Items related to Straight out of view: Poems by Joyce Sutphen
Synopsis
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Review
After Visiting The Oracle
Against Decay
Announcing Augie
Augie And The Pentecostals
Augie Keeps Godot Waiting
Augie On The North Shore
Augie, Walking In January
The Beginnings Of Philosophy
Burning The Woods Of My Childhood
Canyon
Civil Defense
Coil And Halt
Crossroads
Death Becomes Me
Double Exposure
Dreaming You Out Of Honduras
Edgar's Dream
Elegy
Evening Angelus
The Famous Poet's Grave
The Farm
Feeding The New Calf
Fishing New York
From Out The Cave
Grand Canyon, Early December
Great Salt Lake
Holland Park At Dusk
Home To The Late Late Movie
Household Muse
How The Puritans Took London
In Black
In Praise Of Unlovely Voices
In Quest Of Agates
In The Distant Dark
A Kind Of Deliverance
Last Duet
Living In The Body
Lottery 1969
Lunar Landing
Momento Mori
Mr. Muse
My Father Comes To The City
Near The British Museum
Not Quite Born Again
Of Thee, I Cannot Sing
The Old Extreme
Out Of Orbit
The Plaza
Please Follow These Instructions
Potato Meditation
Prayer For
Reading Sylvia Plath In London
Refugee Dream
Riding East To Dover
Rural Route 2
Self-defense
Solitaire
Somewhere, Close To Dover Beach
St. Joe, The Angelus
Straight Out Of View
Suppose Death Comes Like This
Tapping The Lid
Tornado Warning
Waiting For You
Ways Of Passing
What You Wanted
Work
-- Table of Poems from Poem Finder®
From Library Journal
Moving away from the urban subject matter it has favored in the past, Barnard has awarded this year's New Women Poets prize to the work of an older poet from the rural Midwest who writes about her father's farm, unpeopled nature, and occasional sojourns into such foreign territories as London and the Grand Canyon. Sutphen has a talent for scenic description; about the Great Salt Lake, she writes: "Plagues of midges sweep the salt-white beach;/coppered snakes swirl in the silken lake./Still we go in." She does as well with suburbia: "each house with/its drapes parted slightly, wafer of lamplight/caught on bare walls... the/refrigerators are opening, letting out the cold."' Unfortunately, some of the poems are marred by a rambling self-consciousness that substitutes for self-awareness: "I hoped they would remember me, my notebook/and cappuccino, how I sat for hours watching/the children feed pigeons, indulgent in/this life across the globe." Very much a first collection, but vivid and readable.?Ellen Kaufman, Dewey Ballantine Law Lib., New York
Copyright 1995 Reed Business Information, Inc.
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