| Author: | Catherine Chandler | ISBN: | 9781927428627 |
| Publisher: | Biblioasis | Publication: | March 24, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Biblioasis | Language: | English |
| Author: | Catherine Chandler |
| ISBN: | 9781927428627 |
| Publisher: | Biblioasis |
| Publication: | March 24, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Biblioasis |
| Language: | English |
The second full-length collection from sonneteer and formalist poet Catherine Chandler, Glad and Sorry Seasons brings together new suites of poems-on grief, recovery, the deadly sins, and the virtues of faith, hope, and love-to meditate on those polarities of light and dark, joy and sorrow, that illuminate and cloud our lives by turn. With subjects ranging from Alzheimer’s to Edward Hopper’s Automat, in handsomely crafted stanzas and metres, and including translations from Québecois and Latin American poets, Glad and Sorry Seasons is a stunning and learned offering from a poet unmistakably committed to form.
Waiting
For the man in the Intensive Care Unit waiting room,
Hôpital Notre-Dame, Montréal, June 2012
Some nights I’ve seen
a slice of silver slink across this room
I now call home,
above my makeshift bed-a rickety chair
beside the snack machine.
Close by, the elevators whirr and beep.
I cannot, dare not, drift asleep,
let down my guard,
inviting shoulder taps, a whispered Sir,
or dreams of her
once-vivid eyes that stare & stare & stare,
dull, distant, hard.
Thus I will will her through another day.
Make crazy compromises. Pray.
The second full-length collection from sonneteer and formalist poet Catherine Chandler, Glad and Sorry Seasons brings together new suites of poems-on grief, recovery, the deadly sins, and the virtues of faith, hope, and love-to meditate on those polarities of light and dark, joy and sorrow, that illuminate and cloud our lives by turn. With subjects ranging from Alzheimer’s to Edward Hopper’s Automat, in handsomely crafted stanzas and metres, and including translations from Québecois and Latin American poets, Glad and Sorry Seasons is a stunning and learned offering from a poet unmistakably committed to form.
Waiting
For the man in the Intensive Care Unit waiting room,
Hôpital Notre-Dame, Montréal, June 2012
Some nights I’ve seen
a slice of silver slink across this room
I now call home,
above my makeshift bed-a rickety chair
beside the snack machine.
Close by, the elevators whirr and beep.
I cannot, dare not, drift asleep,
let down my guard,
inviting shoulder taps, a whispered Sir,
or dreams of her
once-vivid eyes that stare & stare & stare,
dull, distant, hard.
Thus I will will her through another day.
Make crazy compromises. Pray.
