Publisher's Synopsis
How does a love poet fall out of her marriage and back in love with the world? What happens when you grow up to be the kind of person who
"? These fairytales are for the heartbreakers as much as the heartbroken, for those smitten with wanderlust, for those who believe in loving this world through art.
A singular flow of bewildered brilliance, Emily Carr's swiftly flowing sequence of love poemsdivorce poems, reallyengages the very real problem of falling out of love because (admit it!) you never think you will. No matter how many times it's happened before. Imagine it: not limiting love to the erotic but embracing endeavor, struggle, social change, and political action. Love as consciousness, inventiveness, and intention. In a world that hurts as much as it holds.
Carr's swell of gorgeous psychedelia is presented in a lavish book-object befitting the work's interconnected, page-defying sweep of line upon line:
between her thighs, the buffalo holding sky.
saucers of mountain sway. deities spill, shining & suffering
not forgetting we can't everwhose fury sings like eagles
skeletons unlean from fruit trees, falling
like white gunsmoke, we want/ to be here. listen.
the wind has blown all the birds from our hair.
A singular flow of bewildered brilliance, Emily Carr's swiftly flowing sequence of love poemsdivorce poems, reallyengages the very real problem of falling out of love because (admit it!) you never think you will. No matter how many times it's happened before. Imagine it: not limiting love to the erotic but embracing endeavor, struggle, social change, and political action. Love as consciousness, inventiveness, and intention. In a world that hurts as much as it holds.
Carr's swell of gorgeous psychedelia is presented in a lavish book-object befitting the work's interconnected, page-defying sweep of line upon line:
between her thighs, the buffalo holding sky.
saucers of mountain sway. deities spill, shining & suffering
not forgetting we can't everwhose fury sings like eagles
skeletons unlean from fruit trees, falling
like white gunsmoke, we want/ to be here. listen.
the wind has blown all the birds from our hair.
