|
|
|
|
||||||||
In her second book of poems, Peggy Sapphire again shows herself to be one of the most humane, honest, generous-hearted poets now writing, and one of the most spirited. In the End a Circle will give the rueful heart a change of mood. Although these poems show how much there is to rue in the world and although Sapphire holds back nothing in telling of it, she also writes of her joys with enormous gusto, reveling in sensual pleasures of all sorts. Always the poet’s passion for social justice and her love of others shine through, be those others children, the elderly, or loons on a midnight lake who against all odds continue to prevail. She demonstrates in this new book that she too continues to prevail. She is one who has not been undone by the pain and sorrow she has experienced; one who is incapable of bitterness; one who when faced with an ending, turns to the embracing circle of loved ones; and one who, though wise from all she has experienced, in the end circles back to the sort of unadulterated passion she felt before the fall. She becomes once more the “fisherman’s daughter / breath-taker / love-maker / barefoot again.” The gift of simplicity and directness the poet shows in the hours and days described in her poems is also evident in her writing style. These poems are a delight in their lack of clutter and pretension. There is purity here, a purity often lacking in contemporary poetry; and there is a Merwin-like spontaneity to the flow of thoughts and images. Peggy Sapphire’s virtues, both personal and poetic, have delighted all who have previewed In the End a Circle. Here is what they have to say:
“Whether considering death or lust, abuse, shame, family, love, grief or acceptance, Peggy Sapphire’s intimate, conversational poems are sassy, tender, and sexy all at once, turning a wry eye on American culture and embracing the good, bad, ugly and beautiful alike, wise in the maturity and compassion of a fully-lived life. Reading these poems is like meeting a lifelong friend for a gourmet meal and catching up. Pull up a chair, and prepare to make a new friend.” (April Ossmann, Poetry Consultant) “Set amidst cities and rural Vermont, the poetry of In the End a Circle comes to us with evocative glimpses along the arc of an engaged life—the nurturing and difficult relationships, the wounds that are endemic in living day to day, and the consoling power of memory that through its reinvention as poetry is lifted beyond the purely personal.” (Merrill Leffler, author of Partly Pandemonium, Partly Love). “Here is a musical book that comes full circle, from ‘The Merciless Truth’ (Grandpa Victor’s dictum that when we die, we’ll all certainly be out of breath) to the bittersweet ‘Hereafter’—when the beloved is gone, and home’s no longer a bearable place to be. Peggy Sapphire’s poems don’t blink when it comes to lust or love, sensuality of the body or the death of it; she keeps her eyes open, and leads us round past steamy Sundays and April moons to our own mysterious destinies.” (Meg Kearney, author of An Unkindness of Ravens) “Peggy Sapphire’s poetry engages soulfully, artfully and unflinchingly with the hard realities. ‘The heart is not a bone,’ she writes, and one feels that bittersweet wisdom in these poems that shake us up and let us down firmly but gently—wiser and gladder for having read them.” (Baron Wormser, former Poet Laureate of Maine) Peggy Sapphire has been writing since she discovered the salvation of writing, beginning with good-bye letters when her family moved often—to Costa Rica, New York City, and elsewhere. As the first-generation daughter of an immigrant, union-organizing father from the “old country” and a stalwart feminist mother from the “new,” Peggy was educated in the ways of leaving, losing and keeping secrets. She became her family’s curator, transcribing, at their request, their oral histories. Together with her own, family history is the fulcrum of her first poetry collection, A Possible Explanation, published by Partisan Press in 2006. After almost thirty years as a public school educator, Special Education counselor and adjunct college instructor, Peggy went against all legitimate financial cautions and retired fifteen years ago. Her poetry has since appeared in numerous journals including Connecticut River Review, Maryland Poetry Review, and Caduceus, and has been widely anthologized. Her short fiction has appeared in The Underwood Review, and her work has been awarded recognition in several competitions. She has served on the Board of Trustees for The Frost Place and as Editor of the Connecticut River Review. Peggy, and her husband, Robert Feinberg, designed and built their home in the Northeast Kingdom, of Vermont, two miles up a dirt road and three to the nearest country store.
|
||||||||
|
BOOK STATISTICS ISBN
978-0-9823970-4-6
|
|
PROMISES On Saturday precisely at noon Swarms of shopping crowds She’d taken the subway from home They sat together eating Then north up Fifth Avenue They sat together again and he whispered She was his oldest child who could not flee the war-front She found so many lost children |
|
ROMEO This is how he wooed me me just grabbing breakfast where on my way home from a weekend but I remember Romeo at his grill Romeo cranked his head around how’d he know I’d been staring at his back |
|
LEFT UNTOLD His runner’s legs She looks out & beyond I hold this faded black&white I am hearing his life story He tells me |
HOW TO EAT A MAILBOX Simply move Let it overflow Do what Vermonters do Take a paintbrush to it Or Fill the box with chocolates |
You come on foot You hitch rides in lurching pick-ups You sing songs You come in the hammering rains En su futura you have dreams You offer a handshake You’ve placed your faith |
SIMPLAMENTE We constituents pay your bills We constituents our footsteps We constituents We sing si se puede Justice Let it be me We constituents our heirs In dreams we are fearless sweet clean sheets of our sweat |
STEAMY SUNDAYS She’s dead now its dripping dollops No Her dining room oval whose lower East Side casements I served Aunt Ida’s porcelain and I knew
|
ALL OF US All that survives when you taught me I believed you’d wake This sea of you beyond the tides
|
WAITING FOR THE HUMMINGBIRD She has carried her miniature self She the one with innate powers of speed I can claim to have She will speed-feed on a thousand flowers Every morning she trolls She has already scoured She’s the one on auto-focus.
|
ELECTROPHORUS ELECTRICUS Watch out for electric eels Dad said All these years later he’d warn Too late I am sworn to a plumber And he is sworn to me
|
AFTERWARDS Look for me in the woods September rain solitary nights I’ll be waiting near
|