By Richard Garcia
One in all America's most well known prose poets, Richard Garcia's The Chair concurrently occurs within the flora and fauna and a speculative global wealthy within the fabulist culture: historic figures roam like ghosts, time is pulled and twisted, and narrative spins easily out of language. A center of autobiography grounds those poems which are rife with surprises uniting the mythic and the everyday.
Richard Garcia's awards comprise an NEA, a Pushcart Prize, and the yank Poetry magazine ebook Prize. He teaches artistic writing within the Antioch college l. a. Low-Residency MFA application and lives on James Island, South Carolina.
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Sample text
J ( ,;LL ": � �1 . 26 When In our breast, We had observed the wounds of this land, A lot of trust was put in the Curers, A lot of prescriptions were also at hand. It felt as if in a day or two, All the ailments would disappear, And, then, all the wounds should heal. It didn't happen so: The sicknesses we had were so old, The Curers failed to make the diagnosis; Thus, all their efforts went in vain. Now Try to analyse as much you like, And blame as much you feel, The breast is the same, as is the wound; Tell us what is to be done, How can we, now, heal the wound.
In the lake floated a bubble's leaf; Held a while, and then it burst - so softly. So softly, lightly, the pale coloured wine, It was filled in my goblet - so gently. The glass, the carafe, The roses formed by your hands: As if a distant shadow, in some dream, It arose and then faded - so gently. The heart recalled a promise - so tenderly. You said: " Tenderly". The Moon bowed and murmttred: "Still more tenderly": ( 20) ( Duste Ten Sung ) . r I �1, �AJIL-hfJ. v'L(�� Jf/J!. ;J;_,(; . ::-A'. J v..
J ( ,;LL ": � �1 . 26 When In our breast, We had observed the wounds of this land, A lot of trust was put in the Curers, A lot of prescriptions were also at hand. It felt as if in a day or two, All the ailments would disappear, And, then, all the wounds should heal. It didn't happen so: The sicknesses we had were so old, The Curers failed to make the diagnosis; Thus, all their efforts went in vain. Now Try to analyse as much you like, And blame as much you feel, The breast is the same, as is the wound; Tell us what is to be done, How can we, now, heal the wound.