THIS BLOG IS NO LONGER OPERATIONAL. PLEASE ENJOY WHAT IS HERE, AND DO LEAVE A COMMENT IF YOU WISH. NORTH CAROLINA'S NEW POET LAUREATE IS CATHY SMITH BOWERS. SHE WILL SOON HAVE HER OWN WEBSITE THROUGH THE NORTH CAROLINA ARTS COUNCIL SITE. I WILL BE SHIFTING MY ATTENTION TO HERE, WHERE I AM, (SEE SIDEBAR)USING IT TO DRAW ATTENTION TO WRITERS WHOSE WORK DESERVES ATTENTION. I INVITE YOU TO VISIT ME THERE. For a video of the installation ceremony, please go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xAk6fOzaNE.
Go to http://www.yourdailypoem.com/, managed with finesse by Jayne Jaudon Ferrer, who says, "Our intent is to make visitors to Your Daily Poem aware of the joy and diversity of poetry."
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
A Necklace of Bees, by Dannye Romine Powell
University of Arkansas Press 5 1/2 x 8 1/2, 100 pages $16.00 paper ISBN 978-1-55728-879-0 | 1-55728-879-8
Before the standard Press Biography of Dannye, let me add that she has been one of the guiding lights of Southern Literature for many years. That she is also a writer of stunning poems makes her well-nigh indispensble. She has enriched my life with her energy, her humor, and her flair. I might also say that I envy her shawls! Every poet should have a Dannye shawl, even the guys! KSB
________________________ Dannye Romine Powell is the author of two books of poetry, At Every Wedding Someone Stays Home and The Ecstasy of Regret, both published by the University of Arkansas Press, and Parting the Curtains: Interviews with Southern Writers. The Ecstasy of Regret won the Brockman-Campbell Award and the Oscar Arnold Young Award and was a finalist for the Southeastern Booksellers Association Poetry Award. Powell writes on life in Charlotte and the Carolinas for the local section of the Charlotte Observer. She was the newspaper's book review editor for nearly twenty years.
When He Told Her
and she knew from the beginning he must one day tell her, she thought of that banyan tree -- he would remember the one -- and how over the long years it had fastened itself to the earth and the earth beneath the earth, its long roots once suspended in air now anchoring an orphanage of limbs, the leaves beneath the leaves marshaling the dark, as if to say, Come, I will hold you, you and your tears, so dense was its shade, so bold the branches, so ferociously attached.
You Can’t Write Off the Dead
A friend wrote me off once, as did a cousin, and I was as good as dead to them but infinitely better because I kept my distance. The dead don’t. They’re invasive, like those scilla I’m still digging out of my garden, wheeling the clumps across the street onto city property, where they’ll bloom their blue heads off long after I‘m gone. The dead won’t go across the street. They hate city property. True, you no longer have to trim their thick toenails or yank the stiff hair that grows straight out of the chin. But you remember how you lofted the tweezers to the brazen light, triumphant, while the stunned air radiated pain.
Please click on the following poems to increase their size. Sorry about that.
I've lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina since 1968, though I'm a native of SW Georgia. My paternal grandmother was born in the Blue Ridge, and I grew up wanting to live here. Where I am.
I've published five collections of poetry, the most recent 4 being with LSU Press, and have published poetry in magazines ranging from The Atlantic Monthly to Appalachian Heritage. But I also hike, bang pots and pans around in my kitchen, and love several dogs who leave fur all over my carpets. I write poetry because it's my way of singing back to the world both within and without.