D eric parkison (2 risultati)

Paperback. Condizione: Good. THE AUTHENTIC EDITION OF THIS BOOK CARRIES AN MSRP OF $16 AND IS AVAILABLE WITH AMAZON PRIME. TO ENSURE THE PROTECTION OF AUTHOR COPYRIGHT, PLEASE BE CERTAIN YOU ARE SELECTING THIS EDITION OF THE BOOK.Attentive as hell, Eric Parkison's poems with their crunchy, original music of consonant and vowel, show us a vivid reality. Here, in convincing detail, is country life: the natural world and human ways of dealing with it: the wood stove with its cleanout panel; the harshly efficient cider press and its hard-won sweetness; an unforgettable hand-cranked machine for sorting the grades and sizes of potatoes. A genuine poetry-the real thing-makes this unsentimental world of work, ruination and survival into a leaping-goat celebration of clarity. -Robert PinskyEric Parkison's No Arcadia takes conscious aim at the world of pastoralism and harmony with nature, offering instead a vision of a shorn landscape that is true to post-industrial America, a landscape populated by poisonous hogweed, polluted creeks and junked cars. This chapbook acknowledges the ugliness of such a world: there's no way to master such a broken thing, one poem says, while another realizes, The people before us / Knew not to want more than you can have, and a third concludes, Our luck is a dear thing.And yet, like the apple sugar tasted by an ex-Marine during cider-making, there is much sweetness, too, in these keenly observed poems. One of them is entitled Asymptote, after a figure in analytic geometry: and here, indeed, the curve of feeling approaches but never quite touches the straight line of reality. This not-quite-touching is the saving grace of a collection in which feeling and reality are held in an infinite relationship. You try now to love those things, Parkison says, that waste can only slowly undo.-Karl KirchweyArcadia: Pan was born there; & it was harmonious in myth, unspoiled. As promised, this book is not those things, not harmony (but music, threadbare metric), not freshness (but bad-breathing life). It has its own reverse-Pan presiding, middle-class rural distance, hopelessness, rot & the trees that make it through. So: we know this place. But we've not had a mind like Parkison's bend attention to it, driven by self-doubt into a far, far corner of hurt to plant the germ and wait, sun or no. To write this way requires a certain constitution-one might say honor. And what is precious? he wonders. Not years.-Joseph Spece.…

Paperback. Condizione: Good. THE AUTHENTIC EDITION OF THIS BOOK CARRIES AN MSRP OF $16 AND IS AVAILABLE WITH AMAZON PRIME. TO ENSURE THE PROTECTION OF AUTHOR COPYRIGHT, PLEASE BE CERTAIN YOU ARE SELECTING THIS EDITION OF THE BOOK.Attentive as hell, Eric Parkison's poems with their crunchy, original music of consonant and vowel, show us a vivid reality. Here, in convincing detail, is country life: the natural world and human ways of dealing with it: the wood stove with its cleanout panel; the harshly efficient cider press and its hard-won sweetness; an unforgettable hand-cranked machine for sorting the grades and sizes of potatoes. A genuine poetry-the real thing-makes this unsentimental world of work, ruination and survival into a leaping-goat celebration of clarity. -Robert PinskyEric Parkison's No Arcadia takes conscious aim at the world of pastoralism and harmony with nature, offering instead a vision of a shorn landscape that is true to post-industrial America, a landscape populated by poisonous hogweed, polluted creeks and junked cars. This chapbook acknowledges the ugliness of such a world: there's no way to master such a broken thing, one poem says, while another realizes, The people before us / Knew not to want more than you can have, and a third concludes, Our luck is a dear thing.And yet, like the apple sugar tasted by an ex-Marine during cider-making, there is much sweetness, too, in these keenly observed poems. One of them is entitled Asymptote, after a figure in analytic geometry: and here, indeed, the curve of feeling approaches but never quite touches the straight line of reality. This not-quite-touching is the saving grace of a collection in which feeling and reality are held in an infinite relationship. You try now to love those things, Parkison says, that waste can only slowly undo.-Karl KirchweyArcadia: Pan was born there; & it was harmonious in myth, unspoiled. As promised, this book is not those things, not harmony (but music, threadbare metric), not freshness (but bad-breathing life). It has its own reverse-Pan presiding, middle-class rural distance, hopelessness, rot & the trees that make it through. So: we know this place. But we've not had a mind like Parkison's bend attention to it, driven by self-doubt into a far, far corner of hurt to plant the germ and wait, sun or no. To write this way requires a certain constitution-one might say honor. And what is precious? he wonders. Not years.-Joseph Spece.…