Seek Giacometti’s “The Palace at 4 a.m.” Go back two hours. See towers and curtain walls of matchsticks, marble, marbles, light, cloud at stasis. Walk in. The beggar queen is dreaming on her throne of words…You have arrived at the web home of Marly Youmans, maker of novels, poetry collections, and stories, as well as the occasional fantasy for younger readers.
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Wednesday, January 08, 2020
The Slumbering Host
The Slumbering Host, ed. Daniel Rattelle and Clinton Collister (Little Gidding Press, 2020)
Cover art by David Baulis.
ISBN-13: 978-0578622415
A new anthology, a lovely fresh sprout from the soil of North American Anglican. I assume the title is from Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Click the link above for more comments and information and a peep inside. I'm looking forward to encountering some poets I have not read before!
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"The Slumbering Host is an important part of the resistance to our late postmodern literary culture. The poets in this anthology have rejected the poetry of brutalism spawned by Ezra Pound, and have instead embraced spirituality and traditional poetic craft. These poems collected by Clinton Collister and Daniel Rattelle display music, grace, and ambition." --A.M Juster
"The Slumbering Host remembers for us--the poems remember "what perhaps we wish the past had been," summoning voices not often heard, resonances from Ovid, Yeats, and Donne. The poets remember the tastes and sounds and colors of words, and most of all, their meanings. Unlike the obscurest rants of current headlines and rattling licentious verse of many contemporary writers, these poems and their poets do "not hasten words" but slowly beckon them to come and speak. In their poems, these words are defamiliarized and rekindled with fire. We can read these poems and know what the words mean. The poems ensembled in this collection call for us to listen to what we thought we knew and perhaps forgot, that truth is true and beauty is beautiful and goodness can be made once more." --Jessica Hooten Wilson
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Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.