epochs of morning light: prose poems Elena Botts.

Format:

Book

Author/Creator:

Botts, Elena, author.

Standardized Title:

Poems. Selections

Language:

English

Genre:

Poetry.

Electronic books.

Physical Description:

1 online resource (110 pages)

Edition:

1st ed.

Manufacture:

Baltimore, Md. : Project MUSE, 2018

Place of Publication:

Baltimore, Maryland : Project Muse, 2018

Summary:

�In poet and artist Elena Botts� new poetry collection: epochs of morning light, we see a shimmering, variegated new voice; we hear: �where the trees still talk to each other, and winter feels like a song...� (from When I have died we will be here). We feel the weather of her emotions; a contract with the ethereal and the visceral, as when we stand within the short but large poem: blossoms back to under the earth: �I felt your ghost move through me out past the Baltic as though you had been in my heart the whole time.� In this sensual canvas, beauty never suffers from loneliness, nor the sublime. Each poem herein as Botts wanders memory and weaves tapestries of word worlds, reveals a true and original voice in modern poetry: allowing light to conquer darkness; darkness to defy the estate of the sun, and colors mixed in ways only an artist of the pen could fathom�� - Robert Milby, Hudson Valley New York poet, Poet Laureate, Orange County, NY 2017-2019

Contents:

Cover

Title page

Copyright page

Endorsement

Poems

new

the epochs

there was an anything about us

suspension

stillborn, you

and upon entering the house, there will be

you are inside

future objects

blossoms back to under the earth

when i have died we will be here

what it must be like

a more view

berkshire country

tuesday, april eleventh/pink moon

4.12.17

escape from the city

i+can%t+believe+how+easy+it+is+for+people+to+abandon+each+ot

this is called a poem

your pictures are more vivid than real life

the gospel of saint somebody

if humans are creatures of immediacy

i lost me

a soul on holiday

this abyss of sound

acheron

aphrodite's orphanage

i fell asleep and the city fell too

i asked you to come to the parking lot to watch me fall, but i did not want

another district

there is no city

we made the moon solid

and in existing,

the verse

no july

all my dreams died earlier than usual this year

dear you

i have spoken to the dead

i see you are forgotten

i went to the hills you know

palisades

please forgive me for my foraging in your backyard for pockets of light

i don't know where it is, life

not me but some one

eight track

claremont

poem unopened

29th

most mornings

on the day john ashbery died, it was slight and raining

lyme

Do you know how the seasons change lately, they change and are not lately, anything

what aches

i could read you something i found in me but then again i could not

corrosive, kitchen faucet sadness

contrition

sad-tiredness

you propose to me

it is very cold out here and i might tell you that but it means very little because there is no other feeling

a foregone

i have been in some ways

5:38

dead men like to talk about

cultural productions.

december 1

moon-worship

train 290

wilmington

in the winter

in this particular

i have been to the end of the world so often

there is such a thing as a place after all

make up a dream to tell me when i next see you

the sleep of knowing

she is your mother

adams to annandale

79 corners

Taconic State Parkway

consolate

Back cover.

Notes:

Description based on print version record.

Description based on publisher supplied metadata and other sources.

ISBN:

0-7974-9695-5

OCLC:

1054834726