Thursday, November 3, 2011
Finalist in Poetry Competition
So happy to hear today that my poem was selected as a finalist in the Aesthetica Magazine Creative Works Competition. The poem will be anthologized and is still in the running for the competition with the winner to be announced upon publication in December, 2011. Aesthetica is a hip British/US Journal with over 60,000 readership. Click here: Aesthetica
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Recent Poem Acceptances
Chiron Review-- September, 2011
Valpareiso Review-- October, 2011
Cortland Review-- December, 2011
Evergreen Review-- Next Issue (early 2012)
Valpareiso Review-- October, 2011
Cortland Review-- December, 2011
Evergreen Review-- Next Issue (early 2012)
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Recent Reviews of "What Looks Like an Elephant"
Here are a few links to some recent reviews of my new book, "What Looks Like an Elephant," Lummox Press, 2011. I'm also reprinting the Pedestal Magazine review below. Please click on any of below:
Pedestal Magazine Review, August, 2011
Poets and Artists Review, July, 2011
Boston Area Small Press Review, May, 2011
Interview: Poetic Asides
To order:
From Lummox Press
From Barnes and Noble
From Small Press Distribution
******************************************
WHAT LOOKS LIKE AN ELEPHANT
by Edward Nudelman
Review by Grady Harp in Poets and Artists:
Edward Nudelman is a poet of importance. It is likely that at some point in his career he will be at least short listed for Poet Laureate, so able is he to find those fragments of imagination, question, fear, doubt, and need for definition that poke temporary holes in our lives, leaving us with a choice of persistent uncertainty or a good guffaw as camouflage. Reading Nudelman’s succinct poems is not unlike studying cells through a microscope, something Nudelman likely has spent time doing in his day job of cancer research – watching what appear to be normal cells metamorphose into altered forms, becoming villains to life as our bodies know it. Perceptions and explanations, cognitive transient thoughts piqued by momentary changes, looking at the expected and finding paradoxes, and in the end putting all of these experiences in the finely carved frame of humor and the time erosion of memory – all of these aspects are in this collection of erudite yet warmly recognizable Gileads of poetry.
An aspect of Edward Nudelman’s poems that this reader finds particularly appealing is his ability to communicate a thought in a one page poem that minutes to hours to days later calls the reader back to re-think the message first accepted:
ARRIVAL
A flood light decants through a side window.
Who can tell a gnat from a mosquito, unless
blood is spilled? Outside, a dog wants in.
A bus pulls up to its last stop, a boy gets off.
It’s a long walk home; but he wants to walk.
Nobody here remembers the Vietnam war
but they will not easily forget this one.
An astronaut is returning from another planet.
It’s late, but everybody’s ears are piqued.
Everything’s looming, everything’s on hold,
including Wednesday evening’s bridge club.
Halfway through the night, a worried
mother finishes her second book in two nights.
The dog is allowed to come in and checked
for ticks. The stove is left on for heat.
Moods of such ignored magnitude find their way into most all of Nudelman’s poems – that and humor and other conundrums. In the very elegant NOCTURNAL we can excerpt a few lines (space here does not allow full recreation): ‘I’ve written a poem on the death of my father/ and another on the birth of my granddaughter./ Both poems contain the same words in different order./ And both possess the capacity to shock me.’……’Have you ever considered walking backwards to work?/ Watching your house grow smaller and smaller/ until finally you can’t remember the color of shutters./ Have you ever thought about remodeling your mind?’ And in the midst of humor and challenges to look twice at first perceptions he is also able to step back and write simply a pure poem:
LAST REQUESTS
A hawk’s view of a field in the last hour of light.
To understand limitless reach, a concept
withheld from those who are not birds.
To differentiate ocean from water, space
from enclosure, to stretch out over expanding
coldness and remain insulated, cradled.
To ride a tornado without feeling dizzy.
Slide down an elephant’s back.
Go to the dentist just for a thrill.
Disavow self-preservation and envy.
Denounce consumption, apathy, rancor.
To see both the end and the beginning
simultaneously, and embrace both.
To rest in hope, my own diminishing.
Edward Nudelman slyly takes a cupful of science and a dollop of humor and a soupçon of philosophy and stirs that and more into some of the finest poetry being written today. Science. Art. There really is no division.
Pedestal Review, August, 2011
The Pedestal Magazine > Current Issue > Reviews >Edward Nudelman's what looks like an elephant
what looks like an elephant
Edward Nudelman
Lummox Press
ISBN: 978-1-929878-91-8
Reviewer: Bob Grumman
Poets, like painters, thus unskill'd to trace
The naked nature and the living grace,
With gold and jewels cover every part,
And hide with ornaments their want of Art.
True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd;
Something whose truth convinced at sight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind.
So what if I'm the ten thousandth writer to quote the above passage from Pope's "An Essay on Criticism." So what if he, the epitome of a formal poet, would not seem, on the surface, to have much in common with Edward Nudelman, whose poems in what looks like an elephant don't even rhyme. I happen very much to admire the Pope passage. I also believe Nudelman has more in common with Pope than he doesn't, in spite of his not being the technician Pope (brilliantly) was.
Not that I'm saying Nudelman, or any other free-verse practitioner (as I occasionally am myself), just tosses words together. I love what he achieves with his conjs in the first stanza of his "Shape of Sorrow":
Conjunction of stars
and cards
conjured from far-flung
worlds of chance
And all those r-consonances, and the "ar"-rhymes, how the poem then integrates the sound of the s in "measured" and the c in "oceans”! While I feel that Pope always brings his poems' content up to the level of their technique, I feel that Nudelman, on the other hand, manages to elevate his technique to match his content.
I think what the two poets mainly have in common is a sharp, highly rational understanding of human beings as well as a precise ability to communicate that to their readers, with only the subtlest of ornamentation, albeit Pope is a lot less sympathetic to the people he depicts than is Nudelman. I can't think where, for example, Pope ever directly empathized with anyone as desolated by life as the subject in "Shape of Sorrow," who has:
…measured
the distance and found
oceans between you
and relief
You've argued away
all good in a last threshing
of meaning, settled
for a darker hope
and a deeper pit
and every reason
to crawl into.
Okay, maybe I've overdone the Pope/Nudelman comparison. Perhaps it's just the fact that the preceding poem, for example, seems to so exactly exemplify "What oft was…felt rather than thought, but ne'er so well express'd; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind" that I couldn’t resist mining the comparison. But Nudelman, like Pope, is uniquely able to milk commonplace subject matter, as when treating the domestic relationship in "Privileges," which begins, "She meant to tell me yesterday that I would be losing/ some privileges. I am not being told on the way out/ the door, so I can brood on the consequences as I walk…to my workplace."
Perhaps I’m stretching again: Pope turned the quotidian into something epic in The Rape of a Lock, if only comically; In “Privileges,” Nudelman practices a contemporary matter-of-factness. Pope's wit is at the expense of others, Nudelman's at his own. I like the Pope passage too much to drop my comparison completely. Plus: contrasts are as revealing as comparisons!
But I'm going to dismiss Pope now in order to focus entirely on Nudelman. It's no accident that the title of his collection concerns the elephant of the blind men unable to coherently make a whole of it, for a major theme of the collection is the difficulty—sometimes laughable, sometimes deplorable, but sometimes wonderful—of pinning down existence or consummately defining it. Nudelman's background as a biologist widely published in his field (cancer research) informs and strongly affects his poetry, distinguishing it from the work of most of his contemporaries. "Linear Equations,” his book's introductory piece, may be as good as any of his poems, universally integrating the notions of fusion and fission, as well as what might be called a certain Macbethianism:
Graph the sun's fall as a function of a gnat's perception
of time. Are there only a hundred suns in a gnat's life?
. . .
Graph all the molecules in the universe
as a function of size: its integral is somewhere between
one and infinity, but not the middle number.
And there's the final line: "You should be dead, but you aren't. Graph that." Variations on this outlook are present in several other poems, including the book's final piece, "Last Requests," which ends, "To rest in hope, my own diminishing” (i.e., the diminishing of both his hope and himself), and an earlier piece, "Turtle Soup," which concludes:
Sometimes at night I see shell-less turtles
massing on the edge of my bed;
shriveled heads and wrinkled bodies
reminding me of what's to come.
(Note: this sort of (highly effective) lunge into surrealism/dream-vividness is common in Nudelman's work.)
Nudelman can be happy, too, as in "Streaming," when he depicts himself splicing a gene: "…going on momentum/ and the lure of giddy surprise./ I'm in a biochemical sweep/ across an unchartered cosmos." And later in the same poem:
I'm air, water, fire and spirit.
I can't hear the pump whine.
I can't feel my tired feet.
I can't even imagine failure.
(Note: that's just how I felt at one point as a critic while writing this!)
Nudelman can lyrically transcend any laboratory, too, as is evidenced in "Gorilla Flower":
A breach reveals a purplish bud
as pristine as the snow surrounding it.
Maybe it landed in August, or fell off
an iris gliding across four backyards.
It might have dropped from a bird's
feather or it could have been there all
along, beating its pretty regal chest
in the vast white jungle, just as you do
when only the impossible matters
and only the impossible happens.
In his "Ephemeral," he probably reaches the peak of his lyrical concern with mortality and whatever it is for which we search in this life:
The garden's lamp-lit outline
beckons. Air chills as flowers
conspire against inevitability.
Is it June or winter beginning?
What is wind but a carrier?
Whether lavender or icy flecks,
ten years, twenty years, a hundred
life-times crammed onto a leaf's back.
Just as these roses brighten,
trillium bend over and drop off.
Aren't the bees after just one thing?
So too, we're here nosing
for something sweet, a heavy
remnant, a single drop of nectar
as volatile, as permanent.
I could easily quote ten or twenty more specimens of this poet's work, but I think I've quoted enough. For more of Nudelman, you'll have to buy his book. It won't disappoint you.
.
Pedestal Magazine Review, August, 2011
Poets and Artists Review, July, 2011
Boston Area Small Press Review, May, 2011
Interview: Poetic Asides
To order:
From Lummox Press
From Barnes and Noble
From Small Press Distribution
******************************************
WHAT LOOKS LIKE AN ELEPHANT
by Edward Nudelman
Review by Grady Harp in Poets and Artists:
Edward Nudelman is a poet of importance. It is likely that at some point in his career he will be at least short listed for Poet Laureate, so able is he to find those fragments of imagination, question, fear, doubt, and need for definition that poke temporary holes in our lives, leaving us with a choice of persistent uncertainty or a good guffaw as camouflage. Reading Nudelman’s succinct poems is not unlike studying cells through a microscope, something Nudelman likely has spent time doing in his day job of cancer research – watching what appear to be normal cells metamorphose into altered forms, becoming villains to life as our bodies know it. Perceptions and explanations, cognitive transient thoughts piqued by momentary changes, looking at the expected and finding paradoxes, and in the end putting all of these experiences in the finely carved frame of humor and the time erosion of memory – all of these aspects are in this collection of erudite yet warmly recognizable Gileads of poetry.
An aspect of Edward Nudelman’s poems that this reader finds particularly appealing is his ability to communicate a thought in a one page poem that minutes to hours to days later calls the reader back to re-think the message first accepted:
ARRIVAL
A flood light decants through a side window.
Who can tell a gnat from a mosquito, unless
blood is spilled? Outside, a dog wants in.
A bus pulls up to its last stop, a boy gets off.
It’s a long walk home; but he wants to walk.
Nobody here remembers the Vietnam war
but they will not easily forget this one.
An astronaut is returning from another planet.
It’s late, but everybody’s ears are piqued.
Everything’s looming, everything’s on hold,
including Wednesday evening’s bridge club.
Halfway through the night, a worried
mother finishes her second book in two nights.
The dog is allowed to come in and checked
for ticks. The stove is left on for heat.
Moods of such ignored magnitude find their way into most all of Nudelman’s poems – that and humor and other conundrums. In the very elegant NOCTURNAL we can excerpt a few lines (space here does not allow full recreation): ‘I’ve written a poem on the death of my father/ and another on the birth of my granddaughter./ Both poems contain the same words in different order./ And both possess the capacity to shock me.’……’Have you ever considered walking backwards to work?/ Watching your house grow smaller and smaller/ until finally you can’t remember the color of shutters./ Have you ever thought about remodeling your mind?’ And in the midst of humor and challenges to look twice at first perceptions he is also able to step back and write simply a pure poem:
LAST REQUESTS
A hawk’s view of a field in the last hour of light.
To understand limitless reach, a concept
withheld from those who are not birds.
To differentiate ocean from water, space
from enclosure, to stretch out over expanding
coldness and remain insulated, cradled.
To ride a tornado without feeling dizzy.
Slide down an elephant’s back.
Go to the dentist just for a thrill.
Disavow self-preservation and envy.
Denounce consumption, apathy, rancor.
To see both the end and the beginning
simultaneously, and embrace both.
To rest in hope, my own diminishing.
Edward Nudelman slyly takes a cupful of science and a dollop of humor and a soupçon of philosophy and stirs that and more into some of the finest poetry being written today. Science. Art. There really is no division.
Pedestal Review, August, 2011
The Pedestal Magazine > Current Issue > Reviews >Edward Nudelman's what looks like an elephant
what looks like an elephant
Edward Nudelman
Lummox Press
ISBN: 978-1-929878-91-8
Reviewer: Bob Grumman
Poets, like painters, thus unskill'd to trace
The naked nature and the living grace,
With gold and jewels cover every part,
And hide with ornaments their want of Art.
True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd;
Something whose truth convinced at sight we find,
That gives us back the image of our mind.
So what if I'm the ten thousandth writer to quote the above passage from Pope's "An Essay on Criticism." So what if he, the epitome of a formal poet, would not seem, on the surface, to have much in common with Edward Nudelman, whose poems in what looks like an elephant don't even rhyme. I happen very much to admire the Pope passage. I also believe Nudelman has more in common with Pope than he doesn't, in spite of his not being the technician Pope (brilliantly) was.
Not that I'm saying Nudelman, or any other free-verse practitioner (as I occasionally am myself), just tosses words together. I love what he achieves with his conjs in the first stanza of his "Shape of Sorrow":
Conjunction of stars
and cards
conjured from far-flung
worlds of chance
And all those r-consonances, and the "ar"-rhymes, how the poem then integrates the sound of the s in "measured" and the c in "oceans”! While I feel that Pope always brings his poems' content up to the level of their technique, I feel that Nudelman, on the other hand, manages to elevate his technique to match his content.
I think what the two poets mainly have in common is a sharp, highly rational understanding of human beings as well as a precise ability to communicate that to their readers, with only the subtlest of ornamentation, albeit Pope is a lot less sympathetic to the people he depicts than is Nudelman. I can't think where, for example, Pope ever directly empathized with anyone as desolated by life as the subject in "Shape of Sorrow," who has:
…measured
the distance and found
oceans between you
and relief
You've argued away
all good in a last threshing
of meaning, settled
for a darker hope
and a deeper pit
and every reason
to crawl into.
Okay, maybe I've overdone the Pope/Nudelman comparison. Perhaps it's just the fact that the preceding poem, for example, seems to so exactly exemplify "What oft was…felt rather than thought, but ne'er so well express'd; Something whose truth convinced at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind" that I couldn’t resist mining the comparison. But Nudelman, like Pope, is uniquely able to milk commonplace subject matter, as when treating the domestic relationship in "Privileges," which begins, "She meant to tell me yesterday that I would be losing/ some privileges. I am not being told on the way out/ the door, so I can brood on the consequences as I walk…to my workplace."
Perhaps I’m stretching again: Pope turned the quotidian into something epic in The Rape of a Lock, if only comically; In “Privileges,” Nudelman practices a contemporary matter-of-factness. Pope's wit is at the expense of others, Nudelman's at his own. I like the Pope passage too much to drop my comparison completely. Plus: contrasts are as revealing as comparisons!
But I'm going to dismiss Pope now in order to focus entirely on Nudelman. It's no accident that the title of his collection concerns the elephant of the blind men unable to coherently make a whole of it, for a major theme of the collection is the difficulty—sometimes laughable, sometimes deplorable, but sometimes wonderful—of pinning down existence or consummately defining it. Nudelman's background as a biologist widely published in his field (cancer research) informs and strongly affects his poetry, distinguishing it from the work of most of his contemporaries. "Linear Equations,” his book's introductory piece, may be as good as any of his poems, universally integrating the notions of fusion and fission, as well as what might be called a certain Macbethianism:
Graph the sun's fall as a function of a gnat's perception
of time. Are there only a hundred suns in a gnat's life?
. . .
Graph all the molecules in the universe
as a function of size: its integral is somewhere between
one and infinity, but not the middle number.
And there's the final line: "You should be dead, but you aren't. Graph that." Variations on this outlook are present in several other poems, including the book's final piece, "Last Requests," which ends, "To rest in hope, my own diminishing” (i.e., the diminishing of both his hope and himself), and an earlier piece, "Turtle Soup," which concludes:
Sometimes at night I see shell-less turtles
massing on the edge of my bed;
shriveled heads and wrinkled bodies
reminding me of what's to come.
(Note: this sort of (highly effective) lunge into surrealism/dream-vividness is common in Nudelman's work.)
Nudelman can be happy, too, as in "Streaming," when he depicts himself splicing a gene: "…going on momentum/ and the lure of giddy surprise./ I'm in a biochemical sweep/ across an unchartered cosmos." And later in the same poem:
I'm air, water, fire and spirit.
I can't hear the pump whine.
I can't feel my tired feet.
I can't even imagine failure.
(Note: that's just how I felt at one point as a critic while writing this!)
Nudelman can lyrically transcend any laboratory, too, as is evidenced in "Gorilla Flower":
A breach reveals a purplish bud
as pristine as the snow surrounding it.
Maybe it landed in August, or fell off
an iris gliding across four backyards.
It might have dropped from a bird's
feather or it could have been there all
along, beating its pretty regal chest
in the vast white jungle, just as you do
when only the impossible matters
and only the impossible happens.
In his "Ephemeral," he probably reaches the peak of his lyrical concern with mortality and whatever it is for which we search in this life:
The garden's lamp-lit outline
beckons. Air chills as flowers
conspire against inevitability.
Is it June or winter beginning?
What is wind but a carrier?
Whether lavender or icy flecks,
ten years, twenty years, a hundred
life-times crammed onto a leaf's back.
Just as these roses brighten,
trillium bend over and drop off.
Aren't the bees after just one thing?
So too, we're here nosing
for something sweet, a heavy
remnant, a single drop of nectar
as volatile, as permanent.
I could easily quote ten or twenty more specimens of this poet's work, but I think I've quoted enough. For more of Nudelman, you'll have to buy his book. It won't disappoint you.
.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
New Appearances/Poetry Journals
Poems accepted this last month into three poetry journals comprising first appearances for me:
Chiron Poetry Review
Criterion Poetry Review
Valparaiso Poetry Review
Chiron Poetry Review
Criterion Poetry Review
Valparaiso Poetry Review
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Review of My Book in "Poets and Artists"
Review appears in July issue of Poets and Artists (online). Click HERE for direct link.
'Reasonable Doubt: Now bring on the ghosts.' The world of Edward Nudelman, July 22, 2011
By Grady Harp (Los Angeles, CA United States)
Edward Nudelman
Publisher: Lummox Press (To order: click here
PubDate: 6/27/2011
ISBN: 9781929878918
Binding: PAPERBACK, perfect-bound, glossy color covers
Price: $15.00
Pages: 114
Edward Nudelman is a poet of importance. It is likely that at some point in his career he will be at least short listed for Poet Laureate, so able is he to find those fragments of imagination, question, fear, doubt, and need for definition that poke temporary holes in our lives, leaving us with a choice of persistent uncertainty or a good guffaw as camouflage. Reading Nudelman's succinct poems is not unlike studying cells through a microscope, something Nudelman likely has spent time doing in his day job of cancer research - watching what appear to be normal cells metamorphose into altered forms, becoming villains to life as our bodies know it. Perceptions and explanations, cognitive transient thoughts piqued by momentary changes, looking at the expected and finding paradoxes, and in the end putting all of these experiences in the finely carved frame of humor and the time erosion of memory - all of these aspects are in this collection of erudite yet warmly recognizable Gileads of poetry.
An aspect of Edward Nudelman's poems that this reader finds particularly appealing is his ability to communicate a thought in a one page poem that minutes to hours to days later calls the reader back to re-think the message first accepted:
ARRIVAL
A flood light decants through a side window.
Who can tell a gnat from a mosquito, unless
blood is spilled? Outside, a dog wants in.
A bus pulls up to its last stop, a boy gets off.
It's a long walk home; but he wants to walk.
Nobody here remembers the Vietnam war
but they will not easily forget this one.
An astronaut is returning from another planet.
It's late, but everybody's ears are piqued.
Everything's looming, everything's on hold,
including Wednesday evening's bridge club.
Halfway through the night, a worried
mother finishes her second book in two nights.
The dog is allowed to come in and checked
for ticks. The stove is left on for heat.
Moods of such ignored magnitude find their way into most all of Nudelman's poems - that and humor and other conundrums. In the very elegant NOCTURNAL we can excerpt a few lines (space here does not allow full recreation): 'I've written a poem on the death of my father/ and another on the birth of my granddaughter./ Both poems contain the same words in different order./ And both possess the capacity to shock me.'......'Have you ever considered walking backwards to work?/ Watching your house grow smaller and smaller/ until finally you can't remember the color of shutters./ Have you ever thought about remodeling your mind?' And in the midst of humor and challenges to look twice at first perceptions he is also able to step back and write simply a pure poem:
LAST REQUESTS
A hawk's view of a field in the last hour of light.
To understand limitless reach, a concept
withheld from those who are not birds.
To differentiate ocean from water, space
from enclosure, to stretch out over expanding
coldness and remain insulated, cradled.
To ride a tornado without feeling dizzy.
Slide down an elephant's back.
Go to the dentist just for a thrill.
Disavow self-preservation and envy.
Denounce consumption, apathy, rancor.
To see both the end and the beginning
simultaneously, and embrace both.
To rest in hope, my own diminishing.
Edward Nudelman slyly takes a cupful of science and a dollop of humor and a soupçon of philosophy and stirs that and more into some of the finest poetry being written today. Science. Art. There really is no division. Grady Harp, July 11
'Reasonable Doubt: Now bring on the ghosts.' The world of Edward Nudelman, July 22, 2011
By Grady Harp (Los Angeles, CA United States)
Edward Nudelman
Publisher: Lummox Press (To order: click here
PubDate: 6/27/2011
ISBN: 9781929878918
Binding: PAPERBACK, perfect-bound, glossy color covers
Price: $15.00
Pages: 114
Edward Nudelman is a poet of importance. It is likely that at some point in his career he will be at least short listed for Poet Laureate, so able is he to find those fragments of imagination, question, fear, doubt, and need for definition that poke temporary holes in our lives, leaving us with a choice of persistent uncertainty or a good guffaw as camouflage. Reading Nudelman's succinct poems is not unlike studying cells through a microscope, something Nudelman likely has spent time doing in his day job of cancer research - watching what appear to be normal cells metamorphose into altered forms, becoming villains to life as our bodies know it. Perceptions and explanations, cognitive transient thoughts piqued by momentary changes, looking at the expected and finding paradoxes, and in the end putting all of these experiences in the finely carved frame of humor and the time erosion of memory - all of these aspects are in this collection of erudite yet warmly recognizable Gileads of poetry.
An aspect of Edward Nudelman's poems that this reader finds particularly appealing is his ability to communicate a thought in a one page poem that minutes to hours to days later calls the reader back to re-think the message first accepted:
ARRIVAL
A flood light decants through a side window.
Who can tell a gnat from a mosquito, unless
blood is spilled? Outside, a dog wants in.
A bus pulls up to its last stop, a boy gets off.
It's a long walk home; but he wants to walk.
Nobody here remembers the Vietnam war
but they will not easily forget this one.
An astronaut is returning from another planet.
It's late, but everybody's ears are piqued.
Everything's looming, everything's on hold,
including Wednesday evening's bridge club.
Halfway through the night, a worried
mother finishes her second book in two nights.
The dog is allowed to come in and checked
for ticks. The stove is left on for heat.
Moods of such ignored magnitude find their way into most all of Nudelman's poems - that and humor and other conundrums. In the very elegant NOCTURNAL we can excerpt a few lines (space here does not allow full recreation): 'I've written a poem on the death of my father/ and another on the birth of my granddaughter./ Both poems contain the same words in different order./ And both possess the capacity to shock me.'......'Have you ever considered walking backwards to work?/ Watching your house grow smaller and smaller/ until finally you can't remember the color of shutters./ Have you ever thought about remodeling your mind?' And in the midst of humor and challenges to look twice at first perceptions he is also able to step back and write simply a pure poem:
LAST REQUESTS
A hawk's view of a field in the last hour of light.
To understand limitless reach, a concept
withheld from those who are not birds.
To differentiate ocean from water, space
from enclosure, to stretch out over expanding
coldness and remain insulated, cradled.
To ride a tornado without feeling dizzy.
Slide down an elephant's back.
Go to the dentist just for a thrill.
Disavow self-preservation and envy.
Denounce consumption, apathy, rancor.
To see both the end and the beginning
simultaneously, and embrace both.
To rest in hope, my own diminishing.
Edward Nudelman slyly takes a cupful of science and a dollop of humor and a soupçon of philosophy and stirs that and more into some of the finest poetry being written today. Science. Art. There really is no division. Grady Harp, July 11
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project Summer Poetry Institute for Educators 2011
Here is the schedule for the best five days you'll ever spend in the poetry world:
LINK FOR CONTACT INFO: click here
Favorite Poem Project Summer Poetry Institute for Educators 2011
IMPORTANT NOTE: the readings and seminars by the stellar poets in the project are open to the public (Robert Pinsky,Louise Glück, Heather McHugh, Carl Phillips and Maggie Dietz) -- but not the discussions, lesson developments, all the stuff the teacher-participants do, so if you're not involved formally, you can still drop by for these amazing readings!
S C H E D U L E O F E V E N T S
All events will take place in either Boston University’s Sargent College (SAR), 635 Commonwealth Avenue, or in the School of Education (SED), around the corner at 2 Silber Way. Optional continental breakfast will be offered each morning in the lobby of the SED beginning at 8:15 a.m.
Room Assignments for Discussion Groups:
Lisa Llorente’s group (elementary), SED 259 Lee Indrisano’s group (middle school), SED 250
Karen Harris’s group (high school), SAR 101 Susan Moran’s group (high school), SED 709
MONDAY, JULY 11
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 a.m. – 10:00 a.m. SAR 101
Welcome and Introduction:
Robert Pinsky
10:00 – 10:20 a.m. Facilities Tour
10:20 a.m. – 10:40 a.m.
Morning Break
10:40 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. SAR 101
Favorite Poem Video Screening
and Discussion with Maggie Dietz
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
Lunch Break
1:00 p.m. – 2:00 p.m.
Introductory Discussion Groups
2:00 p.m. – 3:20 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Carl Phillips
3:20 p.m. – 3:45 p.m.
Afternoon Break
3:45 p.m. – 4:30 p.m. SAR 101
Poetry Reading: Carl Phillips
4:30 – 6:00 p.m. SED Lobby
Welcome wine & cheese
TUESDAY, JULY 12
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 a.m. – 10:20 a.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
10:20 a.m. – 10:40 a.m.
Morning Break
10:40 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Maggie Dietz
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
Lunch Break
1:00 p.m. – 2:00 p.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
2:00 p.m. – 3:20 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Heather McHugh
3:20 p.m. – 3:45 p.m.
Afternoon Break
3:45 p.m. – 4:30 p.m. SAR 101
Poetry Reading: Heather McHugh & Maggie Dietz
WEDNESDAY, JULY 13
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 a.m. – 10:20 a.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
10:20 a.m. – 10:40 a.m.
Morning Break
10:40 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Robert Pinsky
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
Lunch Break
1:00 – 2:00
Discussion/Lesson Development
2:00 p.m. – 3:20 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Louise Glück
3:20 p.m. – 3:45 p.m.
Afternoon Break
3:45 p.m. – 4:30 p.m.
Poetry Reading: Louise Glück
& Robert Pinsky
THURSDAY, JULY 14
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 – 10:00
Wrap-up Q&A/Discussion
10:00 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
Lunch Break
**Box Lunch Provided**
1:00 p.m. – 4:00 p.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
FRIDAY, JULY 15
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 – 10:30 SAR 101
Lesson Plan Presentations
10:30 a.m. – 10:45 a.m.
Morning Break
10:45 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. SAR 101
Teachers’ Favorite Poem Reading/
Evaluations
LINK FOR CONTACT INFO: click here
Favorite Poem Project Summer Poetry Institute for Educators 2011
IMPORTANT NOTE: the readings and seminars by the stellar poets in the project are open to the public (Robert Pinsky,Louise Glück, Heather McHugh, Carl Phillips and Maggie Dietz) -- but not the discussions, lesson developments, all the stuff the teacher-participants do, so if you're not involved formally, you can still drop by for these amazing readings!
S C H E D U L E O F E V E N T S
All events will take place in either Boston University’s Sargent College (SAR), 635 Commonwealth Avenue, or in the School of Education (SED), around the corner at 2 Silber Way. Optional continental breakfast will be offered each morning in the lobby of the SED beginning at 8:15 a.m.
Room Assignments for Discussion Groups:
Lisa Llorente’s group (elementary), SED 259 Lee Indrisano’s group (middle school), SED 250
Karen Harris’s group (high school), SAR 101 Susan Moran’s group (high school), SED 709
MONDAY, JULY 11
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 a.m. – 10:00 a.m. SAR 101
Welcome and Introduction:
Robert Pinsky
10:00 – 10:20 a.m. Facilities Tour
10:20 a.m. – 10:40 a.m.
Morning Break
10:40 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. SAR 101
Favorite Poem Video Screening
and Discussion with Maggie Dietz
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
Lunch Break
1:00 p.m. – 2:00 p.m.
Introductory Discussion Groups
2:00 p.m. – 3:20 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Carl Phillips
3:20 p.m. – 3:45 p.m.
Afternoon Break
3:45 p.m. – 4:30 p.m. SAR 101
Poetry Reading: Carl Phillips
4:30 – 6:00 p.m. SED Lobby
Welcome wine & cheese
TUESDAY, JULY 12
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 a.m. – 10:20 a.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
10:20 a.m. – 10:40 a.m.
Morning Break
10:40 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Maggie Dietz
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
Lunch Break
1:00 p.m. – 2:00 p.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
2:00 p.m. – 3:20 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Heather McHugh
3:20 p.m. – 3:45 p.m.
Afternoon Break
3:45 p.m. – 4:30 p.m. SAR 101
Poetry Reading: Heather McHugh & Maggie Dietz
WEDNESDAY, JULY 13
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 a.m. – 10:20 a.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
10:20 a.m. – 10:40 a.m.
Morning Break
10:40 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Robert Pinsky
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
Lunch Break
1:00 – 2:00
Discussion/Lesson Development
2:00 p.m. – 3:20 p.m. SAR 101
Seminar with Louise Glück
3:20 p.m. – 3:45 p.m.
Afternoon Break
3:45 p.m. – 4:30 p.m.
Poetry Reading: Louise Glück
& Robert Pinsky
THURSDAY, JULY 14
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 – 10:00
Wrap-up Q&A/Discussion
10:00 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
12:00 p.m. – 1:00 p.m.
Lunch Break
**Box Lunch Provided**
1:00 p.m. – 4:00 p.m.
Discussion/Lesson Development
FRIDAY, JULY 15
8:15 a.m – 9:00 a.m. SED Lobby
Continental Breakfast & Coffee
9:00 – 10:30 SAR 101
Lesson Plan Presentations
10:30 a.m. – 10:45 a.m.
Morning Break
10:45 a.m. – 12:00 p.m. SAR 101
Teachers’ Favorite Poem Reading/
Evaluations
Friday, May 20, 2011
Review of My Book in Boston Small Press
Here's a link to a review of my book in Boston Area Small Press, a great site for New England poets (Ibbetson Street Press, Doug Holder). Find it here by scrolling down about halfway: click here>
Sunday, May 15, 2011
"Whose Cries Are Not Music," A Review and Interview with Linda Benninghoff
“Whose Cries Are Not Music”
by Linda Benninghoff
, Trade Paper, 6X9 . Lummox Press (PO Box 5301 San Pedro, CA 90733-5301)
108
pages; ISBN: 978-1-929878-95-6 Publishing Date: Feb. 2011 TO ORDER: SEE VERY END OF THIS ARTICLE In Linda Benninghgoff’s first major collection, “Whose Cries Are Not Music,” we find a collection of poems cohesively assembled from her experience, spanning rivers of varying topics and ideas with facile dexterity. I found myself reading each section and not wanting to stop, to be led into her rooms of picturesque silence, cries of warning and fear, and finally, to be unhinged by poetry that relates on many levels.
If I had to typify these poems, I’d say they try to elevate the mystery of our finitude through shared events in both nature and human experience, a kind of confrontation that only poetry does best, and well-aided by her unadorned speech which carries enough heat to power through this tough territory. There is little doubt Benninghoff’s poems aim to bring the abstract into focus, as though a human eye were trying to understand what only a bird can see.
In the book’s opening section there are poems about her mother, going for chemo, deer, rest vs. unrest, rain , sickness, the sea, and so on. And throughout these early poems, we find a palpable sorrow that comes from the speaker’s awareness of mortality. This is culminated in the poem ‘Do The Dead?” which is really a cleverly-constructed series of open-ended questions. “Do the dead stop and rest, or do they continue?” the speaker asks, as figuratively posed as it is honest and blunt. And I find this to be a general theme in the book, one that seems to progress throughout the book: from sorrow and pain through acceptance, and then finally hope. This is typified in the spare poem, “Rain” which begins:
Count rain on my fingers?
It is too fine,
like each column of pain-
and ends with a superb image of a swan on a lake, coming up after a dunk, ‘her neck arched/orange bill shining,’ as if to say, how effortless and beautiful is this overcoming.
Benninghoff draws on a rich, yet otherwise ‘ordinary’ vocabulary in her descriptions (read this as compliment!). She doesn’t overwrite, and she doesn’t over-describe. Yet she places the reader in the midst of a scene and then allows the logistics and parameters of the images to speak further into her developing themes of sorrow and isolation. There is considerable coverage in this collection given to past episodes, impressions and life-stories which are no doubt told in autobiographical form. Nowhere is this more evident than in the poems devoted to her father, and one entitled “Evening With My Father" especially impressed me with its dichotomy presented: the quest for love and belonging, alongside the stark reality of separation. The poem begins:
Last Tuesday I played tennis with him.
We slapped balls easily.
His voice sounded friendly,
As if we had done more
than face each other
strangers across newspapers...
Here is a familiar theme which Benninghoff develops not as an argument for advancing communication or sensitivity-training, but as a catalyst for yearning and remembrance. Thus, the ambiguity of the situation is supplanted by the stark images contrasting through time, and the poem succeeds in providing an underpinning for love and regard in the midst of bewilderment, typified in this taught stanza:
We were not quite friends that night,
but I thought of the blue room,
where I was six or seven
and my father told me stories
of salmon caught in California rivers
and bear fur left on trees...
For Benninghoff, loss is seen as something not to be ignored. Not stoicism, but an opportunity to observe and remember. To take in what has transpired for what it is, and to take on the difficult task of sorting out the collateral damage.
But alongside grappling with conflict comes insight and understanding, a finer focus which these poems seem to provide. In the title-poem, “Whose Cries Are Not Music,” we find the speaker giving ear to the sounds of geese,
the cry of wild birds
who can make only one sound
and put into that sound
wing-beat, empty marshes
clouds and their quest
for home.
But the poem develops and slightly turns, as the speaker remarks on these evocative sounds which remind her of a child who has no words, just an inconsolable cry, ‘as if everything must begin in pain.” And the poem then becomes confessional in an unpretentious way, and we are led into a solemn recognition of the value of pain, insofar as it can enlighten:
I can spend my whole life
healing it,
but find in the end
that love itself contains pain
though I do not give up feeling it…
The poems in this collection, though varied and presenting a wide spectrum of impressions and images, nevertheless point the reader toward a common theme. Thus Benninghoff, in a book which contains some poems written many years ago and herewith reworked, makes her case for the solemnity of life, the value in living well and the beauty, if not triumph, of dying well.
From “In Dying” referring to the ‘piebald hills’ where only birds sing praise, we find this made plain:
“Don’t I always turn back
To you when I am ill
Or alone,
Like a dancer remembering
The dance?
The Husk comes away from the seeed.
Don’t we in dying
Reveal who we are.
Linda Benninghoff’’s “Whose Cries Are Not Music” is not only a collection of poems that will offer comfort to the bereaved and a connection to anyone who has suffered through a great loss, but perhaps also raise up the spirit of the most inured amongst us to look beyond darkness into flickering light.
A FEW QUESTIONS FOR LINDA:
1. What do you like to do when you’re not writing poems? What interests you? What delights you?
I live in back of a state park and I like walking through there, noticing the wildlife, the chipmunks, rabbits, deer and birds. I like to feed the birds in winter, and learned the names for the different birds that came to the feeder: the junco, the tufted titmouse, the chickadee, the cardinal, the jay. We also have hummingbirds. I love rabbits, and when they start coming to my yard in spring, I feel in the presence of something wonderful, something spiritual.
I walk, I swim. I used to go windsurfing before I had a hernia operation and I used to go sailing. Being part of the ocean is important for me. Currently I live near the Long Island Sound. When I lived in Baltimore I sought out the Chesapeake to go swimming in. I delight in nature. I like to do nature photography, though I haven’t gotten that many great photos. I have photos of deer and photos of a chipmunk—but the chipmunk is too small to see.
2. When did you start writing poetry? When did you feel it was something you wanted to do seriously, and what went into that equation?
I started writing poetry at about age 17 or 18 when I was introduced to free verse. At this time I took a course with Jean Valentine, who introduced me to Robert Lowell and Elizabeth Bishop, and poets in the anthology The Voice That Is Great Within Us. I had written rhyme before but now began writing free verse prolifically. I didn’t try to get published. I was really interested in writing fiction. I spent many years writing novels and short stories. I didn’t feel they were good enough to publish. I didn’t get good feedback on the fiction from teachers and professors and friends, as I did on the poetry. I began publishing some poetry and fiction in a small magazine in Philadelphia when I was close to 40 years old. Then I began attending the Long Island Poetry Collective and sending my poems out.
The feedback I was getting on my poetry turned me around—it was so much better than what I got on my fiction. I sent to The Missouri Review and the online editor there told me they were talking of nothing but my poetry. I didn’t have a problem publishing poetry, not like with the fiction. It was then, with the encouragement of some friends, that I went into poetry seriously, although I’d been writing it most of my life.
3. What kind of poetry do you read? Which poets set you on fire?
My favorite poet is Theodore Roethke, a teacher introduced me to him when I was 14. At that age I was too young to appreciate him, but when I grew older I appreciated the language, the imagination and feeling. My favorite poem was “The Lost Son.” I also, for a period, read Emily Dickinson regularly every night. I review contemporary poets and have come across some I really love: Penelope Schott, whose skill with language is amazing. I also love Julie L. Moore, for her appreciation of nature and her insight into the human spirit. I also like Karynna McGlynn—I think I spelled her name properly. Her language is something I strive to reach but can’t.
4. How do you write a poem?
I write my poetry mostly haphazardly. I will sit down and begin to write without knowing what I am going to write about. A word or a phrase comes into my mind. Often the words are about the reverence I have for nature. Sometimes they are about my close friend Mary. I don’t know really know where I’m going with the poems, but, almost magically, they come out well. Sometimes my family and the people closest to me don’t understand them, but sometimes they do. The hardest ones get published, despite my family’s criticisms. I want to emphasize that this not a deliberate, planned, conscious method of creation. It is totally unconscious.
5. What do you want your poetry to accomplish?
I didn't plan to accomplish anything with my book; I was just
writing poetry to express my feelings. Maybe I wanted to immortalize
some moments, some places in nature and some people. I think I wanted to provide some understanding of what it is to feel lonely or to suffer a loss. Poets have done this before. Thomas Hardy did it, in a great way. Yet every poet is different. Hardy is melancholy. I am not--nor self-pitying. In the last section of the book I look at death as a sort of crossing over. This is the "dream" we are living, and death is the "dream" to come.
6. Tell us a little about the effort that went into this book? How long did it take to put the manuscript together? What were areas of difficulty for you in the process? Areas of fulfillment?
My initial manuscript was not clear and got rejected. A poet I knew read the manuscript and pointed out the sections of the manuscript that were not clear and suggested adding poems and changing section headings. Now it is so clear that even a person who does not read a lot of poetry can understand it. I think making it clear so even the average reader could understand it was the most fulfilling part of the venture for me.
7. This is a collection of poems full of feeling, and many of the poems riff off of elements of the senses and derivative impulses from nature, perceptions of cold, the sea, the snow, birds, and of course, death. Tell us a little about what you’re trying to do here, how allusion to the physical points toward and elicits feelings of pain, loss, loneliness, suffering.
I have always felt my thoughts echoed in nature, when I am walking or sitting by a window looking at the trees and the yard. I think this is a notion common to Romantic poetry—the idea that nature reflects our feelings—but I, a modern poet, have carried it on. The poem “Canada Geese” has been characterized by some of my friends as a poem about depression. Other of my poems about the physical world offer hope: “Whose Cries Are Not Music” offers hope. Many of my early poems were very hopeful, but as I grew older the poems began to voice loss. The physical world is still there accompanying, beside me. Rabbits seem to be emissaries from a better world, bearing good tidings. The deer bring beauty, but as I grow older and begin to write about them, it is endangered beauty.
8. The book opens with a magnificent poem entitled, “Snowy Winter,” where the speaker talks with an unidentified person wherein a confidence and trust has obviously been sewn. The poem deals with the longing for underpinnings, rest, and I suppose, a way to identify with one’s own struggles as well as enter in to the difficulties of those we love. In the poem we find the following lovely closing stanza:
The creamy snow extends even to the water,
Where there are wrinkles and marks
-frozen over
from Lloyd to Cold Spring Harbor.
The curving gulls
keep saying the words you spoke,
yet there is no food for them here.
They rest in the empty air
hungry like me,
as I search
for the prints of winter birds.
What interests me in this poem is the playing out of personal pathos in the context of a dialog, or at least, the poem deliberately wants to include the un-named party as a participant or witness in the speaker’s travail. Please tell us what you mean by, ‘The curving gulls keep saying the words you spoke, yet there is no food for them here.” Do the ‘words’ refer back to an early statement in the poem about ‘worrying about the future,’ and how much of the poem and the book turns on this notion of trying to sort out and prepare for what is to come?
Yes, the words about my friend taking care of me, both in a physical and emotional sense, that gave me such a sense of security so that I didn’t have to worry about the future, are spoken by the curving gulls when I am separated from her. I keep trying to return to that moment of trust, but life has carried us away from each other. It is portrayed in the poem as neither of our fault, just something that happened. The gulls are hungry for food, I am hungry for the closeness I had with that person, my friend. This is a poem about loss and also loneliness. I think I made the speaker’s loneliness palpable with the snow that extends even to the water—the coldness of nature in this case, which reflects the speaker’s own inner emptiness. And the gulls rest in “empty air.”
9. Are you working on another collection of poems? Do you have a theme for your next manuscript?
I started working on a chapbook with poems that I did from Molly Fisk’s poem a day class. A lot of these are poems about the seasons, winter going into spring, and spring actually happening. People have told me the new poems are lighter, and I think they end with more hope than Whose Cries Are Not Music. That is one of the reasons that I want to put them out, because they provide some hope that answers some of the questions raised by the longer book. They do not go into as much depth, however, and are mainly nature poems.
10. If you could give any advice to young, aspiring poets, what would it be?
Write for yourself and read. A lot of my friends who want to write don’t read, and that is the most important thing. If you don’t like the poetry you are reading, find poems that help you find yourself. If you write to express your feelings: that’s okay, that’s like me; if you write to paint a situation, an injustice, or a history, that’s okay too. Write as often as you can and don’t lose the habit. Write a lot before you try to publish.
HOW TO ORDER LINDA'S BOOK:
Just click on this direct link to her order page at Lummox Press:
LUMMOX PRESS ORDER PAGE
Sunday, March 13, 2011
IMPORTANT LINKS
.
My Youtube Channel with promo videos for my new book: click here While there, please subscribe, more videos to follow
To order, "What Looks Like an Elephant" ($15) go to my Ordering Page at Lummox Press: click here
Please find links to my recorded poems on right hand panel of this blog. Let me know what you think! I'm always interested in your responses!
.
My Youtube Channel with promo videos for my new book: click here While there, please subscribe, more videos to follow
To order, "What Looks Like an Elephant" ($15) go to my Ordering Page at Lummox Press: click here
Please find links to my recorded poems on right hand panel of this blog. Let me know what you think! I'm always interested in your responses!
.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
What looks like an elephant
...not a question, but the title of my first full-length poetry book, which I'm excited to announce is in production at Lummox Press, with a scheduled released date in late March. The book contains over 80 poems dealing with ambiguities and paradoxes in experience, especially how impressions of certainty and doubt affect everyday life. I've tried to call on influences in my vocation (I am a cancer research scientist in my other life) as well as child and adolescent memories, and hopefully mixed in some humor and poetic metaphor. Great Pre-Order Offer:
Lummox Press has graciously provided for a pre-sale discount of 20% off the list price, which is $15. Not bad for over 110 pages, including a nice, tight, 'perfect-bound' binding, glossy color covers and an introduction by April Ossmann, former director of Alice James Books. And for a limited time, we're offering author-inscribed copies at no additional cost (publisher will follow-up advance orders by email). You can easily order by going to the Lummox Press website, where my ordering page may be found:
To order: click here
Thank you sincerely for considering my work. Edward Nudelman, Beverly, MA. And here are a few examples from the book:
Turtle Soup
I. Anecdotal/apocryphal
Turtles, like madmen and walnuts,
have hard shells that hide soft heads.
Have you ever seen a turtle smile?
Turtles hum under a chitinous shroud.
Baby turtles assemble in lines on logs.
Adult turtles rarely move, except to eat.
Our friend’s twenty-year old turtle
has spent two decades floating
in a metal pan, sleeping every other year.
II. Experiential/metaphorical
I was walking my dog along a pond
when she bolted in for a swim. An alarmed
passerby scolded me with the story
of a snapping turtle that pulled her miniature
poodle under. My dog weighed over sixty
pounds, but the thought of her in turtle jaws
so unnerved me, I could barely respond.
Sometimes at night I see shell-less turtles
massing on the edge of my bed;
shriveled heads and wrinkled bodies
reminding me of what’s to come.
Fizzle
Leave the grand hall, arms
at your side, head down and to one side,
knowing all was said that needed to be said.
Let the rain glide down your back.
Let people move aside and spirits step forward,
vanity and praise devour themselves.
All striving and hustle, let fizzle to dust.
You might have wanted more, or felt
you earned more; but now you lay it all down
in one small, unadorned stanza, without glitter.
Let poets howl. Let them roar. The car is cold
and the windshield weeps from the inside,
your writing hand’s stuck on the shift.
******************
Praise for "What Looks Like an Elephant":
BLURBS (4)
1
Edward Nudelman’s delicious use of math and science language and metaphors combined with his sense of humor and seemingly limitless curiosity; his capacity to surprise the reader with juxtapositions and acute observations: “His face leans into the cold window,/nostrils pressed against glass leaving/transient marks with every expiration”(from On the T, Near Park Street); and the sheer loveliness of so many lines: “fish released deep into gray sea with krill,/blind and anaerobic, nothing to breathe/but sheer grace through green gills” (from The Quitter), make this a book to re-read, to share with friends and family, and to return to for inspiration, discovery, comfort, and fun.
−April Ossmann
Poet, independent editor, and former director of Alice James Books.
2
Few poets can steer between generosity and insight or aphorism and wonder with ease, but Edward Nuddleman's book is one of those rare books. He makes the intangible tangible. He turns afterthought into deep thought. Above all, he unpacks certainties into reasonable doubts. This is a keen book and a special one.
−David Bespiel, Poet, The Book of Men and Women, 2009 (Named 'Best Poetry of the Year' by The Poetry Foundation), past poetry reviewer Washington Post, NY Times.
3
Edward Nudelman’s poetry revitalizes life. Time passes quickly but reading these poems is to be awakened alive in the moment.
−Grace Cavalieri
Water on the Sun, Bordighera Poetry Award, Pen Center Best Book List
4
Edward Nudelman’s poems remind me of electrical outlets. You put your finger in one, it gives off a jolt; you move onto the next one. They’re about machines, shadows, visions, calculations, nuts, babies, fingernails, ghosts, ‘buzzing warnings’ and the surprisingly subtle difference between being on and off. In short, they’re philosophical but enjoyable. I recommend the book.”
-Aaron Belz, PhD
Poet, professor (English); Lovely, Raspberry. Persea Books. 2010. The Bird Hoverer. BlazeVOX books. 2007. Plausible worlds. Observable Books. 2005.
BIO
Edward Nudelman’s first book of poetry, "Night Fires," was a semifinalist for the Journal Award ("The Wheeler Prize) given by OSU Press in 2009. "Night Fires" was published by Pudding House Publications in 2009. "Casting the Nines," an anthology of nine poets with nine poems (PHP, 2009) honored Nudelman as one of nine selected poets contributing poems. He received a Pushcart Nomination in 2009. Some of his poems have been recently published in Poets and Artists (Oranges and Sardines), Ampersand, Syntax, The Atlanta Review, OCHO, Mipoesias, Plainsongs, Tears in the Fence, fourW, Floating Bridge Press, The Orange Room Review, The Penwood Review, The White Leaf Review, Adagio Verse Quarterly, and others. Nudelman is a noted cancer research biologist with over 60 published papers in top-tier journals. He has published two widely read books on an American illustrator, Jessie Willcox Smith (Pelican Publishing, 1989, 1990). A native of Seattle, Nudelman is currently working and living just north of Boston with his wife, Susan, and their Golden Retriever, Sofie
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Two New Poems in Chiron Review
I'm really excited to receive word that two of my poems have been accepted into Chiron Review, a great print journal which has published many, many poets greater than myself (including Charles Bukowski). They happened to choose the poem which has the line taken for my title in my upcoming book, "What Looks Like an Elephant." Poems accepted: "Linear Equations" and "Another List of Intangibles." Just sent first set of proofs for book back to Lummox Press. We're nearing the finish line!
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