Greetings everyone--


I hope it is OK to post this announcement here?  I've been in this group for well over 15 years, participating actively at times then sitting back and "lurking," as they say.   It's been a little salvation for me, knowing the list is out there and that people still chat about poetry in a non-social media type of way. Truly have appreciated being included on this list.



My new book, Only More So  was just published with Salmon Poetry Ireland, and, I have a few review copies I would love to send to those interested in reviewing the book (from Poetry Etc).  


Thanks so much for considering my work.  Pasted below are a little blurb and sample poems. email me your postal address if you would like a review copy [log in to unmask]  At the moment I have 2 copies available--


Thanks,


Millicent


Salmon Poetry


















About this Book


Only More So is a collection of lyric poems. Sometimes a bridge in a sad song, other times an echo that threatens to develop then fades, the images blend, twist, and entangle one another: a marriage is a song, then it’s a body, and finally a boat blind in the sea listening for the fog horn. We find ourselves alone in the spaces where atrocity meets the marriage bed—in those silences that are chosen, those that are forced, those that must be, and those that kill. “In Prague” is as close to a pure definition of poetry we get, where memory is kinetic action, where language is recorded in the land itself, where the names of things tell us what they really are:


		Take me where memory makes my legs move.
		Take me where moss holds language.
		Take me where we have a name for the things we do.





Carlo Matos

Author of The Secret Correspondence of Loon & Fiasco, It’s Best Not to Interrupt Her Experiments and a School for Fisherman




Millicent Borges Accardi was the recipient of fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), Fulbright, CantoMundo, Creative Capacity, the California Arts Council, Fundação Luso-Americana, and the Barbara Deming Foundation (Money for Women), Accardi has been in residence at Yaddo, Milkwood in Cesky Krumlov, Fundación Valparaíso in Spain; Jentel, and Vermont Studio Center. She holds degrees in English literature and writing from California State University, Long Beach (CSULB) and the University of Southern California (USC).


 









Read a sample from this book

Portrait of a Girl, 1942


Based on the Jan Lukas photograph of Vendulka Vogelova, taken a few hours before the young girl was transported to a concentration camp.
 
I am the mirror for one who speaks;
these fresh gaps are wind in the linden trees,
cotton flowers of life. A mirror is not much
for all of us, but if we listen for reflection,
 
the clear twin face of a groan behind the looking
glass, we hear the cat's hair sounds of all people
grumbling in the same manner about the air
the food the earth the sidewalk.
 
I am the mirror for all the world's silence,
and the ones who slipped through without drawing
blood, whose suicides number nothing next
to vast doors too tall to reach heaven, locked
forever, whose breaking takes generations,
sometimes, dull copper paint on the back of a lake.
 
I am the mirror for one who is trembling
like a child who has noticed too much, eyes
hard olive pits. I think about how life
cracks when the vanity glass overturns
our hands. Sharp pints in bars. Uneven edges
of ale. Crisp indignities of foam.
 
I am the mirror for all who choose
not to speak. I crack
in the dark. I shine in the snow.




Coupling
 
The woman thought she would be good,
making sure he washed,
 
rescuing black stockings, wood pile
scraps. Finding theatre tickets
 
and collecting parking stubs.
She thought she would be good
 
at using his soap. Remembering
not to wear perfume and waking
 
up to call home. In the hotel,
hiding while the hot water ran,
 
her heart compact as plywood.
She thought she would be good
 
at belonging. The bulk of her time
a two-by-four dove-tailed into a corner,
 
getting the best he had to offer.
She thought she had a talent for being aloof.
 
On him, she made few demands.
When he was away, she imagined
 
his heart open, fearless
hands holding a piece of wood steady
 
while a diamond-point blade cut through.
 

















http://www.MillicentBorgesAccardi.com

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Água mole em pedra dura tanto dá até que fura