As my reward for completing another writing application [yay!], I get to talk about poetry.

I've been thinking a lot about this one particular work. It's been working its way out of me, like the softest splinter in my mind. Fifteen poems, wrought with such care that when I finished reading the whole work [weeks ago, maybe months ago, I admit it] — well, I was, I am still, a little stunned. I guess that's why I've taken so long to write my response to it. And to think that the author [whom I will reveal in a minute] who has written these tough, tender poems, to think that she has her most amazing work still ahead of her, I think that's very exciting.

In the poems, every word is so precise, and I do like precision used to evoke a time, a place, an emotion. Details such as

Dusk rubs its thumb
along the horizon.
            ['Puccini at Dusk']

and

            Anger, yes, but what is anger
if not passion? Sparks, if not chemistry?
A lab of mulch, calyx, and bitterroot. Your
neat snips—kitchen shears?—selective...
            ['The Tulip Thief, Mi Amor']

point to senses keen and intent and making notes. Suzanne Frischkorn's 'Spring Tide' is really something marvellous, lyrical and true. More people should know about it.


I've been too immured in worldly care. I should stop and read more poetry.
- posted by Ivy @ 7:39 PM ¦ | ¦