Like a juicy baroque rendition of a Mother Goose/Brothers Grimm world where twisted fairytale proportions jive with the melancholic foliage of a Roethkian sensibility, Siren is a dark romantic ditty to the body’s nursery. Told in both densely-laden ghazals, quirkily ironized haikus and triplet and other lyrical modes, this collection satisfies the lucubrious tongue, the allusive mind and the rococo realms of the heart.
Crits: Siren doesn’t really leap out with any prominent lack in terms of its own aims but I do get irked by presses that can’t seem to figure out ways to lay out form so they are faithful. Ok, occasionally, fine, but when one is focusing on the ghazal say, the majority of pieces shouldn’t be enjambed inappropriately in order to fit the page. Figure out a new font/type size or mode of presentation for gawdsakes! (and yes WordPress is one of those sites that also makes poetic posting awkward so forgive me)
With you, the dawning awareness at dusk/of chalcedony, chrysoprase,/
in the pendant your cheekbone brushed aside/as you kissed down to my left breast’s swerve./
The opalescent film on the window:/adularescence by day —yearn from blue to grey./
Our everywhere room: hotel in Singapore, house in Thunder Bay,/boathouse on the moon. A taste to disambiguate,/
that saltwater pearl under my tongue./ Pink and blue eyeshadow sky
led to chatoyancy by night: /the black cat’s eye, blackout flashlight.
p.s. [O the interconnective mysteries and delicious diction!]