my personal thoughts with everyone, and hope to have my second book by mid June or so. Dreams are governed by our own minds, and we have complete control over them. If we don't chase them, they cannot come to fruition. Be inspired by my book, and think about each piece, as it may apply to your own life. Leave feedback...I also am able to sell personalized abstract artwork, as well. Let me know how I can assist any of you. Thanks for purchasing my dream.

author paints a picture in your mind, with his capability to use paper and words as if they're a canvas and paints; great work, you wouldn't think this was his first book,

This has to be one of the most twistedly inspiring books I've read. It inspires, it conjures your thoughts into a deeper sense of reality, and sets your soul FREE!!! Amazingly beautiful and dark, and a must have for any serious reader-one who appreciates a great piece of literature. The artwork on the cover is awesome, and I highly reccommend this book to everyone!!!

Brad Randolph's poetry is moving. Deep. Haunting.

His poem "Another Thought" is a tremendous example of how Mr. Randolph uses free form to put words in motion. Though short, the words pull you in. You read it again, this time slowly. Suddenly you hear it - the music. The words are notes that demand emotion from the reader. There is eloquence in this poetry. With anticipation you turn the page.

I echo the thoughts of the previous reviewers...I was taken back in time and felt Bull Jean as I read her story I longed for her to find her Mina! I cried at the end of the book. I'm a student as well as thespian and wish that one day I can bring Bull Jean alive on stage..This is a most have!

I have had this book for several years and each time I reread a story I gain a new appreciation for this book. I want more of Bull-Jean.

Sharon Bridgforth is a conjurer. She captures the voices of folks on the pages of this book whose stories would otherwise be lost in the wind. I laughed out loud, big old belly laughs, and read the stories aloud to friends and family. This writer is a descendant of Langston Hughes and all the folks who tell stories on the corner, in the back of the church, in the beauty parlor and on the porch, looking at the sunset. Her deeply felt prose and poetry is redeeming. Thank you for one of the most enjoyable experiences I've had as a reader in recent memory!

the openess to love that bulljean expresses and the ability to bounce back once a love is gone is so present in us all. I felt bulljean, when she tells Mina-Mina be my woman. Madam Bridgeforth has brought back the power of love to poetry and she didn't have to be political about.

In the haze of a Michigan Women's Festival delerium, standing next to Sharon Bridgforth in a bookstall, I bought her book, along with any other lesbian book of poetry I thought I might like. I've since reread this book repeatedly, recommended it repeatedly, and offer this opinion: If you like women, if you like to laugh, if you like a heart-breaking, soul-warming story, buy this book. Buy 12 of them.

Reviewed by Steven Hansen for Small Spiral Notebook

The terms 'memoir' and 'novel' are not as easily blended as PB&J; nor do they make half as good a sandwich. But when it comes to literature instead of low cuisine, these two forms of creative expression are hardly mutually exclusive; making fiction out of one's own life is nothing new. There are many examples of work that blurs the line between nonfiction and fiction, memoir and novel, upright citizen and (...)child.

The only question anyone who reads such an admixture should care about is: Does the author transform the highly personal into something universal?

For the most part, Diane Payne's memoir/novel hybrid Burning Tulips does.

The books only flaw is the putrid, one-note character of the father, who not only is the Vietnam War-loving stereotype of the union thug and domestic tyrant, but just happens to sexually molest his daughters, too. There may be such monsters in real life, but, at least in this instance, it doesn't make for compelling fiction. After a few run-ins with him, you're already desensitized. It's not that the author should have included some sappy detail about his secret hobby of raising orphaned bunnies, it's just that once you get to the chapter where he's in the garage slaughtering rabbits you're already so saturated with his malice that all you can do is chuckle and say, "Ho hum."

The father, though, is really nothing but a foil for the main relationship of the book between the terminally ill mother and her bridge-over-troubled-water daughter.

When Dad touches me, I can tell that he doesn't hate me, and I don't hate him. I don't hate him until he gets out of bed and starts screaming at my mother before he goes to work, once again making me invisible, forgetting that he was happy just moments ago.

The mother and daughter cling to each other like two tourists who've been abducted by a terrorist long enough to start making excuses for him, exhibiting the classic symptom of Stockholm Syndrome. In the chapter titled "The Trash Bin", the mother admonishes her daughter to not think too harshly of a vagrant bum who copped a feel. It's as if she's indirectly apologizing to her daughter for ignoring her husband's incestuous ways.

"It won't look good to say my daughter was touched by an old man. From now on, stay away from old men. They get like that. Don't you go telling anyone what he did. ... Some things need to stay in the family."

Adding to the ambiguous nature of this memoir/novel is the fact the chapters can also be looked upon as stand alone short stories, autonomous in their own right, even as they work within the larger frame of the book. In the story, "The Keyhole", the young girl spies on her post-mastectomy mother preparing to bathe.

Mom's skin is red and raw, crusted with wounds that will become thick scars. Blood drips from the stitches. She looks bruised and off balance, but not untouchable.

The daughter's impulse to mother her mother overrides her fear of being pushed away, and she opens the door and walks into the bathroom. Over the protestations of her mother, the girl picks up the soap and begins to wash her mother's back.

"You're too young to see this."
"I saw it through the keyhole, Ma. It ain't that bad."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."

As the daughter hits her teen years, she becomes a self-described 'Jesus Freak' who in the story/chapter, "Tongue-Tied" tries to proselytize at a crash pad inhabited by bikers.

"You know, I was wondering if the Road Knights might like to get involved with my church. You know, start a club called Jesus' Mufflers, or something like that."

The big man spits out his beer laughing. Leaning over the kitchen table, he pounds another guy on the shoulder, the one who is waiting for him to get back to their poker game, and says, "Did you hear that? She wants us to start a motorcycle club called Jesus' Mufflers!"

Bouncing from tragedy to comedy and a little bit of in between, these stories casually intertwine to create a lushly colored, painstakingly-rendered portrait of a family, their community, and the unsettled times in which they live.

I don't usually like reading books that take place when my parents were kids, but I read Burning Tulips and actually liked most of the short stories. The author does a good job showing what it is like to grow up. She shows the good and the bad. I think more kids should read this book.

I absolutely loved this quirky, poignant, heartbreaking novel.

Although it invites comparison with other compelling coming-of-age stories such as Sandra Cisneros' "House on Mango Street" and Eric Miles Williamson's "East Bay Grease," this is a unique work of art that goes beyond the expectations of the dysfunctional family genre.

The heroine does face some of the hardships familiar to that genre--an alcoholic, lecherous father, a mother dying of cancer, the sort of relatives that try to discourage smart girls from reading too much, and the humiliations of poverty.

Yet it is not just the unusual setting--a working-class neighborhood in Michigan settled by three generations of Dutch immigrants--that makes this interesting. The reader is drawn in by the utter dauntlessness and insistent decency of the heroine, who, despite her own considerable psychic injuries, spends her indignation and compassion on the penned-up dogs, the little kids who get bullied at school, and most of all, on her slowly dying mother.

If you can imagine a combination of Antigone and Pippi Longstockings and Bernard Shaw's version of Joan of Arc, you will have some idea of this character's appeal. Yet she is neither self-righteous, self-pitying, sentimental, nor bitter.

But don't try to imagine her--just read the book. It is as hard to describe fully as it is to over-praise.

Having been disappointed so often, I've become somewhat wary of the contemporary novel. Burning Tulips, rich with honest experience, is a surprising exception; the book successfully captures the rare tenderness of a daughter for her mother.

Reminiscent of the writings of Joyce Carol Oates and Tillie Olsen, Burning Tulips is a story of coming of age. It's the story of an adolescent's struggle to find stability in a world where there seems to be little one can trust .

In my opinion, this novel would make terrific reading for high school students. The fast pace and sharp description are guaranteed to hold the interest of even the most jaded young reader, and the narrative is a testament to the power of the honest truth, told without apology or resentment or hyperbole.

Reviewed for Nights and Weekends by John Sheirer

The nameless young girl at the center of Diane Payne's wonderful Burning Tulips is asked to write about an "important human" for a school assignment. She chooses instead to write about the family dog because, in her own words, "... it seems like all my important humans would make a sad story."

Such is life for Payne's protagonist, who grows from age five to eighteen and must deal with her mother's cancer, her father's abuse, her family's poverty, her growing sexuality, her constant spiritual crisis, her sense of social injustice during the turbulent 1960s-even her poor penmanship. With so much stacked against her, readers might expect a stereotypical self-pitying child/adolescent/teenager. She does experience plenty of anger, fear, shame, and sadness, but Payne has crafted a complex character brimming with humor, hope, strength, love, and a burning sense that her life has an abundant future despite her deprived and isolated present.

Payne's work has appeared widely in print and internet literary publications. In fact, many sections of Burning Tulips first appeared as outstanding stand-alone pieces, usually under the banner of "memoir." Whether this book is a partially fictionalized memoir or fiction based on the author's own experiences is an interesting question. But more important is how Payne deftly employs a memoirist's psychological insight along with a novelist's skill in structure, pace, and narrative voice to create a haunting book that resonates authentic depth of emotion.

Burning Tulips comes to us through Red Hen Press, a lively independent publisher bringing out some terrific poetry, memoir, and fiction that would never find a place with today's megapublishers focused on high-concept bestsellers. Bestsellers have their place: the beach or long airplane flights-situations where passing the time is more important than challenging the heart and mind with literature. Discerning readers will instead be far more satisfied with the excellent Burning Tulips than any garden-variety bestseller. In short, it's a beautiful book well worth reading.

What a refreshing book of poems about a hometown. It is good to be able to hear someone talk in such an affirmative and affectionate way about his past in a small town. So many ideas that I have had about my hometown but was never able to put into words are expressed here. I think this book will be a favorite with many readers.

It was a delight to find a book of poetry that concentrates of different aspects of one's hometown. So much is said here that I feel about my own hometown. This book ought to make Small Town America proud.

A friend of mine told me about this sledding poem and I just had to have the book after I read his e-mail. How many poems there are in this collection that rang bells for me!

The reading was delightful and opened up insights as to my own feelings for my hometown. How I feel when revisiting, how I see the buildings and view the landscape. The streets, early love, High School days. I don't know of any other poetry that focuses so intently on the subject of a hometown. An extraordinary book.

So serene, so careful and loving in its approach to everyday happenings. I highly recommend this book of poems.