Thirty-six new poems by the writer and critic Jonah Raskin. Pre-poem Poem: You call yourself a poet, write poems and perform them in public, but now you don't want to write poems with thefirst person pronoun "I," which hasturned into a straightjacket, even as the earth has turned into an oven, and so you now write parataxis poems to cool down, break the ties that bind you and seek roses everywhere.
A new book of poetry by the author who divides her time between San Francisco and London. Distillations burnishes the gleam on even quotidian objects and moments. Like the author, these poems are unabashedly curious, hearty, and wise. Elaine has taken her time to publish this book, but her timing is good. Her memory is ripe. As she writes, "My shelves are full / Stocked with experience / Bought with choices / And ready / For whatever comes." These poems are timely for me. To watch how she remains buoyant despite our planet's distress. To avoid "the vicious nonchalance / Of being barely there." I trust her judgment because the poems distill not just the "honeyed lure of culture," but also rage. Together, they illuminate a path, "Searching the horizon/For some small sight / Of understanding."
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