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David Clewell's graceful, honest lines accumulate and remind us that poems can be as tangible, as substantial, as redemptive as those things the poet will not let go unspoken in the world. His compassionate witness is born out of immersion in doggedly bittersweet particulars: the cockeyed wisdom of 1950s science fiction movies; Do Not Disturb signs; vegetarian physics; the perils of bed-and-breakfast lodging; flying saucer disciples; what to do in case of Rapture; Debbie Fuller, reluctant childhood angel; the theory and practice of Spontaneous Human Combustion. His passionate transformation of that raw data into song--no matter how fragile or raucous--provides irrefutable testimony about the consequences of being nothing less than human, where "every day someone crawls out of his ocean of sleep / and takes those first tottering steps on the planet again, / he's playing with real fire." And with Clewell's insistence on the unlikely grace in that condition, along with the generosity of his unabashed inclusiveness, his poetry is a powerful antidote to the bad medicine we're too often asked to swallow. This is a book of sustenance, of fresh assurances that come to us--ready or not--out of the blue of this spirited poet's most engaging work yet.… (más)
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
On nearly every radio at night there is some off-the-wall talk show to be found, with zany chatter and beyond-the-fringe commentary. The kind of talk one never finds by day. Callers' voices become slurred after 3 AM, their contentions more baroque. --John Bowers, "In the Land of Nyx"
Dedicatoria
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
for Patricia, co-conspirator in these matters: all my crackpot love
Primeras palabras
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
The first time I woke up as a kid screaming out of a dream, I really thought it was all over, the little I knew of my life.
Citas
Últimas palabras
Información procedente del conocimiento común inglés.Edita para encontrar en tu idioma.
Now that those Starlight nights are behind us, when anything forgettable couldn't possibly hurt us beyond belief, and those hours we wasted hoping for once we'd get lucky during "The Day the Earth Stood Still" meant nothing to us, with all the time in the world.
David Clewell's graceful, honest lines accumulate and remind us that poems can be as tangible, as substantial, as redemptive as those things the poet will not let go unspoken in the world. His compassionate witness is born out of immersion in doggedly bittersweet particulars: the cockeyed wisdom of 1950s science fiction movies; Do Not Disturb signs; vegetarian physics; the perils of bed-and-breakfast lodging; flying saucer disciples; what to do in case of Rapture; Debbie Fuller, reluctant childhood angel; the theory and practice of Spontaneous Human Combustion. His passionate transformation of that raw data into song--no matter how fragile or raucous--provides irrefutable testimony about the consequences of being nothing less than human, where "every day someone crawls out of his ocean of sleep / and takes those first tottering steps on the planet again, / he's playing with real fire." And with Clewell's insistence on the unlikely grace in that condition, along with the generosity of his unabashed inclusiveness, his poetry is a powerful antidote to the bad medicine we're too often asked to swallow. This is a book of sustenance, of fresh assurances that come to us--ready or not--out of the blue of this spirited poet's most engaging work yet.