Publisher's Synopsis
On the heels of his hibernal omnibus reader "January: Recollection in a Winter Month" Jon Obermeyer is back with a similar second month line-up of fourteen poems, ten essays ("essays are assays" we learn), three short stories, plus a new feature: 14 stunning color photographs from the author's pre-pandemic travels. Focusing on the month of February, a specific time of ritual in Roman Culture, Obermeyer traverses a mid-winter landscape of keen observation and consideration of our living world, and eventual death. The poem "Deathbed," inspired by a Robinson Jeffers poem, is actually a playful and invigorating call to life. In the February-themed short story "A Change of Heart," two siblings replay the scripts of their dysfunctional childhood during a comically dysfunctional Valentine's Day dinner, with a quirky third wheel (the brother-in-law) serving up all manner of surprises. From the Introduction: Salvation in a Short MonthThe Second-Month SprintTwenty-eight days, most years. Four weeks. February is like running the 880-yard distance event in track and field. There is no setting a steady pace like the mile, followed by a desperate "kick" at the end. February is an all-out sprint, from the Super Bowl near the beginning of the month, to what, the idea of March? The problem with February is there is no defining event to end it, like Memorial Day weekend in May or New Year's to conclude December. I would even contend that Labor Day caps off August, and July 4th weekend puts an end to June.If not for Valentine's Day, February is a forgettable month. Sorry, Aquarians and Pisceans. Spelt Check Our word February comes from the Latin februum (purification) and februa, the rites and tools used for purification. The Roman-era februa included spelt (hulled wheat) and salt for house cleaning, leaves worn by temple priests, and strips of goat skin used during the festival of the Lupercalia, held on February 15.February's purification ritual is very northern-hemisphere-centric, as we prepare for the spring season. February in the southern hemisphere means those long summer days at Bondi Beach are just about over.Edward R. Burrow The days grow longer. 1099's arrive in the mail. The rainy season ends. Pitchers and catchers report.The writer sees his shadow and goes back to his burrow for six more weeks. Social events, even during a pandemic, are few. Laying low is sanctioned. The writer hibernates, contemplating the accoutrements in his cave.There is quite a bit of navel gazing. It's a good time for nurturing my narcissism. The fiction, and the poems, are autobiographical. Yet some inspired work may sneak through during the February sprint, the ego distracted, looking at direct flights from LAX to Lihue. Luckily, I had something to chew on. I was still working through a crash-and-burn relationship from the previous summer. The gal was still in touch, intermittently. Divers had just located the black box in the wreckage.I wrote two poems about her.I wrote a poem ("West") about my big move west in 2019, and how I have been uncovering new parts of California in the 18 months ("Homecoming"), places like Brentwood and Benicia, exploring Contra Costa County instead of Marin.I had a 59-year-old college friend die in a diving accident at the end of January. Six of us held a Zoom memorial, which inspired the excellent poem "Deathbed." In this lull, I was reminded that I take decent photographs with my iPhone. I decided to use this hiatus month and experiment with some photography, and the color interior feature for Amazon books. I hope you enjoy the result.February 28Berkeley, CA
