 |
Snowbird by Iris Litt 30 pages 25 poems ISBN: 978-1-63534-086-0 Price: $14.99 Publisher: Finishing Line Press To Order: https://finishinglinepress.com/product_info.php?products_id=2699 ADVANCE PRAISE: Iris Litt writes poems filled with the big and busy heart of life. She's a skilled observer, confidently narrating the most ordinary moments into beautifully layered, musical occasions. In Snowbird, she's turned her capable lens on the annual rite of wintering in Florida: poems dip a toe into a sea of love, loss, grief, joy. Fronded with a shimmering sense of place, deftly peppered with the daily conundrums and stuff of daily life, these feel like the culmination of a great intelligence who took herself for a gorgeous, fruitful swim. This is a collection to be picked up and read and read again, like a good friend you can always count on to surprise you in the best ways, which makes perfect sense. Smart, heartfelt, musical, witty, Litt is a pleasure to read. ‐Jana Martin, fiction and non-fiction author The simple beauty of persistence flows through Iris Litt's poetry. Nature becomes for her both in the sun of the South and the snow of the North a nourishing phenomenon. Bayous, river streams, the cold mountain facing her home, and even the splintering wood floor and unpicked-up garbage provide a gratitude for life. Her book is a lyric testament to the salvation of little things. ‐Martin Tucker, poet and literary critic These poems carry us, easily, eloquently, wisely, to and from the high mountains to the sandy shores. Ms. Litt has written a beautiful book of poems filled with the spirit of place and the ways it affects us. ‐Phillip X Levine, president of the Woodstock Poetry Society ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Iris Litt is the author of two previous books of poems, What I wanted to Say and Word Love. Her North is the Catskill Mountains and her South is Anna Maria Island, Florida, in the Gulf of Mexico. FROM THE BOOK: The River Remembers (After Hurricane Sandy) by Iris Litt I remember my girth my enormous freedom the bare feet along my shore and when that trail became Greenwich Street and the settlement Greenwich Village and the feet wore boots and the ones who wore boots dumped everything into me and named it landfill though it should have been riverfill and on it, on me, they built their red brick rowhouses I scrunched my broad shoulders shrugged it off you might say and stayed within my banks. Now they're saying that I flooded wherever there was landfill. Yes, I did. When the hurricane came I made my move, moved instantly back into my domain, took back what was mine. Let them think that the river forgets. I'll do it again but I mean no harm. I am only reclaiming my own.
|
