Dennis Phillips, Measures
ISBN: 978-1-58498-103-9, $13.95
The new collected from acclaimed poet Dennis Phillips, the author of thirteen previous books of poetry, most recently Navigation, Selected Poems 1985—2010,. He lives and works in Pasadena, California.
“Manner is everything; but in this work's alphabetical arrangement is offered more than a predetermined taxonomy of means. Here, rather, is a series of lyric and meditative inducements. They 'consider', quite literally 'observe the stars' in an endless variety, discretely shaped and arcing with a grace of reckoning from A to Z. “ On Accretion (with Allegory)” determines “. . . Perfection, whose brother is Improvisation,/is restrained from Definition, whose mother is Inquiry.” And “On Zygotes and Thanatos” resolves “. . . at the shoreline/signaling with fire . . .” Everything between sustains a momentum of original discovery and provides a “measured” set of refinements of newly observable truths. These are writings of quality—not of qualification.” --Ray DiPalma
“Time passes in its quicksilver way through each of these alphabet poems, manifesting via wind, sea and cloud patterns, blowing sand, and recorded measurements of time on clocks, calendars, and parts of the day, as in the poem. The poet, a keeper of records, bears witness to the potency of time’s power as repeated words cycle through the book as reminders of the fraying of all things. Cities seem on the verge of rubble and sand. Death is lurking. Although each short poem is “on” a different topic, the book is a unified meditation on time’s winged chariot.
“Meaning must be wrought through human efforts: the making of alphabets, grids, calendars, narratives, names themselves—especially in the lyrical series of Hawaiian poems (Mauna Kea, Kauna’oa, Kawaihae). In the autumnal world of the book, each perceived and noted aspect of life seems both meaningless and entirely steeped in meaning. “Because memory, literally, is all we have/ like the quicksilver voicings of angels/ in this season and state of amnesia/ in unison singing.” — Martha Ronk
ISBN: 978-1-58498-103-9, $13.95
The new collected from acclaimed poet Dennis Phillips, the author of thirteen previous books of poetry, most recently Navigation, Selected Poems 1985—2010,. He lives and works in Pasadena, California.
“Manner is everything; but in this work's alphabetical arrangement is offered more than a predetermined taxonomy of means. Here, rather, is a series of lyric and meditative inducements. They 'consider', quite literally 'observe the stars' in an endless variety, discretely shaped and arcing with a grace of reckoning from A to Z. “ On Accretion (with Allegory)” determines “. . . Perfection, whose brother is Improvisation,/is restrained from Definition, whose mother is Inquiry.” And “On Zygotes and Thanatos” resolves “. . . at the shoreline/signaling with fire . . .” Everything between sustains a momentum of original discovery and provides a “measured” set of refinements of newly observable truths. These are writings of quality—not of qualification.” --Ray DiPalma
“Time passes in its quicksilver way through each of these alphabet poems, manifesting via wind, sea and cloud patterns, blowing sand, and recorded measurements of time on clocks, calendars, and parts of the day, as in the poem. The poet, a keeper of records, bears witness to the potency of time’s power as repeated words cycle through the book as reminders of the fraying of all things. Cities seem on the verge of rubble and sand. Death is lurking. Although each short poem is “on” a different topic, the book is a unified meditation on time’s winged chariot.
“Meaning must be wrought through human efforts: the making of alphabets, grids, calendars, narratives, names themselves—especially in the lyrical series of Hawaiian poems (Mauna Kea, Kauna’oa, Kawaihae). In the autumnal world of the book, each perceived and noted aspect of life seems both meaningless and entirely steeped in meaning. “Because memory, literally, is all we have/ like the quicksilver voicings of angels/ in this season and state of amnesia/ in unison singing.” — Martha Ronk