Poetry Books

Timeless, classic children's literature. In a time where plastic people like Hannah Montana and Brittany Spears reign, Dennis Lee is refreshing. He is witty, he is Canadian and he is cool. I read this to a grade two class, and they learned their favourite verses by heart on their own initiative. It's also intelligent enough to appeal to adults -up there with Rocky and Bullwinkle! Love this book!

I still have my copy of this book from when I was a kid (copywrite 1974). This book rocked, and I had to dig it up to start reading to my nephews. best ever = on tuesdays I polish my uncle. I still remembered 90% of the words, and I probably hadn't heard it since 1981 or 2!

This was actually my sister's book when we were growing up - but I remember absolutely loving it back then. Now that I have a son, I bought it to read with him. Although he is only 2, he loves the rhythm of the poems and the wacky pictures. His favourite is "Windshield Wipers". A fabulous book for parents to share with their children!

I would recommend this book to anyone. It is fun and fantastic, the illustrations are terrific, and the poems resonate well with children and adults.

The Alligator Pie series filled my childhood with fun and whimsy. I'm pregnant now and I want to buy a whole new collection so that my child will remember "Peter was a pilot, who flew a jumbo jet, who crashed in Lake Ontario and got his bottom wet." Silly and fun.

My daughters love these poems and I enjoy reading them as well. It isn't the standard sugar sweet or non-sensical material that usually passes for childrens' books.

Althought the age group listed for this book is 9-12, I first learned of it from a preschooler in my classroom. The girl who shared the book does not have a sister, lives with both parents in an upperclass neighborhood, and would seem to have little in common with Essie or Amber. And yet, this story reached her, she connected immediately with the strengths and longings of both children. She wants to BE these children, for their strength and humanity. What a great way to begin to bridge the socioeconomic gap! Other children from very diverse backgrounds in my class were also immediately drawn to the poetry of warmth, hope, caring, friendship amidst troubling circumstances.

Adults have strong feelings when it comes to picture books. They sometimes believe that this form of literature serves one single purpose. To help kids learn how to read. While an incredibly worthwhile goal (don't get me wrong), allow me to point out that pictures books are hardly so limited. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Vera B. Williams' picture/poetry book, "Amber Was Brave, Essie Was Smart". Ms. Williams has tackled serious subjects in her books before ("A Chair For My Mother" anyone?) but this is the first time, to my memory, that she has tackled the very serious subject of a father's incarceration. There are probably millions of children in America with mothers or fathers in jail. This book may ease their burden just a bit.

Amber and Essie are two sisters that act just the way you'd expect them to. Amber is younger and tends to clutch her purple teddy bear Wilson to her for support. Essie is a little older and is in charge of watching her younger sibling. Their mother is usually away from the girls, earning a living while their father serves his jail term for check forgery. There isn't a lot to eat at home and the girls are constantly moving between sitters, but they know how to make life bearable. The book is cut into twenty-eight small poems that describe the story of the two girls. Some of these are funny like, "Whoops", where the girls jump up and down on the bed until it (inevitably) collapses. Some of them are sad like, "Conversations Under the Bed". In this poem Amber is crying and asking Wilson to tell her that her Daddy isn't really bad. "Daddy couldn't really be bad because he's my daddy". If that doesn't make you sniffle a little then you're made of stronger stuff than I. And some of the poems in the book are both funny AND sad. "There Stood Amber With Her Braids at Her Feet", is your typical humorous girls-trying-to-cut-their-own hair poem. But it ends with the stanzas, "Only I had to cut them off/ Amber said/ to send to Daddy/ so he'll be sure to remember me/ I had to".

"Amber Was Brave, Essie Was Smart" has a happy ending (Daddy comes home after having finished his time and everyone's overjoyed) so don't worry about that. I think Vera B. Williams really should be commended for not only tackling the subject of jailed parents, but also the day to day trials of poverty. You can tell that the girls' mom is making due, but just barely. There are whole stories suggested in these little poems above and beyond what's written here. Now normally, I have to admit, I don't care too much for Vera B. Williams's illustrations. But the pictures in this book are perfect. They're all done in pencil, some colored, some not. Sometimes they're detailed and sometimes they're just the barest of outlines. The book comes with a "photo album" of the characters that kids will enjoy pawing through after reading the story. I think that if you've a child that can handle a little reality, this book is a more than appropriate companion. It tackles difficult grown-up problems in a manner that is not only understandable to children, but meaningful as well. Consider pairing it with the similar, "Visiting Day", if you want another picture book on this topic.

This is a touching story of two sisters who are dealing with a tramatic event that had a significant effect on their lives. The art work is enhances the story and is great in it's own right. After I bought this book, I couldn't wait to share it with my own sister and other close friends who I knew would love it too.

This book contains poetry, and as a general rule I don't like poetry (unless it's funny, and stars that charming man from Nantucket!) However, I made an exception for this book because it's just so GOOD! It's not that rhyming sort of poetry, but a gentle, flowing sort that's even more poetic, which tells a story in separate, glorious little parts.

I'm not ashamed to admit, I was so touched by the courage and strength of Amber and Essie in the face of adversity, and their sisterly love for one another, that I cried like a baby when I read this. It's a beautiful story! Yes, sometimes life is hard, and isn't fair. But these kids have a way of coping that's both innocent and wise at the same time. Truly joyous and inspiring!

Matthew Zapruder is the kind of poet you want to crack open over a beer far from home. Take the time to relish the imagery in this great collection, to let yourself walk the path of Zapruder's memories, to laugh at the outrageous (yet oh-so-right) nuggets of truth contained here. After soaking in a few of these poems you soon learn that you're in the confident hands of a searcher...and his way is open to anyone who wants to join him. Thanks, Matthew...for everything! I'm looking forward to "The Pajamaist!"

Matthew Zapruder, American Linden (Tupelo, 2002)

One of the drawbacks of having rooms full of books waiting for you to read them (and it's even worse if you have a library card and wide-ranging tastes) is that once in a while you hear good things about a book right after it comes out, put it on the list of "hmm, I should read that some day," and then promptly forget about it for three years. This is exactly what happened to me with Figments guitarist Matthew Zapruder's American Linden, and I'm kicking myself for not having just gone out and found a copy as soon as I heard good press about it.

Zapruder's work is the kind of stuff you read simply for the pleasure of hearing the words flow by in your head.

"Where I inspect myself
for a black and white cat
who hides my sluggishness from inspectors.
His name is Joselito."
("Park Slope")

There is a great deal of depth and definition to Zapruder's word choices; so many of these poems work so well that it's extremely difficult to find fault with a single word. (One wonders how much of this was workshopped or criticized by outside sources; one suspects the answer is "none of it.") It's work that says its piece and gets out, though you'll likely be left pondering what, exactly, that piece might be.

In an age where it seems anyone with a connection to other media are pumping out books of poetry to no end (viz. recent howlingly bad collections by Jimmy Stewart, Jimmy Carter, Jewel, Ally Sheedy, etc. etc. ad nauseam), it's nice to find someone who can work this well in both genres. Highly recommended. **** ½

This book has undeniable power and is in no way soft. Misreading it as soft or non-threatening only reveals one's abject cynicism. These poems delve deeply and honestly right into the center of the speaker's heart and for that reason are often painful, sometimes lighthearted, and always honest. This is a book by the genuine article writing real poems.

Matthew Zapruder's American Linden is a sometimes surreal, often funny, always genuinely expressed book of linguistic constellations. He mentions Spanish and Greek and logic, Tagalog and tunes and melody, birdsong and currencies, and he writes "I am guilty of secret constellations." Yet these constellations are not altogether secret, but rather playfully at play, put into motion like a wonderful mobile alternately inducing delight, clash, harmony, distracted thoughtfulness, etc. The pieces of the mobile, dangling as if from thin metal ligatures, are clouds and golems, farms and days, foreign currency and flowers and breasts and noon, and they assemble and reassemble in shifting clustered galaxies that I thoroughly enjoyed gazing at, stumbling across, chuckling over.

It is a book made of inventive and continuous, quirky and comedic, unrolling threads of metaphor, many surprising but sensible as the cat whose "mother was a sofa, a whole/ neighborhood of comfort, support,/ understanding..." In this, and in many creative reversals and convergences, he causes elements to flow into one another, creating an odd, complex, (but not dissonant or off-putting) amalgam of yet almost intuitive experience-"when that ten AM birdfeeder skylight/ perfectly lifted/ from morning hour/ halted a moment beyond my fingertips/ to perch half still/ and three quarters in motion/ a sketch of a hummingbird..." He understands the magician's and the comedian's craft of the set up, the teasing of expectation, the timing of delivery, the slip into an unforeseen magnificence of surprise. But here it is without the magician's grandiloquent drama- this is a book and a craft and a language not caught up with or in itself but rather generous, comic, and sometimes, idiosyncratically resplendent.

Writing about poetry is ludicrous, especially when the poems are written by Matthew Zapruder. The poems in AMERICAN LINDEN are intensely personal, not only in style of placing words on paper, but also in the spectum of ideas that flow through his brain. Many of these gems are about the actual attempt to write poems - aborted starts, frustrated beginnings. But when this poet sets foot outside and allows his kaleidoscopic gaze to pause on barns, birds, memories, imaginings, then his mastery of form and communication sets sail and the results are fresh and scintillating.
It is ludicrous to write about poetry....this poet distills beyond essence ideas that only tap at our imagination. "I try to be a good hillside/my eyesight salty and clear,/and hold still all night. /..../ All the next hours will be empty shelves./ Until I'm a storm,/ and only a flower knows me." I suppose one has to say something in a review: Read these please.

This anthology is another one of Bloom's fantastic encyclopediac projects. He and his assistant Sam Zuba selected nine- hundred poems of two - hundred poets to represent the work of more than three - hundred years of American poetry.
While the first part of the work deals with devotional poetry Bloom's heart is with the Emersonian revolution, and its greatest poet, Whitman. The traditional categories are cast aside and the American cosmic religion goes forth into the world containing universes. This anthology too contains universes in which poets of diverse religious traditions have their say. It also contains a very strong, some might say , too strong representation of naysayers or those who are not ordinarily associated with conventional religion at all. David Gates in his 'Newsweek' review notes.
" His poets include Christians, Jews and Muslims, as well as all the whatevers; he also has American Indian songs and chants and African-American spirituals. "The Criteria of Political Correctness," he writes, "I dismiss with weary contempt." Go ahead and laugh, but I'll bet the Great Enjoyer really does enjoy it all."
Marilynn Robinson however finds that this all- encompassingness raises a certain problem.
"Given all this, Harold Bloom's introduction to American Religious Poems seems at odds with its content. He takes the view that there is a sui generis American religion which bears no relation to religion elsewhere and which is obdurately simpleminded. Yet most American poets who are held in high regard are represented here, and there is a preponderance of modern and contemporary poetry. In other words, aside from the rather perfunctory selection of early writing and a few songs and hymns that seem to have been chosen for their familiarity rather than for their interest as poetry, most of the work collected here is thoughtful and sophisticated by any standard. Much of it would seem "religious" only in a context that encouraged the reader to consider it in this light. Yet in this light it is indeed religious."
It seems to me that while Bloom might be easily open to criticism on his conception of what Religion is he cannot really be faulted for his great passion for and understanding of Poetry. In fact it is far to say Poetry is Bloom's Religion. And therefore the enthusiasm and love he brings to reading it, and this especially in regard to Whitman and Dickinson, works as pervasive spirit in the volume as a whole.
Morever there is so much fine work in this anthology each and every reader will be able to find in it poetry which sustains and inspires.

American Religious Poems is a collection of classic American religious poems by an immense variety of authors, covering all stages of America's history and spiritual legacy. Notes, an index, a source list, and an invaluable Reader's Guide complement the poems themselves, which have been carefully selected for their intergenerational appeal. A worthy cross-section of American faith through the centuries as expressed in poetic literature, from classical narrative poems to spirituals and anonymous hymns. "God": I followed and breathed in silence. / What of its task is beheld? / My feeding thee has lent all / Which broke the current thread breeze / That kept the sprout of pregnant seas / Of weathered promising call. / The filling shades he only changes, / Tells the logos, its unearned dew / Not to feed, as if from cages, / His cloak that perfumes fragrant hew; / What of all the bulging mountains, / Sordid earth and rotting clays? / If then sense is suction fountains, / That same thought is but its ways.

The Library of America is a non-profit organization aimed at preserving Americas literary heritage.

Simply stated these books are spectacular, not only in their literary content but in binding as well. You won't find a nicer book.

The content itself is a must for anyone who considers themselves "literate".

Here under one cover is a poetry lover's gold mine --over 900 poems, by over 200 poets, about all things religious. Bloom and Zuba have defined religion very broadly both in terms of faith traditions and subject matter, the skeptical and the unconventional included, the result being poems and poets that reflect the diverse and plural religious perspectives in American history, including Native American, African American, Buddhist, Sufi, Deist, Jewish, Unitarian, Protestant, Catholic and dozens more. The poems are arranged chronologically, beginning with the 1640 Bay Psalm Book (the first book printed in the colonies) and ending with Brett Foster (b. 1973) of Wheaton College. After the 900-plus poems there are 14 American Indian Songs and Chants, then 14 Spirituals and Anonymous Hymns (eg, "Didn't My Lord Deliver Daniel" and "Free at Last"). A reader's guide to religious terms, an name index of poets, and an index of poem titles and first lines complete the volume. I was disappointed in Bloom's "introduction," which was little more than a short, technical essay on Walt Whitman ("our prime shaman of American religion") and Emily Dickinson ("Whitman's only possible rival in American poetry"). A broader treatment would have served a general readership better. Nor is there any introduction to the poets or their poems, save their date of birth. Still, this is a literary treasure trove, and I was sorry I had to return it to the public library; between its two covers there is enough poetry for a lifetime of meditation and reflection.

You know you'll be getting a slightly idiosyncratic choice of poets and poems with gnostic Harold Bloom as the chief editor. There are poets included who would be a bit surprised to hear themselves considered "religious," so you get early Merwin only, and Mark Strand, James Merrill (spiritual, kinda, but not 'religious'). Only one poem each from Mary Oliver, Gjertrude Schnakenberg, and Jorie Graham, while several from John Ashberry. On the other hand, several poets included I've never heard of--one of the reasons I buy anthologies, to be exposed to new voices. It is a book with great surprises as well, not just limited in scope to the old predictable chestnuts. The real reason I didn't give it a five stars is the physical book itself--ridiculously wasted attempt at a slip cover (cheap, flimsy, faux marbling) and odd graphic of a fountain pen in gold on an off white cover...just not what I expect from the publisher, especially at the cost.

Angela the Upside-Down Girl is a revelation. Emily Hiestand is one of Robert Frost's true poets, "one upon whom nothing is lost." As she trains an eye of the rarest perception on the world we thought we knew, we discover the heart of light within ordinary and not-so-ordinary things. I marvel at her scope: her Weltyesque Aunt Nan Dean; her eloquent witness to the power of faith and community at Union Baptist Church; her love affair with automotive neon, which manages (as Emerson never could) to be both transcendental and funny; and, of course, there's Angela, whose gravity-defying grace can be seen as a figure for the whole book. But perhaps most engaging of all is the voice of our guide--Hiestand herself--the unifying principle through the book's many travels, wise, witty, shimmering in its clarity, a wonderful companion.

Angela the Upside-Down Girl is a revelation. Emily Hiestand is one of Robert Frost's true poets, "one upon whom nothing is lost." As she trains an eye of the rarest perception on the world we thought we knew, we discover the heart of light within ordinary and not-so-ordinary things. I marvel at her scope: her Weltyesque Aunt Nan Dean; her eloquent witness to the power of faith and community at Union Baptist Church; her love affair with automotive neon, which manages (as Emerson never could) to be both transcendental and funny; and, of course, there's Angela, whose gravity-defying grace can be seen as a figure for the whole book. But perhaps most engaging of all is the voice of our guide--Hiestand herself--the unifying principle through the book's many travels, wise, witty, shimmering in its clarity, a wonderful companion.

Thoreau lives! Emily Hiestand could take you on a trip down the most familiar street in your town and show you things you've never seen before. She has a way of noting the realities of everyday existence that simultaneously lights up their surfaces and illuminates their deeper significance. What a mind this writer has. What an imagination. --And what a way with words. I simply loved this book.

I knew Emily for a very short time when I lived in Boston. She and my sister were friends, along with a group of people whose lives centered around a triple decker on Wendell Street.

A new book from Emily is like a long letter. I get to catch up on her life and comings and goings. I always feel sheepish about not staying in touch when I'm through with it. She writes such beautiful and thoughtful things, I think. I really need to write her back.

Reading her prose is exactly like having a conversation with her. I can hear her light, sweet voice as if I'm at a reading, and can summon her laugh in my mind's ear too.

It's impossible for me to separate my acquaintance with Emily from her work, but I will say I'm always astounded with her descriptions and way with words. She is at once erudite and approachable, and her work is always informed by both these things. Being a poet, Emily brings thoughtful cadence to her essays, and very often I will read them outloud to myself.

For those of you who don't know Emily personally, you will after you read this book, and what's more, you'll want to know her better. You'll also learn that New England watersheds are not only interesting but epic in their own way, and that stories are told in the details.

Thanks Emily. I'm doing quite well and think of you often.

[An] enchanting new book of essays.... Many personal essayists today try to capture our interest by being confessional but run the risk of revealing, like clumsy strippers, what we'd really rather not see. Hiestand has taken the more unusual risk of writing about the quotidian, and produced a tour de force. "Oooouuuweee!" as her cousin Bill would say. What a good book this is. --Boston Sunday Globe Book Review

Angela the Upside-Down Girl is about how to live creatively, see life through an artist's eye. With a subversive sense of humor and a wicked ability to pierce convention, [Hiestand] takes us on her journey to discover a meaningful sense of place in a chaotic world. Her place turns out to be North Cambridge, which she describes with the freshness and originality of Joyce in Dublin...

Angela the Upside-Down Girl reveals Emily Hiestand's exceptional talents which include an artist's eye for color and form, a cu! ltural anthropologist's ability to get people to tell their stories, and a poet's facility to express what is felt but not seen. --Cambridge Chronicle

Rich, revealing, and often hilarious... This book travels between only two places...but it travels so deeply into each place, both their pasts and their presents, that you come away from it feeling enlightened and enticed, and ready to hop on the next train heading north or south. --Hope Magazine

...and I say, also, "What a good book this is!"

-Chuck Eisenhardt

Craig B. Corson, PhD. The gestalt is riveting as Dr. Rosenblum goes straight to the soul. This universal awareness occurs constantly throughout his poems and leaves one with a clear option for self review. His growth reflects a pattern for acceptance--and love. This well written collection will serve in my practice as an ongoing resource.

I very rarely read poetry, yet once I opened this book I read it from cover to cover. I love every poem. Each one is a precious, evocative gem that reflects the emotional reality of being alive. Each poem is short and to the point and totally accessible (a real plus for those who don't enjoy dense, obscure poetry)The book is constructed in such a way as to ensure a beautiful flow from poem to poem. A lovely gift to give to anyone with a heart. Enjoy!

These poems are easy to read, so easy you are often caught unawares in familiar territory, the terrain of the heart, articulated to refinement in The Angina Dialogues by Dr. Sid Rosenblum. A wry voice decides the passenger list in "Fantasy Road Trip" (maybe Walt Whitman, maybe not) and in "Yiddishland" characterizes immigrant relatives who made good on the American Dream as "clowns and actors/Capitalists who dance the rumba." Just two examples of language in the poems at its most memorable. The end of each poem leaves you with the feeling of a roller coaster just coming to a stop. You linger in its wake, reluctant to regain your equilibrium.

Sid's book of poems reminds me again that a poet is also a philosopher. To be sure, his poems tend to cognify feelings and instead of telling the reader what to think, they tell him/her what to think about.

That is how I heard Dr. Rosenblum's poetry described, and I do agree. Each compact poem in this volume is savory, sensual and satisfying. They are like the layers in a very deep parfait. You can enjoy just the top layers--the cream, the strawberry, the caramel--but as you dig deeper you will find more complex meaning, more exotic flavors...cinnamon, frangipanni, myrrh.
The Doctor removes his still beating heart for us to examine closely. In doing so, we are given the opportunity to get to know our own.
I love spending time with these poems. Many have a therapeutic effect on me. "The Old Sorrows" has become my mantra for quitting smoking.
Reading these poems will unlock the poet inside you.

This is a very nice book, another amazing collection of (anti)poems and visual artefactos by Parra.

Remarkable translation of Liz Werner.

This is an english edition, but since some of these poems have not appeared previously, this book will also be a must-have for Parra followers in the spanish community. But even for old poems, is a very interesting experience to read the antipoems in a different language and to see them find their way in the intricacies of each language. It is necessary to say, however, that in the introduction Werner clearly states that Parra thinks that these are not really translations, because antipoems cannot be translated, so these are rewrittings. But probably the best possible ones.

Parra style, for those that have not heard about him, is better understood by reading it than by using descriptions:

TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORT

To make a long story short
I leave all my possessions
to the Municipal Slaughterhouse
to the Special Forces Unit of the Police Department
to Lucky Dog Lotto

So now if you want you can shoot

This book is truly magnificent. Parra has one of the most clever minds in poetry today. His antipoems are very attractive as they move away from the old traditional poetic style. I understand Parra will be proposed for the Literature Nobel Prize next year (2001). I couldn't agree more.

There are a wide variety of translations here; in both quality and fidelity to the original spanish. The fact that the poems are presented with both the original and the translation makes this book worth it. The Miller Williams and William Carlos Williams translations are wonderful, but some translations, like those by Ginsberg suffer from perhaps too much beat aesethetic co-oped into the work. Still, Parra is wonderful, full of grit and strange images; yet the Spanish, aside from a few words that are only found in Chilean Spanish, is clear and easy to read. I have even translated some of these poems myself. This is amazing work.

Theodor Adorno claimed that to write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric. If so, then Parra is the one man who can justifiably escape the charge of barbarity. What Parra writes is nothing less than a full-scale assault on poetry, or as he calls it, "anti-poetry". Parra's work stands in violation of everything that poetry has ever been. If you are used to lyricism and poetic embellishment and will accept nothing less, you will hate this book. Either that, or it will revolutionize how you see the poetic art. Parra is for poetry what the WWF is for entertainment: it is raw, crass and, as people say, "in your face". It is also brilliant. It is not poetry, but it is, in its own unique way, poetic. And like much of the best poetry always has been, it is immersed in life. Its themes are those we all recognize: crooked police, pestering grandchildren, the morning alarm. It expresses for us what we would all like to express but do not or will not. I suppose one could call it catharsis through anti-art. And perhaps in our post-holocaust world, the most genuine art IS anti-art.

This is it, this is where poetry had to go after its many incarnations and its eventual and fateful death. Parra takes (knowingly or unwittingly) Derrida's concept of differrance and uses it to sledge hammer away his words into his `antipoems'. You'll find no Byron in his pages, or even any Cummings, not to mention any particular style per se. There's so much experimenting -and simplifying- with the word here one doesn't know what one is reading anymore... poems? random (though coherent within themselves) thoughts on paper? cooking recipes? jokes? straightforward reflections on banal life? political commentary?.. yes, all of this.

If there is anything `anti' here is anti-boredom, each `piece' jumps out of the page with offhand easiness, and pomposity is reduced to the reader's own dull lack of imagination. Parra does so much away with droll academic stodginess and allows the invigorating flow of his... expressive, often hilarious and profound, communications; for it is this in the end that comes through -to which anyone at any reading level can enjoy. There are even some `poems' done in a cool artwork-doodle style. What a stimulating and inspired work of art.

There were a few poems that didn't seem to fully blossom but the vast majority are exciting, some shockingly good. Some of the absolute best poetry I've read in years.

Georg Trakl is the greatest German poet most english readers have never heard of. Most of his best poetry dates from the period just before and during his service in the Austrian Army during the First World War and this makes him a brief contemporary of Rilke. However, while Rilke's verses are each a world of incandescent beauty and spiritual profundity, Trakl's are intimations of death, decay and expressions of a world trapped in a cycle of hell. His poems are intensely expressionistic, dark and powerful. Simko's translation is excellent; though he makes a few word choices from the German that might be open to debate, he does an excellent job of preserving the poems' structure while transmitting their power in English. My only quibble is that I would have liked it if the selection of poems was broader.

Fans of German Expressionism owe a debt of gratitude to Simko for this book. Trying to find a book from this era can be extremely difficult. Other famous authors of the period (Gottfried Benn, Georg Heym) are almost impossible to find.

The book presents both the original German text, and a very good English translation. Trakl's poetry is bittersweet, the meter almost hynoptic. The reader confronts a collage of colors and emotions in a Trakl poem.

Trakl died young, a victim of WWI. No bullet killed him, but rather he killed himself while working at a military hospital. Although his poems reveal his grief, and his despair, the reader finds himself somehow empowered by them. Out of his suffering came some of the most beautiful poems in the German language.

Trakl strolls through the dream of a child decaying under blood-red leaves. Silver waters shimmer and recieve the sky's terrible unction. In the elderbush, a wolf devours an Angel, or an Angel expires like the sigh of a golden flame falling into a mythic well whose pit is the open mouth of the man gasping as his murderer confronts him. In the knife is reflected the compassionate face of your melancholy sister, or is it a vengeful God's purple laughter? Your face goes cold as the child speaks your name.

This is a very fine book of translations. To read Georg Trakl in German, of course, is far better. His German is extroadinarily beautiful. Trakl was a magnificent poet; I would say one of my absolutely favorite poets. His techniques are marvelous. He comes from, and surpasses, the lineage of such master technicians as Edgar Allen Poe, and Charles Baudelaire. He wrote poetry as if he were composing music, modulating colors and emotional content rather than tones and harmonies. One has the sense that he was divinely inspired. His work is miraculous.

Felice Vinci
The Baltic Origins of Homer's
Epic Tales:
The Iliad, the Odyssey, and
The Migration of Myth
(Inner Traditions, Rochester, VT) 2006
xiii+370 pages
ISBN 1-59477-052-2 (pb)

Critiqued by Frederic Jueneman

As perhaps an interesting preliminary aside, Roman author Felice Vinci's original 1995 book in Italian, Omero nel Baltico ("Homer in the Baltic"), was highlighted several years ago with a précis of his study of Homer's epic Iliad and Odyssey. Originally it was met with some skepticism; but hopefully since, it has captured the notice of some attentive classical scholars, who had no preconceived notions of their own, to further the study of Homeric lore. Now, finally, the full-scale English language version is widely available for critical analysis. (A contemporaneous Russian edition has also been recently published.) And, it might be amusingly mentioned that Vinci's popularity has since risen in Scandinavia, as these peoples were given a revitalized legacy, but his esteem has proportionately declined in Greece, since he has uncharitably taken away the cherished and hoary heritage of Homer from Aegean waters and moved it en masse into the Baltic. Notwithstanding, Vinci has done his homework remarkably well, as his extensive knowledge of Homeric Greek, as well as of ancient history and literature, comes through clearly.

The Foreword to this edition is by Joscelyn Godwin of Colgate University, a scholar who might be termed a student of esotericology (study of the occult), but who wouldn't be among my first choices as a preface author. Yet, his extensive knowledge of obscure esoteric practices and cabalistic lore from around the world puts him in a somewhat unique position. Such antiquated if otherwise unorthodox lore places almost all significant mythic events near the Pole, a premise that highlights the basic hypothesis of Vinci's repositioning of Homer's epic in the north.

This reviewer's only problem--albeit a minor one--is that Vinci has opted for literal, historic names and faces on what may otherwise be universal symbolisms, if not generic mythic themes. in Homer's epics, despite the fact that extensive Achaean and Trojan genealogies are sprinkled throughout these poems. Moreover, having been involved during an early editing process, this reviewer may also seem to have a conflict of interest in writing this critique; however, to be sure, there aren't many so intimately acquainted with Vinci's effort.

It should be said about both the Iliad and Odyssey, despite their heroic premise--if the discerning student of Homer hadn't otherwise noticed it--they are essentially Travelogues par excellence. But, even more than this, the Iliad is a compendium of peoples and cultures from various ports-of-call around the Baltic world, as outlined in exquisite detail in Book 2, "Catalogue of Ships," while the Odyssey itself more fancifully outlines economic trade routes taken by these intrepid Nordic seafarers, under the rubric of Ulysses' adventures, along with the constant dangers and other vicissitudes of wind, weather, and shoals that can trouble courageous mariners.

Homer seems to have efficiently used the Trojan War as the pivotal epic theme to highlight Baltic civilization, culture, and concomitant malignant unrest during the Sub-Boreal climatic plunge in the early second millennium BC, with the resulting armed conflicts for more habitable and sustainable territories, coupled with the ongoing quest for less frigid environments. These hostilities, coupled with the encroaching freeze, inexorably contributed to the eventual disintegration of Nordic society that finally impelled both their southward and their southeastward migrations to more temperate seaport climes. And this, in turn, was perhaps exacerbated by the eruption of Thera in the Mediterranean circa 1627 BC, as determined by dendrochronology (tree-ring dating). However, apparently not everyone did leave this increasingly Frigid Zone, as hardier peoples did remain in the northern climes to eke out an existence and evoke further Nordic legends and tales. Homer's epic is perhaps the only surviving classic from that epoch, as others may well have been lost. And even here, there seems to be the ghost of two Homers, as the Iliad and Odyssey are each stylistically distinct and dissimilar, as if they were orally relayed and later penned by different authors.

The literary artifact of the quest for the affections of Helen of Troy emphasizes one aspect of their regional cultural and moral values, but on this Vinci is silent except to comment that the heroine Sita is similarly abducted from her betrothed Rama in the Hindu Ramayana.

Further, these so-called "trade routes' in the Odyssey, are both a mnemonic of those sea passages and a verbal itinerary of what would otherwise have been forgotten and hence lost by these migrants. The superlative detail in Homer's epic lyrics are therefore not merely poetic hyperbole, but arrows-in-time of Mediterranean and Anatolian, if not, according to Vinci, Aryan, heritage, as well as tangible, albeit arcane literary directions to their former locales. That they were indeed lost and forgotten, it is our present task to remember and find them once again.

Vinci's reconstruction used the Greek biographer and moralist Plutarch (46-120 AD) as his initial guide for the identification of the Homeric Isle of Calypso, Ogygia (Stóra Dímun), off the coast of Norway in the Faeroe Islands. And, that these sea route mnemonics had also been forgotten and lost is noted in the writings of the geographer Strabo (63 BC-24 AD) and earlier historian Thucydides (471-400 BC), who thought Homer was a good storyteller but a rather poor geographer, where many Homeric islands are either missing or misplaced in the Mediterranean. Vinci attempts to amend these ancient erroneous impressions, as well as those of contemporary scholarship, with what might be termed geographical, morphological, and literary archeology. The actual physical digging and future confirmation of his arguments he would leave to the field archeologists. But, he has also left a pile of detritus for the philologists and historians, as there are still many linguistic and chronological problems.

One never knows what one might find while unearthing literary relics. Fossils are where you find them, as every paleontologist will acknowledge. Some plots of ground are more fertile than others, but the trick is in finding them. Hellenic authors and their present-day progeny have looked in vain in the Aegean for the likes of Homer's "long isle" Dulichium, "sandy" Pylos, Achilles' home of Phthia, and "white-cliffed" Cranae. They never had really existed in Mediterranean waters. But, they all have place in the Scandinavian world, which is where Vinci has discovered such vestiges of literary fossils, not only in Homer but also Saxo Grammaticus and the Icelandic Eddas, and parts of the Finnish epic Kalevala, among others.

The Danish historian Saxo Grammaticus (1150-1220) recorded parallel legends in his Gesta Danorum (Danish History), which dovetail Nordic legends in many respects with the Homeric epics, where occasionally even the names look familiar. In like manner, both the poetic Elder Edda (12th century) and the Younger Edda, penned by Snorri Sturluson in the following 13th century, have such corresponding themes where Nordic gods play the analogous roles of the Homeric heroes. One wonders if Saxo and Snorri previously had read Homer, or if these were from independently homomorphic tales. In the Kalevala, Väinämöinen has a leg scar comparable to Ulysses' childhood injury; and similarly, one might compare the godlike smithys from the far north, notably Ilmarinen and Hephaestus, who fashioned armor for their respective Finnish and Achaean heroes. Moreover, such oblique references appear throughout Indo-European mythic literature, much further afield than either the Mediterranean or the Baltic.

Where Saxo outlines the history of the Danes in lower Scandinavia, principally Denmark, Homer--by way of Vinci--describes the rest of the Baltic world, although Saxo does look eastward and places the Hellespont in the Gulf of Finland, far from the Dardanelles in northwestern Turkey, which is most unlike the sea that Homer called "wide" and "boundless."

Vinci's repeated excursions into etymological concordances are fascinating, but not fully convincing at least until further evidence is forthcoming, despite his caveat that "considerations based on geography and climate are far more reliable than similarities in place-names." Nevertheless, the poetic clustering of Homeric homonyms in names and places from both the Mediterranean and the Baltic worlds frames a persuasive argument.

His occasional references to the loss of the linguistic element "v"--the digamma--from ancient pre-Homeric Greek could well be such an etymological fossil and a potential linguistic springboard for additional appraisal. (The digamma had fallen into disuse except for an Aeolian dialect.) For example, Livy records the flight of Antenor with his Eneti allies after the fall of Troy, which might account for the Etrurian founding of a Veneti seaport colony later known to us as Venice, although the recorded history of this city just dates from our own 5th century. Similarly, the missing digammate prefix in the word "Achaean" would make "Vachaean" sound like "Viking." It's unfortunate that Vinci's protracted discussion of the linguistic significance of the digamma was edited out of this edition. However, there's lots more room for further philological study, to add to what has already been done long before Vinci came on the scene.

It has also come to the attention of this reviewer that Etruscan tombs in northern Italy frequently commemorate themes from both the "Trojan War" and the "Seven Against Thebes," an otherwise unaccountable provenance unless both ancient Troy and Thebes were originally located in the north. Interestingly, to confound this puzzle further, Vinci adds, "Thebes was not an Achaean city and did not take part in the Trojan War." This makes one wonder why the Etruscans venerated such funereal encomiums if their forebears did not participate in the Achaean-Trojan conflict. Even so, Etrurian origins are thought by received wisdom to be formerly from northern regions. In addition, Vinci does identify today's quaint Finnish village of Toija near the coast in southwestern Finland as being the putative site of the mythical Ilium of Homer, far from the Anatolian site at Hissarlik on the shores of Turkey in the eastern Mediterranean that was uncovered by Heinrich Schliemann circa 1873.

In the Odyssey Homer describes an immense "flowing away" (ápsoros) current plowing silently through the ocean as Potamós Okeanós (literally "Blue River") that has all the earmarks of the Atlantic Gulf Stream, of which we presumably attribute its discovery to Benjamin Franklin circa 1770. The 8th century BC poet Hesiod had also remarked on it, which leads one to think that much of Homer has been swept aside by scholarly oversight when their attention is more-or-less rigidly confined to the Mediterranean. It also augurs for an Atlantic voyage of Ulysses to more distant and exotic ports-of-call, which may well have been as far west as Iceland, Greenland, or--heavens forfend!--the eastern seaboard of the Americas.

The vast plains of Homer's world do not reside in the rocky crags and spires of the Aegean; the terrain of the Iliad speaks of rolling hills and secluded seaports, specifically the harborage of Homeric Sparta, which otherwise is located far inland in the Mediterranean Peloponnese. Nor, for that matter, the non-Greek Homeric sources of tin, copper, iron, and particularly amber, although scattered artifacts have been found at Mycenae and other Mediterranean sites, despite similarly scattered ore sites in Anatolia, in and around the Black Sea. In the northland there are ancient copper mines in the Shetlands and tin ore in Cornwall, with immense iron deposits found in northern Sweden on the Gulf of Bothnia, and of course amber in areas rich in conifers. Magnetite from Sweden may have been the origin of ancient but crude compasses, which guided these daring ancient mariners through foggy seas across the ocean to Iceland, Greenland, and even the Americas for exploration and additional resources. Until the collapse of the warm Atlantic climatic phase prior to the second millennium, such seafaring across an oceanic expanse would certainly be possible, if not probable, during more temperate meteorological conditions.

So too, found in the far north, are prized gold and silver, which adorned the breastplates and shields fashioned by the gods for the Achaeans, perhaps along with Plato's celebrated orichalcum. Some of the world's finest gold, as well as silver, are found in Lapland in the northern extreme of Finland. Curiously, the precious orichalcum of Plato's fabulous Atlantis may turn out to be the platinum mined in the Urals. But, these minerals are less easily accessed today as they might have been during a pre-glacial Boreal phase--relatively ice free--several thousand years ago.

The climate of the northland underlies the Odyssey portrayals of "close-fitting" garments and long tunics, wrapped around "like the peel on a dry onion." And, in the Iliad, we similarly read of "thick furs" and "thick cloaks and blankets." All such descriptions are of Bronze Age clothing as found in Scandinavian burial tumuli, even as to the golden shoulder buckle worn by Ulysses to fasten his cloak.

Wind, fog, and rain also afflicted the combatants during the remarkably short season of the Achaean-Trojan skirmishes, where often one warrior could not see another. It should be said that the Iliad itself actually describes just a month-long finale of the ten-year hostilities over what appears to be an ongoing turf war, disregarding the overlay of Homer's plot theme in the quest for the satisfaction of honor and Helen's return to the court of Agamemnon. The constant references to inclement weather, and even the occasional allusions to ice and snow, all seem to denote unrelenting characteristic atmospheric conditions in the northlands. It also appears to this reviewer that the Achaeans wanted to once-and-for-all bring the economic dominance of Troy to its knees. In fact, the artifice of the "Trojan Horse," described only in the more imaginative Odyssey, may be an early description of a siege engine to breech the timbered walls of Troy.

The long winter nights of the polar climes north of the Arctic Circle do not rule out anything significant in the underlying themes of myth, where, for example, Persephone spends her half-year in the gloomy company of her husband Hades, brother of Zeus. Or, where Ulysses drifts northward with the Potamós Okeanós from the Isle of Circe to the Cimmerian land of Styx to consult with the ghost of Tiresias, the erstwhile king of Thebes. During Arctic winters we have both the light of the Moon during its periodic phases to illuminate the tundra, and the sometimes-spectacular aurora borealis as the porphyréen îrin (colored arch) spread across the heavens by Zeus for the aesthetic benefit of mortals. Nightfall in the Arctic does not mean it precludes activity, mythological or actual.

But, when the Sun's light finally begins to gradually reappear through the recurring twilights of spring, Homer speaks of "revolving dawns" that can only be observed in the far north, not in continental Europe nor the Mediterranean. Furthermore, the curious hapax legomenon of Homer--amphilyke nyx--is a linguistic fossil referring to the "dimly-lit night" during which Achaeans and Trojans fought during the day and throughout the Arctic dusk and into the following day, a phenomenon only experienced during early or late summer months in far northern climes. In another instance, King Nestor of Pylos recommended that campfires should surround each Achaean encampment; but, without any further clarification by Homer, most scholars assume that this advice was for discouraging potential Trojan infiltrators or from a surprise attack. However, according to classicist Alberto DiPippo of Univ. of Santa Clara, since there's no dark nighttime per se in far northern summers, such well-placed campfires would more realistically discourage the abominable insect infestation that usually plague such humid polar regions during the summertime.

This brief critique is but a small part of what Vinci has laid out for the reader, since we haven't even touched on what these ancients ate or drank, or did for their amusement, or even as to the ultimate migration of the Achaeans as ancestors of the Mycenaeans and later Hellenes, and who may even have been the personification of the fabled Peoples of the Sea.

And finally, to indulge in a reminiscence: While editing the first draft of this book some years ago, it was then presciently written "...this is a Homeric world that was once almost irretrievably lost, but at long last has now been found where it has always been."

Felice Vinci wrote this fascinating book in Italian in 1995 (he is a nuclear engineer and classics buff), and the book was translated into English and into Russian in 2006. The translations have led to growing interest in Vinci's work.

Vinci's main thesis is that The Illiad and the Odyssey of Homer took place in the Baltic, not the Mediterranean. Reading his book, and an excellent commentary by William Mullen of Bard College in the current issue of "Culture + Travel", makes re-reading these two old favorites a mind blowing experience.

Suspend your disbelief for a few paragraphs. Archeologists agree that invaders from the north founded the Greek Mycenaean kingdoms in the 16th century B.C.E. Linguists believe that languages from Greek to Sanskrit belong to an ancestral group called the Proto-Indo-Europeans that migrated throughout Europe before the second millennium B.C.E. Climatologists believe that 4500 years ago the planet as a whole was 4 degrees Celsius warmer, the so-called Post-Glacial Climatic Optimum.

What is not agreed is Vinci's claims that these groups "re-mapped" their new homes in the Mediterranean using the place names of the Baltic in their new homes, much as the Dutch and then the English named a certain island "New Amsterdam" and then "New York." By Mullen's count, "out of 390 place names in the Homeric epics, Vinci finds 321 northern counterparts in the text, individually and in relation to each other."

Homer often mentions snow and fog, his characters wore heavy clothes, the main battle in the "Iliad" takes place between two noons, separated by a starless "white night". Climate changes over the centuries, but were there white nights in Turkey many centuries ago?

In Vinci's approach, Troy is Toija in Finland, a town whose topography matches Homer's description precisely, including a long ridge that overlooks the plain "like an eyebrow". The Turkish name for the standard tourist destination is called "Hissarlik" -- not much like "Troy" -- and is not located on a "boundless sea" as Homer described it.

A puzzling part of the "Odyssey" is Homer's description of Atlas holding up "the great pillars that sustain Earth and Heaven." Neither the Rock of Gibraltar nor the Atlas Mountains in Africa look much like pillars. But two of the Faroe Islands, Kunoy and Kalsoy, are parallel slabs of stone, with only a narrow sea lane between them.

Home for Odysseus was Ithaca, which Homer describes as a low, flat island and the westernmost of four islands. In Greece, Ithaca is hilly and the westernmost of three islands, not four. West of Copenhagen, however, there is a low lying, rainy island, the fourth and westernmost of a small chain, fitting Athena's description: "Here is grain surpassing even a god's telling ... All kinds of woods, and watering places, the year round."

So, what's the truth? Well, we know that Homer was probably not one person but actually a series of story tellers, singing and re-telling their great tales over many centuries and in many different places. We probably will never know for sure if the tales could have taken place in the Baltic, but Vinci's theories add a wonderful gloss to both stories. Is it impossible that the invaders from the north carried both their singers and their tales south to the Mediterranean?

Read Vinci's book and then re-read Homer's two great classics with a new appreciation.


Robert C. Ross 2008

For those who have actually read and pondered the Homeric sagas, many difficulties present themselves in trying to visualize the battles, the geography and the scenery when compared to the eastern areas of the Mediterranean Sea. In this book, Felice Vinci proposes and very well defends the seemingly outrageous idea that the events described in the epics actually transpired in the Baltic Sea. He contends that these events took place at the end of a particularly warm period, and with the dropping temperatures, the actors of the Homeric dramas fled south and occupied the warmer Mediterranean. Transposing the names of their former cities to their new homes, once things settled down, the epics were put to writing.

This is a bold and exciting assertion. This book explains and defends the premise very well. I strongly encourage people to read and ponder. It is a rare thing when something this bold and of this scope can be conceived and propounded with such dignity and vigor.

Put down whatever you are reading today and get this book!

Making comparisons of climate and geography, including place names, between Homer's ancient Greek classics and the Baltic Sea coastal areas, Vinci engages in intriguing, fascinating, but also well-substantiated speculation on the bases of Homer's works. Eons ago when the epics originated, climate was warmer in the Baltic region. Though it was not as warm as it commonly is in the eastern Mediterranean lands including Greece, Vinci finds references to this one-time warmer Northern European climate in the Odyssey, for example, with its frequent mention of cooler, damper weather often forming mist. Ulysses, the main character of the Odyssey, is more like a Viking seafarer than a typical Greek sailor. Vinci even finds many references in the Baltic region to the Trojan War poetically recorded in Homer's "Iliad." The link between the Baltic region and ancient Greece is strengthened, though not confirmed, by the migrations of Northern peoples to areas of Asia Minor. As Vinci recognizes, "further archaeological corroboration" by experts in different fields would be necessary to confirm his theory. But in pursuing it, this work covers many little-known but interesting and colorful aspects of the ancient European world and also enhances appreciation of the literary style and the cultural material and sources of the works.

It is a curious fact that the geographical descriptions furnished in Homer's Iliad (the story of the siege of Troy) and Odyssey (the story of Odysseus's journey home after Troy's fall) do not easily match the assumed Mediterranean topography. Various prehistorians, historians, archeologists, and linguists have expressed their consternation about Homer's geographical details. It was Plutarch (46-120 A.D.), who in his essay "The face that appears in the lunar orb," unequivocally states that Goddess Calypso's island of Ogygia mentioned in the Odyssey was situated "five days' sail from Britain, toward the west."

Vinci, a nuclear engineer by profession and a passionate classicist by vocation, took Plutarch's statement as a serious clue to search for the geography of the Homeric epics in the North Atlantic rather than the Mediterranean. He has amassed a mountain of evidence in favor of the Baltic origins of both Greek epics. Similarities between the mythologies of the North and the Mediterranean have often been pointed out. Vinci argues that a deterioration in climate around 2000 B.C. caused some of the Scandinavian peoples to migrate south. As time went by, the epics were claimed by the Greeks for their own Mediterranean culture and environment.

What about Schliemann's Troy? Although this intrepid explorer undoubtedly discovered the Mycenean civilization, his claim to have unearthed the city of Troy has never been universally accepted. Already Strabo ( ) denied that the "ancient Ilium ( Troy)" was to be found in Anatolia. A better candidate for the Homeric Troy than the Anatolian town of Hisarlik, excavated by Schliemann, is possibly the Finnish town of Toija, as suggested by Vinci.

Vinci's audacious rewriting of Homeric culture and mythology is a creative proposition, which deserves to be further investigated. He has my full vote of confidence.

[...]

Lyn Lifshin, Before It's Light: New Poems (Black Sparrow, 1999)

Lyn Lifshin is one of those poets who just keeps getting better as she gets older. She spent years, it always seemed to me, trying to be a sort of imagist Bukowski; she outgrew that a ways back and rounded into her own style. Her work since has gained a rare and delicate power, and with every passing book, it gets more all-encompassing.

There are few words to say about Lifshin that have not already been said; I'll just let the images speak for themselves.

Now cliff swallows
nest in the mud
where the Sinaqua
lived
until water ran out

High in these white cliffs
weaving yucca and cotton
How many nights did they
listen for cougar
as they pressed the wet
rust clay
into bowls

that they walked
200 miles to trade in Phoenix
before it was time to leave
("Arizona Ruins")

Pure, simple image, with all the power vested inside, and no annoying blocks of message to dilute the power of the words. Lifshin reiterates her worth of being placed alongside Hayden Carruth, Ira Sadoff, and the rest of the modern poets who will someday make up the canon. An easy entry on this year's best-of list. **** ½

This will be your favorite book of sensual poetry on your bookshelf. Buy this book now!

Lyn Lifshin is an impressive talent whose poetry ranges from simple mood pieces to complex narrative imaging. Before It's Light: New Poems is an impressive anthology that clearly documents her as a major talent. At The Pond Early: night grass steams./Mourning doves in/the fog, a few feathers//on the lawn though no/gees for two days./Only the heron like//a slate candle, a drift/wood stick and my/17 year old cat, a//cloth mouse in her jaws muffing a shriek,/cuts the sleeve//of quiet

I love Lyn Lifshin's poetry -- I have for years and years. She's a genuine original and a true maverick. This book is special -- Lifshin at her finest. Definitely read this if you love sensual, edgy poetry.

After finishing Lifshin's latest book of poems, I felt as if I'd lived a thousand years and travelled a million miles. The gamut of human experience covered in "Before It's Light" runs from the innocence of childhood through the slings and arrows of maturity, and unveils almost everthing, divine or evil, that can possibly happen in a human life. Lifshin weaves an enchanted fabric from a stark realist's thread of narrative. A "Must Read."