Showing posts with label thomas lux. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thomas lux. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

A Prague Sring, Before & After - Michael Salcman (Evening Street Press)

Today's book of poetry:
A Prague Spring, Before & After.  Michael Salcman.  Photographs by Lynn Silverman.  Evening Street Press.  Sacramento, California.  2016.

2015 Winner of the Sinclair Poetry Prize

michael-salcman-a-prague-spring-before-and-after-cover-photograph

A Prague Spring, Before & After will be, for certain people, a codex.  This is history rendered as sorrow and spoken clearly. 

Today's book of poetry has a slightly warped take on Michael Salcman's epic tale.  Today's book of poetry had the pleasure of living in Czechoslovakia prior to it's separation into two states, The Czech Republic and Slovakia, in 1993.  In the late summer of 1990 Today's book of poetry moved to the northern Czechoslovakian town Jablonec-nad-Nisou (Apple tree on the Nisou River) to open a non-profit English as a second language school.  Today's book of poetry frequented Praha (Prague) every chance we got.

At that point in time Praha was a magical city, whether I was hanging out with Ania Jakubowski and getting Halloween costumes from the national theatre or bar hopping with Martina and her crazy friends.  This was immediately following Vaclav Havel's Velvet Revolution.

As a result Today's book of poetry can't help but be enthralled by Michael Salcman's poetry.  Lynn Silverman's photographs are haunting and sombre and bring back Praha to my mind with such clarity that I can feel it's cobbled streets beneath my feet, smell the yellow coal, and the taste of pivo (beer).

9, (The Pinkas Synagogue)

When you knock on the door of strangers,
there are three possibilities: they will send you away,
they will take you in, they will report you.

I didn't know where to find their names,
the farmer and his wife, the two daughters,
the righteous gentiles my cousin Arnold had the inscribe

on the walls of the Pinkas Synagogue,
close by the names of those they couldn't save.
Then a flood came and wiped the walls clean

for a bit as if God too wished to erase them.
Outside this wall and the old Jewish cemetery,
the Czechs have built a Museum of Decorative Arts,

the stacked stones and red letter like shards
of Bohemian glass, cutting the soul. Like knives.

👊👊👊

Prague/Praha was Today's book of poetry's first exposure to Eastern Europe and it was intense.  Since then we have been in Russia, the Ukraine, Slovenia, Hungary and Croatia.  Today's book of poetry has to admit we have a big soft spot, we see that part of the world with tender and longing eyes.  Salcman's poems create flashes that immediately left me in situ.

A Prague Spring, Before & After includes poems anchored in America, poems that get under the Brooklyn Bridge and Today's book of poetry felt welcomed.  But the reader is drawn to Prague and it's history, again and again, the bloody and gruesome caravan from then to now.

An American Refugee on Vacation in Prague

Summer solstice in the Stare Mesto of Prague—
everyone as usual looking for Kafka.
Even the 14th Count of Lobkovicz,
a cultured soul who shows me
the 400 year old mummified arm in the Church of St. James,
who speaks of the Master Theodoric
with the voice of a true connoisseur, to whom
locating Tycho Brahe's tomb
in Our Lady Before Tyn is the merest child's play,
even if he can't find Kafka.
Reported sightings at No.2 and No.3 Celetna
go unconfirmed; the cafe
at The House of the Black Madonna is closed.

Waiting for more reliable information
I smoke three Havana cigars:
a Romeo and Juliet, a Cohiba and a Partages.
I do not manage to visit more than two houses in which
Kafka wrote or worked.
I do manage to visit the Castle that gave him nightmares.
I watch the clock on the Jewish Town Hall tower
run the wrong way round
and the Czechs lean backwards going down
the steep escalator in Republiky's Metro.
I do not twist my ankle on the cobbles in Celetna Street;
I do have dinner with two actors in a barrel-vaulted restaurant
two stories below the Gothic ground.
I make love to one woman and to this golden city.
I deserve nothing of this but the sound of bells.

👊👊👊

Our morning reading started with a long chat about Today's book of poetry's experiences living in Vaclav Havel's Czechoslovakia.  Then Kathryn, our Jr. Editor, took the helm as we gave A Prague Spring, Before & After voice.  Kafka makes numerous appearances so Today's book of poetry shared our very common story of sitting on Kafka's steps under the shadow of the Hradcany Castle and drinking our sad pivo with delirious glee.

A Prague Spring, Before & After reminds Today's book of poetry of how quickly Praha turned luminescent, how quickly it broke our heart.  

Spending time in Praha is probably one of the best things you can do, Michael Salcman makes it real, tells it true.

PRAGUE SUITE

1.

Each summer day, thousands of tourists stand and watch
the skeleton on the old astronomical clock
rattle his hour glass in mortal warning
while an unbelieving Moor near-by shakes his carved head

and the clock on the Jewish Town Hall tower runs backward
to go forth; the Stone Bell never rings.
What city tells time like Prague?
In perfect stasis it measures its minutes in faggots and flames:

Jan Hus will burn forever in the Old Town Square, Kafka
prospectively smells Jan Palach afire with gas, and Mozart sings
in every street, his Stone Guest a perfect Golem.
It's as if God had banished worms and maggots with a spell,

the city as heavenly banquet. At Vladislav's Powder Gate,
where Gothic leans on Art Nouveau, love runs long, renews.

👊👊👊

A Prague Spring, Before & After proves that time is elastic.  Mr. Salcman has cooked up a tremendous borscht that is both love story and requiem.

Salcman does not shy away from our dark history or Prague's.  

Picture

Michael Salcman

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An internationally known neurosurgeon who is also a poet and art critic, Michael Salcman was born in Pilsen Czechoslovakia in 1946, the son of Holocaust survivors and came to the United States in 1949. After finishing the Six-Year Combined Program in Liberal Arts and Medical Education at Boston University, he was a Fellow in Neurophysiology at the National Institutes of Health and trained in neurosurgery at Columbia University’s Neurological Institute in New York Former chairman of neurosurgery at the University of Maryland School of Medicine, his early medical career was profiled by Jon Franklin and Alan Doelp in Not Quite A Miracle (Doubleday, 1983). Salcman is the author of almost 200 scientific and medical articles as well as six textbooks; his medical books have been translated into Spanish, German, Portuguese and Chinese. He was named a Distinguished Alumnus of Boston University's medical school and of Columbia University's neurological institute. Former president of the Congress of Neurological Surgeons, the Contemporary Museum in Baltimore and the CityLit Project, Salcman lectures widely on art and the brain and on the brain and creativity. He currently serves as Special Lecturer in the Osher Institute at Towson University.
His first published poems appeared in the 1970s. Recent poems appear in Alaska Quarterly Review, Barrow Street, Harvard Review, Hopkins Review, The Hudson Review, New Letters, Notre Dame Review, Ontario Review, Poet Lore, and Raritan. His poems have been heard on NPR's "All Things Considered" and he appears in Euphoria, an award-winning documentary on the brain and creativity. His poems have received six nominations for a Pushcart Prize, one for a Best of The Web Award, and have appeared on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily and in several anthologies. He has given readings at the Library of Congress, The National Academy of Sciences, The Academy of Medicine in Atlanta, the Writers Center in Bethesda, The Pratt Library in Baltimore, and Columbia University’s medical school. He is a poetry editor at The Baltimore Review. Dr. Salcman is the author of four chapbooks, the most recent of which is Stones In Our Pockets (Parallel Press, University of Wisconsin, 2007), and two previous collections, The Clock Made of Confetti (Orchises Press, 2007), nominated for The Poet’s Prize in 2009, and The Enemy of Good Is Better (Orchises, 2011). His widely-praised anthology of classic and contemporary poems on doctors, patients, illness and recovery, Poetry in Medicine appeared in 2015 (Persea Books).

BLURB
A Prague Spring is a beautiful blend of the lyric imagination with historical and autobiographical facts. In this book, ignorance, cruelty, and murder lose. Art, and the truth, wins.      
     —Thomas Lux


Michael Salcman
reads "The Clock Made of Confetti"
Video:
Program in Narrative Medicine at Columbia University


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Today's post is dedicated to Jitka Kruporova

Friday, June 19, 2015

Blood, Sparrows and Sparrows - Eugenia Leigh (Four Way Books)

Today's book of poetry:
Blood, Sparrows and Sparrows.  Eugenia Leigh.  Four Way Books.  A Stahlecker Series Selection.  Four Way Books.  New York, New York.  2014.



Eugenia Leigh offers us a startling first book with the sparkling Blood, Sparrow and Sparrows. 
Leigh is also now an official entry for Today's book of poetry's best title of the year.

These poems are loosely focused on God, father and family -- but it is Leigh's precise weight we enjoy most, regardless of subject.  Her voice has weight, resonance, echo and these poems can make you laugh out loud, usually just before Leigh kicks you in the throat.

Pretty Universe

God stalked me on Marion Avenue. Said, You can't
fix it. Then, I can't either.           That morning,

my ceiling lamp had ripped from its cord. Even after
I welded the fragments with duct tape, everything
felt cracked--like your five-hundred dollar glasses

I smashed that winter--so I thought, if I couldn't fix that,
what the hell am I doing piecing together
your eyes? Our crumbling

kisses? So I didn't question God. Sometimes, God wants
to be understood. Sometimes, God hates

his perfect grammar. His pretty
universe. So he'll pluck a butterfly of its left wing. Call it
art. He'll turn from a hurricane. Say, It wasn't me.

If artists were created in his image, how often
does God abandon his mistakes?

The day I stopped talking to you, I said
nothing to him too. I cursed. My entire drive home.
I littered the freeway with fistfuls of tissues

while God shuffled his God feet
and pretended not to see.

...

The reader will be forgiven if they can't quite decide whether Eugenia Leigh is happiest talking to, or at, God.  We're never quite sure whether the praise is hopeful wishing or snickered bravado.  But the conversation Leigh is engaged in is a constant delight for the reader.

We're all Pagans here at Today's book of poetry.  We run around the office burning sacrifices to the strangest assortment of deities and demigods.  And we all adored the poetry of Eugenia Leigh.

Leigh's narrator is a dutiful daughter, a guilty daughter, a disdainful daughter, a confused child of God and a strange mistress -- but she is always an interesting poet.

Leigh's narrator/poet persona is brave enough to step outside of expectations, keeps trying to answer big questions, keeps coming up with bigger dilemmas, more paradox.

Every Hair on Your Head

     Every hair on your head is counted.
     You are worth hundreds of sparrows.
                  --SPARKLEHORSE, "HUNDREDS OF SPARROWS"

The day you pushed a bullet through your heart,
the length of a day on earth shortened by a millionth of a second.

That same day, a NASA satellite captured an image of a dust storm,
Chile withstood its one hundred thirtieth aftershock in a week, and I
glimpsed a bird, twitching

on the floor of a Brooklyn metro station. Its eyeballs
bulged as if to literally absorb the ocular world,

and I shuddered away. For hours, I saw that flinching
creature in my mind. I saw hundreds of similar birds
shimmering into the station to lie

next to it--a quilt of silvery bodies tiled wing to wing. On good days
I want to be saved. Most days, I want

every savior in our hell--so they'll know
torment in the bloodstream--death's whistling, ceaseless,
blurring the cleanest heartbeats.            My first time, I was thirteen.

I tested five pills. My stomach barely ached. I ate ramen, lived, solved
math problems. But for days before that, I envisioned my body
smeared. Inside out. A swarthy, dazzling canvas.

What I wouldn't give to graze that silence.

Did you do it standing up
or crouching?         Which was the bigger surprise--
                                      the gun punching              or the angel catching you?

...

Eugenia Leigh's Blood, Sparrows and Sparrows is bejeweled with very smart poems that like to dance between the Devil and disbelief, they challenge notions of parenthood and piety.  These poems get the brain working in more than one direction.

There was much discussion around the office about this book.  Angels come and go with alacrity in the poems of Eugenia Leigh, just like they appear in real life, the devils too.

Sex Education

Folded into the carpet, eyes closed, I huddle
next to my small sisters--the baby
curled in the middle. My parents shuffle

in the couch bed beside us, and I wake. I peek.
I absorb the wet sounds of one mouth
guzzling another's laughter--and without

health class pamphlets, without Eve's Adam
and the fruit still rich on his chin, I learn

the music of bodies smacking together.
I learn the word yes. And how yes--

when whispered over and over--seems to free
other meanings--secret meanings

I never heard them speak in daylight.

...

Eugenia Leigh steps out onto the poetry stage fully formed.  Many, if not most, of these poems have previously been published in journals of one sort or another.  No surprise there.  Leigh has considerable dander, she even sounds dangerous on occasion.  Everyone here at Today's book of poetry enjoyed Blood, Sparrows and Sparrows a ton.

Eugenia Leigh
(Photo: An Rong Xu)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eugenia Leigh is the recipient of awards and fellowships from The Asian American Literary Review, Kundiman, Poets & Writers Magazine, and Rattle. She earned her MFA from Sarah Lawrence College, and her poems and essays have appeared in numerous publications including The Collagist, North American Review, and the Best New Poets 2010 anthology. Eugenia serves as poetry editor of Kartika Review and lives in Chicago.

BLURBS
"Built out of blood and awe, rooted in sorrow and radiant lyricism, these poems remind us that 'to survive is to be / wholly human.' Divine and earthly voices haunt these poems. God and parents singe the speaker's heart; angels and sisters redeem it. These poems are brutal and brilliant. But also instructive. They teach us to 'weld our wounds / to form tools.' This is a book of moving and startling epiphanies. I can't wait to teach it."
     - Eduardo C. Corral

"This book went through me like a blue lightning strike. Part lyric, part narrative, and always alive, unflinchingly alive. A wonderful book and an even more astonishing debut!"
      - Thomas Lux

Eugenia Leigh
at Kollaboration, New York
June 26, 2010
Video: angelle 527


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Poems cited here are assumed to be under copyright by the poet and/or publisher.  They are shown here for publicity and review purposes.  For any other kind of re-use of these poems, please contact the listed publishers for permission.