Items related to Raw Silk: Poems
A deeply moving collection from a poet who crosses borders
New York City poet Meena Alexander was born in Allahabad, India and divided her childhood between India and the Sudan. From her cross-cultural perspective, Alexander writes with moving intensity of post-September 11 events as she evokes violence and civil strife, love, despair, and a hard-won hope. This autobiographical cycle of poems reflects the surrealism of such a life, and is shot through with the frissons of pleasure and pain, of beauty and tension, that mark a truly global identity.
New York City poet Meena Alexander was born in Allahabad, India and divided her childhood between India and the Sudan. From her cross-cultural perspective, Alexander writes with moving intensity of post-September 11 events as she evokes violence and civil strife, love, despair, and a hard-won hope. This autobiographical cycle of poems reflects the surrealism of such a life, and is shot through with the frissons of pleasure and pain, of beauty and tension, that mark a truly global identity.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Meena Alexander, distinguished professor of English at Hunter College and the Graduate Center of the City University of New York, is the author of several books of poetry, most recently Illiterate Heart (Northwestern, 2002), winner of a 2002 PEN Open Book Award. Her memoir Fault Lines (Feminist Press, 1993) was one of Publishers Weekly's best books of 1993, and her novel Nampally Road (Mercury House, 1991) was a 1991 Voice Literary Supplement Editor's Choice.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Central Park, Carousel
June already, it's your birth month,
nine months since the towers fell.
I set olive twigs in my hair
Torn from a tree in Central Park,
I ride a painted horse, its mane a sullen wonder.
You are behind me on a lilting mare.
You whisper-What of happiness?
Dukham, Federico. Smoke fills my eyes.
Young, I was raised to a sorrow song
short fires and stubble on a monsoon coast.
The leaves in your cap are very green.
The eyes of your mare never close.
Somewhere you wrote: Despedida,
If I die leave the balcony open!
June already, it's your birth month,
nine months since the towers fell.
I set olive twigs in my hair
Torn from a tree in Central Park,
I ride a painted horse, its mane a sullen wonder.
You are behind me on a lilting mare.
You whisper-What of happiness?
Dukham, Federico. Smoke fills my eyes.
Young, I was raised to a sorrow song
short fires and stubble on a monsoon coast.
The leaves in your cap are very green.
The eyes of your mare never close.
Somewhere you wrote: Despedida,
If I die leave the balcony open!
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherTriQuarterly
- Publication date2004
- ISBN 10 0810151561
- ISBN 13 9780810151567
- BindingHardcover
- Edition number1
- Number of pages112
- Rating
(No Available Copies)
Search Books: Create a WantIf you know the book but cannot find it on AbeBooks, we can automatically search for it on your behalf as new inventory is added. If it is added to AbeBooks by one of our member booksellers, we will notify you!
Create a Want