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GREATEST HITS



ISBN:1-58998-123-9
TITLE:
Greatest Hits: 1981-2000 Paperback.
AUTHOR:
Carolyn Kreiter-Foronda
PRICE: $8.95

 

DESCRIPTION: This chapbook is part of a GOLD Invitational Series celebrating the award-winning poems of Carolyn Kreiter-Foronda. As both a poet and painter, the author presents twelve poems that focus on the infinite possibilities open to us when we take time to look closely at an object or experience. In the introduction, the author provides information about the genesis of each poem.

BACKCOVER: "Music lovers have purchased Greatest Hits from the music industry for decades and now Pudding House brings you hits from some of the hottest poets across the contemporary American literary landscape. The poems most often requested for reprint or performance, pieces remembered by fans and groupies. Yes, poets have groupies, too!

The poets in this series write about their lives as poets with much diversity--some realizing the whole life affects their work. Others focus on their education, teaching, and presentations. The poets have been asked to write about the lives of the poems as well. From academic poets to community and street poets, the Greatest Hits series provides their top 12 numbers from a broad range of venues and publishing histories.

This invitational celebrates poetry's place in our culture and honors the artists whose lines elevate America's poetic sensibilities. Check out the Pudding House website at www.puddinghouse.com for the latest information on this series. And watch for readings and presentations nationwide by Carolyn Kreiter-Foronda and her fellow poets featured in GOLD."
         --Jennifer Bosveld, Series Concept and Editor

 

EXCERPT:


"On Sturgeon Creek"

1993 by Carolyn Kreiter-Foronda

(The Poetry Society of Virginia's Edgar
Allan Poe Memorial Prize, 1993)

The osprey does not see me
follow its angular descent
for food: the creek's
surface breaks, gives way
to the claws' tug and pull;
the water stirs,
then stillness.

"Let nothing disturb
this peace," I think,
leaning back in the boat
to study a crude nest:
twigs, branches, gathered
year after year, sun-
dried in a skeletal tree.

Now the osprey spots me.
Turning toward the sun,
the dark shadow fills
the eastern sky
and disappears.

*

No sign of the bird
who hours ago left shore
for the woods. I tell
myself, "Be patient.
Wait."

*

Still nothing. No bird.
No strength to pedal home.
The creek's grown brackish,
and the tree tilts
the nest toward the boat.

*

The sun's going down,
and in the distance
the osprey heads
toward home. I close
my eyes, remember
standing in open
country, air thick
with the honey of day
lilies. Nineteen. I was
thinking of death, my mother's,
my own. I clasped the cross
I wore around my neck,
held onto it tightly.
I raised my head
in that field as I do
now to a different need.
"Hush," the heart says.
"The sky is lavender
and pink, and I have all
these years to praise."

 

 

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