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NEIGHBORHOOD OF GRAY HOUSES     poems by Derek Annis
Between Sleeping & Waking   poems by Albert Goldbarth
Though the Walls Are Lit      poems by Emily Holt
A NEW ORTHOGRAPHY
DON’T TOUCH THE BONES  |  Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach
PRAY TO THE EMPTY WELLS
Between Sleeping & Waking poems by Albert Goldbarth  
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  Albert Goldbarth

ISBN 978-1-7333400-1-4     $18  /  $21 (Canada)     5.5 x 8.5       

88 pp      
PUB DATE: March 2020       Featured Poetry





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Albert Goldbarth’s new collection is a community of poems that makes room for other voices than the autobiographical “I”: some fantastical, some historical/celebrity, some the neighbors down the block. The poems themselves offer a rich spectrum of possibilities, from the comic to the grievous, from a poem of five lines to a poem of six pages, but all presented by a poet whose “broad understanding of history and of a wide range of character types allows him to people his writing with everyone from presidents to prostitutes, and from ancient mythmakers to contemporary celebrities—all the while remaining present as a smart and earnest voice.”

About the Author

Albert Goldbarth

Albert Goldbarth by Michael PointerAlbert Goldbarth has been publishing poetry collections of note for forty-five years—two of which have received the National Book Critics Circle Award—from a number of literary-minded presses, including Doubleday, Graywolf Press, the University of Pittsburgh Press, and Lost Horse Press. Individual poems have appeared in hundreds of periodicals from The New Yorker and The New York Times Magazine to Kayak and Clown War. A recipient of fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Guggenheim Foundation, and the Poetry Foundation, he lives in Wichita, Kansas.

 

When I Say My Sister’s Breasts

what I mean is: hell,
they took them away. A knife,
the chemo, the radiation;
whatever. To save her. A little
like the way the animal leaves its paw,
its gnawed-off paw, in the trap.
The emperor orders a hundred men and women
into the valley where enemy soldiers wait
behind trees . . . so the rest
of his troops can make a safe retreat.
A man withdraws his love
from his daughter, to keep what he thinks
is the love of the woman he met last month.
A day is a line we walk, continually
giving up things to the gods, so they
might make the line we walk longer

—Albert Goldbarth