Swallow: Poems

by Miranda Field

From the microcosmic wilderness of an overgrown back yard to the cool, glassed-in exhibits in a natural history museum, Swallow swoops and darts, tangling the lines we draw between the wild and the cultivated. In her debut collection, Miranda Field explores a world composed equally of shadow and substance, filled not just with beauty but also with a kind of savage experience. But Swallow is more than a crisscrossing of boundaries. It is an imperative, a dare: Go ahead, do as Eve did; let hunger take you wherever it will.

According to James Longenbach, these poems are "too beautifully made to idealize freedom, too much in love with vicissitude to idealize beauty. Read these poems, enter them, and be hungry forever."

  • Format: Paperback
  • ISBN-13/ EAN: 9780618189304
  • ISBN-10: 0618189300
  • Pages: 64
  • Publication Date: 08/15/2002
  • Carton Quantity: 50

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About the Book
About the Author
Excerpts
  • About the Book
    From the microcosmic wilderness of an overgrown back yard to the cool, glassed-in exhibits in a natural history museum, Swallow swoops and darts, tangling the lines we draw between the wild and the cultivated. In her debut collection, Miranda Field explores a world composed equally of shadow and substance, filled not just with beauty but also with a kind of savage experience. But Swallow is more than a crisscrossing of boundaries. It is an imperative, a dare: Go ahead, do as Eve did; let hunger take you wherever it will.

    According to James Longenbach, these poems are "too beautifully made to idealize freedom, too much in love with vicissitude to idealize beauty. Read these poems, enter them, and be hungry forever."

    Subjects

  • About the Author
  • Excerpts
    At the Edge of the Garden, a Tattooed Spider

    The rosebush blooms extravagantly all around her: Her roses, her lightwires. The sun almost works

    the wires, but sun’s and rain’s collision at the equinox Tres this: the spider’s sense is she’s alone, a woman in a window

    up-tipping slowly her thimbleful of sound, her held note: C on the cliff’s edge of the tempered scale. Now rain begins

    to strum the web and make intected music-of-breaking-things, a song the sun burns up. But there isn’t the expected

    rainbow, there’s a stranger time trapped in the trees. Beginning-evening and departing-day peel away—

    will this resolve full viable, this hour between? The woman holds her note, the web shudders, the spider waits:

    not air, not rain on her ladder’s rungs.

    An always-climbing caller, always calling something far-off closer.

    Bright Ardor

    The house beneath its sheath of roiled light shimmers, a kind of bride. Almond trees in front brocade the sky, air veils the doors and windows: The lot runs out from under us, a rained-on painting, river of space. Under the Tlm of heat the facade is a kind of cover, coaxing and dissembling. It draws us in and closes, and the contents run amok: Ladders melt, stair rails cling red hot and twisted to a wall. The rooms we want to enter disappear, the way to them a turning vine, impossible to climb, but towering up and down, blistering. Identities shift—families of foxes under the beds, wolves in the attic, a cat’s cries turning human: Feed me, Tll me with reprieve. A lifelike baby-doll mimics a baby left behind, and the Treman falls for her, he gives the life she asks for, Txed imploring arms extended from the crib. Small hands strike matches. Fevers ty out, furies ty out from the place of gestation, of origin.

    Like the white silk-satin of Taste not of the tree, which is a furled bud in the wood that framed the house, a locked thing longing for a key.

    Copyright © 2002 by Miranda Field. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.

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