This is a short collection of poems by one of America's fine and widely published poets. It describes her close connection to nature and the land, her love of her animals, her relationship with the Tibetan Buddhists who live and work with her. She brilliantly and honestly tells of love and tragedy, of great gain and great loss.
|Publisher:||Pleasure Boat Studio: A Literary Press|
|Product dimensions:||5.80(w) x 8.80(h) x 0.20(d)|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
A TIBETAN MAN IN HAWLEY, MASSACHUSETTS
Just one step off the edge into the deep
wrong place and a shoe pulls off, is lost.
Amidst twigs, leaves, mosses and stones, this shoe
cannot be found by eyes or strong hands.
Even digging into the exact place the shoe exited its foot,
farther down than the shoe could have delved,
there’s no black shoe! What now?
The man stands in thick dry grasses at road’s edge
and decides on the one thing children in his village
were taught to do. Slipping off
his other shoe he flings it over to where the first black shoe
must have gone. How long should he wait
for one shoe to find the other? It’s August,
too hot to stand for long without flies catching in his hair.
The shoes have tongues; they should call to one another.
It’s hot, but the man from Tibet will pace this roadside ditch
waiting for his shoes to rise out of the shadows.
Table of ContentsCONTENTS
Tansy Wormwood Sage
A Tibetan Man in Hawley, Massachusetts
A Haze on the Hills
From Which Direction
What Marriage Means to Me Today
A Small Window
Page by Page
My Grandmother Told Me
Why I Read
Bringing Back the Farm
The Lullaby We Never Sang
And Yet, Some Days Feel Different
The Refuse Garden
The Stupa that Lobsang Built
The Ghost Farm
What People are Saying About This
Pamela Stewart casts her spell in these sharply seen, sometimes dreamlike poems inhabited by worlds of worms, birds, mosses, and stones where “shoes have tongues and rise,” one tastes “an eighth-note of smoke,” and “dogs run silently through dry grass.” Dangers of fire, sickness, war erupt but the poet acknowledges song, and the “mucking out,” the “sorting of fleece” in the seasonal pull of farm life. Nature’s return of “grief with its scrabble of hope at the root” is given its due. This is a luminous book exactly and generously orchestrated. I salute it.--(Colette Inez, poet (with nine books and several other awards))
It's wonderful to have new poems by Jody Stewart, deeply internal and intensely lyrical, while at the same time stitched with the thread of myth, story-telling and country lore. These are sensuous, wise, and consoling poems. --(Tony Hoagland)