By Robyn Schiff
A new e-book from a poet whose paintings is "wild with mind's eye, unafraid, formidable, inventive" (Jorie Graham)
Located in a menacing, gothic panorama, the poems that contain A lady of Property draw formal and resourceful obstacles opposed to boundless mortal probability, yet as all borders are susceptible, this ominous assortment eventually phases an pressing and deeply imperiled boundary dispute the place haunting, phantasm, the presence of the prior, and disembodied voices purely extra unsettle questions of fabric and religious ownership. it is a theatrical publication of dilapidated homes and overgrown gardens, of passageways and thresholds, edges, prosceniums, unearthings, and root platforms. The volatile estate strains the following rove from heaven to hell, troubling share and provoking propriety within the identify of unfathomable propagation. Are the entire gates during this e-book folly? Are the partitions too simply scaled to carry whatever again or impose self-confinement? What won't a poem do to get to the opposite facet?
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Extra resources for A Woman of Property (Penguin Poets)
Permit it move, hums the blue mild of the soul in flight. In right orientation with Polaris, the large Fucking Dipper sifts for a few factor of price. A DOE doesn't exchange IPHIGENIA at the SACRIFICIAL ALTAR there has been a necessity to be vulnerable and that i met it. I seemed within the confusion among power and quit, as though out of nowhere, that’s the appearance. i used to be reared ruminating in a thicket of sorrow with a stunning string of drool placing out the facet of my mom like a unfastened phosphorescent tether. How will i do know what to do, I questioned. nobody does, my mouth stated. Don’t contact me. i need to face, for as soon as, at the mattress and turn the activate the fan that reverses the path of the blades myself whereas the fan is relocating. it's a small change, and i've a small hand from which a mere wind is swinging in the opposite path now. i think like a beast in a clearing, yet i'm a lady in heaven. I handed out because the wind picked up and within the bay because the tide got here in, what a blow to mankind, an automated wind to warfare, towards warfare, untoward towards conflict took my breath away with it. AMERITHRAX The natural spores of anthrax pass ahead soilborne from the anthrax- useless, disturbed, vengeful, engineered, typical, returning good rested, dormant time laptop reactivated, what say you of eternity that doesn’t predicament insufferable turning as opposed to insufferable closing, you still-there, the place length and stasis meet within the carcass, microscopic-zombie- boarding-the-envelope-again, have I replaced? i don't imagine i've got. Have I replaced? Neither the damned nor the blessed are acknowledged to believe time’s passage, yet whatever, name it time, felt me whereas i used to be washing dishes as soon as, and while I jumped, the glass I dropped burst right into a shimmer of grit that lit the dustpan as I swept it up: the iridescence in soil, the mica and infinitesimal crystal, is joined by means of glass shattered in worry and insistence that that anything differently recordless is the following during this sieve. And at the present time, two decades later, my child Sacha pointing “baby” “baby” “baby” into each darkish nook makes me think this condo of ours is infested with the child lifeless babies experience with their indiscriminate eyes which are as familiar with no longer as to is, and which I accessed as soon as through getting to a shadow solid during the unique entrance window low at the lounge wall that water seemed to be pouring via and should have been the sweep of a few moment hand whose anatomy is water, water, the foundation of all lifestyles and which had until eventually this aspect been imperceptible to me inside of me, liquid in ambient stipulations pass we; now not a shadow, no, I observed that day, yet an effulgence. It was once gorgeous. No it was once now not attractive, it strikes me nonetheless. Hand that isn't a hand, whose circulate is the traditional for quartz, please carry nonetheless, and it used to be long gone to me. you recognize the Unicorn tapestries on the Cloisters? I examine their recovery in what's referred to as a “wet lab”; no home windows after all, an immense white tiled tub like what i'd erect on the holy gates to autoclave that grin off the mouth of the micro organism that’s consuming us alive.