New Releases →

Please click on a book cover to learn more.

Shopping Cart
The Loves and Wars of Relative Scale
What It Done to Us
The Bushman’s Medicine Show
DECANTING: Selected & New Poems | 1967 – 2017
A Filament Burns  in Blue Degrees
The Loves and Wars of Relative Scale  
|
  Albert Goldbarth

ISBN 978-0-9968584-7-2    $18  /  $21 (Canada)    5.5 x 8.5   78 pp   February 2017    Book Release Featured Poetry





Customers:
Bookstores:

True to its title, The Loves and Wars of Relative Scale is a community of poems that address ideas of perspective, of proximity—of what happens when the large-scale universe collides with our human-scale joys and disasters. But this collection is not a dry treatment of its subject: love affairs, a dramatic encounter with whales, and visits to famous consciousness-altering historic moments all lead up to a bravura narrative poem about Antoni van Leeuwenhoek, the first person to recognizably see the submicroscopic world. Poems brief, long, contemplative, comic . . . two time National Book Critics Circle Award-winner Albert Goldbarth delivers another dynamic experience.

About the Author

Albert Goldbarth

albert-goldbarth

The author of over twenty collections of poetry and three collections of essays, Albert Goldbarth has received fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation. He has won the National Book Critics Circle award for Saving Lives (2001) and Heaven and Earth: A Cosmology (1991), the only poet to receive the honor two times. In 2008 he was awarded the Mark Twain Poetry Award from the Poetry Foundation. Goldbarth teaches at Wichita State University, where he is the Adele Davis Distinguished Professor of Humanities.

 

HUM

I can’t see the railroad tracks
from my hotel window,
but the surface of the water
in my bedside glass
trembles all the same: invisible
channels of conduction,
and a sensitive receiver.
I can’t hear, not exactly,
the couple in the room next door
—I can’t tell if the passion
is crazy anger or is crazy sex—
but the syrups
in my bones are shirred all night,
as if they’re hummed on.

—Albert Goldbarth