Böcker i Felix Pollak Prize in Poetry-serien

With wry humour and unflinching honesty, Cathy Colman crosses the terrain of love, family and art, asking why we resist becoming the person we truly are.

In this collection of poems - which won the 2002 Felix Pollak Prize in Poetry - topics range from a union barbershop in mid-century Detroit, the obstetrics ward in a Cambodian refugee camp, the ""befuddlement"" of childhood, and the wisdom of the nursing child.

The first full-length collection in many years by an award-winning poet whose work has appeared in The Atlantic, The New Yorker, The Nation, Poetry, The Kenyon Review, The Threepenny Review, and a host of other journals.

Matthew Siegel's disquieting first book of poems, Blood Work, explores the inner workings of a life lived in vulnerability. The narrative voice here is vulnerable to his sickness-Crohn's disease-as well as the "sickness" of loving. These poems are raw, exposed, and deeply authentic attempts to reconcile all that is difficult to look at in one life.

Contains poems that turn back toward sources: toward home and the idea of home, toward the body, and toward objects that return us to ourselves. They move from quantum mechanics, wildflowers, and a Bobcat driver to a woman killed by a flying deer, magma becoming rock, and an invasion of flying ants.

The Royal Baker's Daughter was raised on a diet of stone soup and the occasional leftover royal treat. This leaves her with an appetite for authenticity. With nothing but her two deft hands to guide her, she embarks on a journey into the dark forest, ""where sticks and stones and absolutes reign and nothing, even sin, is original.

Explores the transformative power of tragic and miraculous experiences, through these poems that illuminate near misses of tragedy and transcendence. Nick Lantz's gaze is both roving and microscopic - the Challenger explosion, Bigfoot, a love letter written from inside a missile silo, a mother naming and renaming a family's short-lived pets, and a plea for post-9/11 redemption.

Inspired by thrift store knit sleeves, punk rock record sleeves, and, of course, print book sleeves, Angela Sorby explores how the concrete world hails us in waves of color and sound. She asks implicitly, "What makes the sleeve wave? Is it the body or some force larger than the self?” As Sorby's tough, ironic, and subtly political voice repeatedly insists, we apprehend, use, and release more energy than we can possibly control.