Season of Deep Meadows

by Yvette Nelson, Lisa Lehar (Photographer)

Overview

Where I come from, the earth means everything.” So said Georgia O’Keefe, whose canvases were large with “earth” in the American Southwest and elsewhere.

This slender collection of poems offers for your consideration the sweet and bitter of raven, rattler, and chickpea-sized spider. It sets forth the singular moon; all things human and other flourishing under the sun on the greenly earth that is everything.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940015869675
Publisher:	Keim enterprises
Publication date:	11/10/2012
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
File size:	58 KB

About the Author

Yvette Nelson's collection, We'll Come When It Rains, won the 1982 Minnesota Voices Project for emerging writers, and the anthology also published by New Rivers Press, The Talking of Hands. Her second collection, Once a World, was the first single-author title published by the Laurel Poetry Collective. Her poems also appeared in four anthologies published by the Collective--A New Name for the Sun; Pulling for Good News; Bluefire; and Ignited. Individual poems also appeared in Water-Stone Review (Hamline University, St. Paul, Minnesota).

After a career as teacher and free-lance editor, Nelson is retired and lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota within reach of the prairie, which is also home.

Editorial Reviews

on We'll Come When It Rains:

"...the things we thought we knew...are imagined with such fierce vividness, such a richness of particulars, that they seem almost exotic." Lon Otto, poet, short-story writer, professor, judge of New Rivers Competition (1982), University of St. Thomas, St, Paul, Minn.

New Rivers Competition

"Yvette Nelson's We'll Come When It Rains... shows a great versatility in the use of forms, as well as an obvious familiarity with her material, which is prairie life.

Library Journal, December 15, 1983

Nelson's poem ["Still Life", Water-Stone Review] has the blunt force of a haiku; the connection between the opening image and the closing lines begins to hit us as the poem ends.

Literary Magazine Review