Tag Archives: nature poetry

Simple Pleasures: My Review of the New Elizabeth Gauffreau Poetry Collection

 

What a pleasure to open Elizabeth Gauffreau’s new book, Simple Pleasures: Haiku from the Place Just Right. Every page features a beautiful nature photo with an accompanying haiku. Combining poem with image creates a new art genre, one where each component gives more meaning to the other.

The first page displays a peaceful dirt road surrounded by evergreens. The poet invites the reader to accompany her on this trip through the natural beauty of the northeastern United States:

dirt road adventure

washboard, slapping branches, ruts

GPS turned off

I love that the GPS is turned off so that instead of following technology, we—poet and reader—are opening ourselves to the adventure.

Gauffreau directs us to majestic vistas, but she also points out the small or almost unnoticeable, such as a dappled woods image where you must look carefully or be directed by the poem:

new-growth pines, maples

farmer’s forgotten stone wall

a forest reclaimed

I learned things from the poems, which should not be surprising as Gauffreau seems so at home in the region.

stand of white birches

roots entwined canopy shared

indigenous trees

I hadn’t thought of birches as being Indigenous, so that was a bit of defamiliarizing the familiar, I suppose, as it made me take note. And it reminded me of the Robert Frost (another New England poet) poem, “Birches.”

The book is organized by the seasons of the year and makes a full cycle of the beauty of the area. Simple Pleasures: Haiku from the Place Just Right makes a gorgeous addition to my collection of Elizabeth Gauffreau books, Telling Sonny and Grief Songs. Heads up, though, I would recommend purchasing the paperback version because you will want to flip open the book often.

###

 Author Biography

Elizabeth Gauffreau writes fiction and poetry with a strong connection to family and place. Her work has been widely published in literary magazines, as well as several themed anthologies. Her short story “Henrietta’s Saving Grace” was awarded the 2022 Ben Nyberg  prize for fiction by Choeofpleirn Press.

She has published a novel, Telling Sonny, and a collection of photopoetry, Grief Songs: Poems of Love & Remembrance. She is currently working on a novel, The Weight of Snow and Regret, based on the closing of the last poor farm in Vermont in 1968.

Liz’s professional background is in nontraditional higher education, including academic advising, classroom and online teaching, curriculum development, and program administration. She received the Granite State College Distinguished Faculty Award for Excellence in Teaching in 2018. Liz lives in Nottingham, New Hampshire with her husband. Find her online at https://lizgauffreau.com.

Book2Read Purchase Link: https://books2read.com/SimplePleasures

Print & Fixed EPUB for tablets and Kindle Fire

BookFunnel PDF Purchase Link: https://buy.bookfunnel.com/gef1ili6qd

For any device.

Blog Tour Host Links: https://lizgauffreau.com/simple-pleasures-blog-tour-links/

31 Comments

Filed under #bloggingcommunity, #poetrycommunity, #thesealeychallenge, Book Review, Poetry, Poetry book, Poetry Collection, Syllabic Poetry

Thank you to Dawn Pisturino for Her Review of Poetry Treasures 4

photo of stream during daytime
Photo by Michael Block on Pexels.com

Leave a comment

Filed under #bloggingcommunity, #poetrycommunity, Book Review, Poetry book, Poetry Collection, Writing

Poem Up at The Field Guide

Thanks to Editor Amanda Marrero, The Field Guide has published my poem “A Wash is Not a Riverbed.” This poem is about the wash that runs right past my house. I think this poem would have fit in Rooted and Winged.

The poem is in six sections. Here is the first one:

I.
From overhead see a route
on an intuitive map. Scriven in earth, etched with blood and spoor.
The route is wash.
The wash is map.

A kingsnake slides its stripes
across the arroyo
in the way that a T is crossed to finish the planet. It tastes the chemical scent of its prey.

The stubbling of grasses amid stones optimistic in the hollow. We wish for custom monsoons
a steady large-drop rain and little wind.

https://thefieldguidemagazine.com/luanne-castle/

These photos of our wash show the gates we had to put up (with permission) because the javelinas were too destructive and dangerous. But all the other animals get through.

Happy Passover if you celebrate. Happy Easter if you celebrate. Ramadan Mubarak if you celebrate.

My zoom solo poetry reading is Saturday at 5PM eastern and you are invited! https://writersite.org/2023/03/27/an-invitation-to-my-first-zoom-solo-poetry-reading-and-other-stuff/

29 Comments

Filed under #poetrycommunity, art journaling, Literary Journals, Poetry, Publishing

Poetry On the Edge

Alaska native Caroline Goodwin’s first poetry book, Trapline (Jackleg Press), is set at the edge–of the sea, the swamp, the wilderness. To get a feel for her poetry, imagine yourself walking along the shore, encountering “rot and salt,” dragonflies, gnats, the quahog and cockle. Then imagine focusing in on each treasure, closer and closer until you see a wing or an eye and then inside the organism. Once you’re amongst the blood vessels with your magical microscope, Goodwin will connect what you see to the human you through a hand, a thigh, a boot. What you discover will be big and beautiful and brutal.

The first poem offers an invitation to the reader: “come to the end of the wharf / when the last of the tide releases / the harbor with its trollers / and rigging _ _ its lampshells / and speckled anemone _ _  come / after work when the mind / / has grown plumes.” [The double underscore represents a larger space in the line. Since WordPress isn’t friendly to poetry, I had to make do.]

You will want to take Goodwin up on this invitation.  You can click on the book above to order from Amazon. I didn’t get a free book for recommending Goodwin’s poetry; I simply bought her book and fell in love with the poems.

Here is a sample poem for your enjoyment:

WEEDING

I can see how the termites

draw themselves through

the opening now

to rise out of the hive

in a flickering stream

every leg full of

sun every abdomen a

jewel and I let myself

think about the un-

born and the almost

born — eggs packed

in brittle shells

in husks

in the wings

ticking

my husband

scraping at the crumpled

leaves

his song a thin leg

. . . . . . . . . at the edge of the yard

[I had to add the ellipses to indicate a long space.]

13 Comments

Filed under Book Review, Essay, Nonfiction, Poetry