Interglacial: New and Selected Poems & Aphorisms

by James Richardson

Book Overview

His recent book of aphorisms (Vectors: Aphorisms & Ten-Second Essays) has done very well, charming readers with his wit, profundity, and easy accessibility. He's a great self-promoter, giving numerous readings and lectures.

• Format: Paperback
• Language: English
• ISBN: 1931337217
• ISBN13: 9781931337212
• Release Date: November 2004
• Publisher: Ausable Press
• Length: 280 Pages
• Weight: 1.00 lbs.
• Dimensions: 0.8" x 6.2" x 9.0"

Customer Reviews

read, reread

The poetry, as all poetry, is best read aloud. The aphorisms, one at a time and savored. There is much wisdom...

An Excellent Attempt at Essence

The cover containing Paul Klee's painting is a give-away to some of the excellent work contained in this book. As the painting attempts to define the relationship between the basics of color and shape, James Richardson's Interglacial makes attempts at defining essence poetically, in particular the aphorisms in 'Encyclopedia of the Stones' are a wonderful attempt at providing insight into the essence of stones. Fans of Philip Larkin will particularly enjoy this work, as it is similar in its minimalistic, stark nature, exploring many classic metaphysical issues through use of beautiful, impacting imagery. In particular, the gentle frailty in nature is explored with stunning poems such as 'Anyway' and 'Doppler Effects'. This book is a bargain for its price, I have owned it less than a month and the wear and tear is already significant, always sitting within easy reach next to Larkin and Brodsky.

A 253-page compendium of writings

Interglacial: New And Selected Poems & Aphorisms is a 253-page compendium of writings by prize winning poet James Richardson. Spellbound: And what of the child Bad Magic/clanged shut in a bluebird,/who sat half-lit in the re-leafing arbor,/listening for his old name in the family hubbub,/who meant to cry out...but seedflash, a hummer of wings.../couldn't hold to his dream,/small and quick as a spark, of having been/a child once? Who couldn't see into those windows,/quick as sparks, where slowly they still played,/who meant...but shrill, but two flights twined/outflinging...And sometimes in the clatter/of coffee on the lawn, their voices lowering/and slowed (that he could not tell/from landslide, from preliminary thunder),/they would seem to speak of him/something...but it was years/and he meant...but too-swift heart,/flit like forget and South like a soft downstairs,/and something sang him something flew him away...