What to Tip the Boatman?There are those rare human beings among us who themselves embody so much myth, history, and poetry that what they do includes a depth of profane and sacred meaning, of before and after, whatever the present event. Cleopatra Mathis is such a poet and hero in a non-heroic age, a poet who comes back from hell, from where all heroes must go and return, offering us her poetry, a gift of new life, beauty, and understanding. Much of this remarkable book of poems is about mothering--the poet as mother of a troubled and gifted daughter. These are "household poems" in the sense that the Iliad is about the household of Priam. The modern Greeks sometime say that a person is "put twice in the fire," as iron is put twice in the fire to strengthen it. Cleopatra Mathis is such a person and such a poet. Her life is a flame and so is the poetry. The reader has reason to be grateful to her for this lyrical iron. |
From inside the book
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Page 18
... lives , all her color stripped in the name of health . Doesn't the snow come to let the earth live ? So too will they cover the girl with white , all that raging blossom of the self . Don't ask me to believe in this season . White ...
... lives , all her color stripped in the name of health . Doesn't the snow come to let the earth live ? So too will they cover the girl with white , all that raging blossom of the self . Don't ask me to believe in this season . White ...
Page 22
... live on the road , headache reeling to backache , hospital to home , nowhere hours , hinged and strung to her string of hours in an unmapped hell . Where's the lock , thread to the ultimate pattern - maker , puppet - master of the wires ...
... live on the road , headache reeling to backache , hospital to home , nowhere hours , hinged and strung to her string of hours in an unmapped hell . Where's the lock , thread to the ultimate pattern - maker , puppet - master of the wires ...
Page 23
... live . I was nothing but mother , I would blow out the world's candle . No burning , no fire with its regeneration , not even ash , that little cold ruin . It was then I understood the nothingness of the sea , the crush of waves driven ...
... live . I was nothing but mother , I would blow out the world's candle . No burning , no fire with its regeneration , not even ash , that little cold ruin . It was then I understood the nothingness of the sea , the crush of waves driven ...
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answering baby beach believe body bound break breath brought called caught changed child circling closed cold color cradle cuts dark daughter dead Demeter disappear door Elvis everything face faith fall fear field fist flesh followed gave girl gold gray green ground hair hands head hear heard heart hell hold horse inside keep knew later layers leaves light live lock look Louisiana MICHIGAN mother mouth move never night passed past PRESS pulled push reach Remember river road rocking shape She's side silence sleep smell snow sound story thing took touch trees turned voice waiting wakes walk walls watching whole winter woman woods