Best The Lady & the Hare: New & Selected Poems – rading–books.run

The Lady & the Hare: New & Selected PoemsPauline Stainer Is A Poet Working At The Margins Of The Sacred , Conveying Sensations With An Economy Of Means That Is Breathtakingher Poems Are Not Merely Artefacts, They Have An Organic Life Of Their Own John Burnside The Lady The Hare Brings Together Poetry Of Rare Luminosity From Pauline Stainer S Five Previous Books, Together With New Poems, All Inhabiting An Imaginative Borderland Inspired By Her Visceral Muse

Best The Lady & the Hare: New & Selected Poems  – rading–books.run
  • Paperback
  • 192 pages
  • The Lady & the Hare: New & Selected Poems
  • Pauline Stainer
  • English
  • 16 August 2017
  • 9781852246327

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About the Author: Pauline Stainer

Is a well-known author, some of his books are a fascination for readers like in the The Lady & the Hare: New & Selected Poems book, this is one of the most wanted Pauline Stainer author readers around the world.

10 thoughts on “The Lady & the Hare: New & Selected Poems

  1. says:

    Flora in Calix light after David Jones It was as ifyou had cut the lightwith a bladeof alchemical temper the bright trailing briar,the rippled chalice,the brimming of brilliancy.I was unpreparedfor the haunting of radiance but did not the Saxon kingin the ship burialsuffer ten silver bowlschased with crossesat his shoulder In the cool galleryI glimpsed cup and corn,necklace and calix,the flower and the seal inspiritingson a glass ground,electric composure.Calipers cannot measurethe drawing powerof the wound the percussionof crystal and water,the sensuous atonementof the light.Nor is there any specificationfor miracle for ungirdling the sunagainst the day of burial.But years later,I saw the priestswalking on Armageddonand rememberedthe deep nectaries,the dynamics of mercy,caritas the blood red petalagainst bewilderment.A Haze Held by ThornsA jeweller s wheel cuts the constellationsabove the circular gardenon the single canvasthe white doe folds her feet into tallowed alabaster the dancers pour their shawlslike glazes over the balustradebeside the seven immaculate triangles of water,the dead wear their trembler springsof hammered goldthe sun notches its arrow the pomegranate bleeds the virgin wears an ermine on her sleevethe timbre of the lighta haze held by thorns,a snakeskin still perfect over the eye.How it burns back the myrrh at noon the milk from the crushed nectariesof her breasts and beyond the palings,where the paired birds hangon their friezethe falconerswalk into the crucifixion.Christ in the lava fieldsThis is the white nightof the soul frost and lichen,obsidian,the nine natures of the raven,and grass nowhere.Solitude outside geography or in it No matter For these arethe spiritual meadowswhere the lava will kneelbefore the Fire Sermon.The Last SorcererWhat do I hearwhen I stalk local feversin the shape of a fox Willow, lowgrowingover pillow lava,the purchase of lupin on pumicea winter wrenin the hinterlandorgasm of young corn along the coastrippleswhere the Hidden People passin their fishing boatundermusic quillpens on calfskin,a raven predicting the weatherpadding of reindeerbefore grindstonesclose behind themcattle keeling overas they grazethe sulphurous grassThor pulling on his iron gloveswhile the sap mossopens in silence

  2. says:

    Pauline Stainer s poetry evokes a place where I d like to spend time a land that is both forest and salt encrusted shore, lakeside and hilltop, a country where the fog is as impenetrable as sunlight A place of pregnant peace, austerity and contentment, home to the most ancient of symbols come to life I worry that I read her poems for that feeling than meaning or I d worry if the reading didn t feel so right Having developed a connection with the language and its imagery I also feel I can come back to the meaning any time and observe its growth, its changes This collection spanning fourteen years compiles poems from each of her previous works and adds a new collection It s the fourth of Stainer s books I ve made my rambling way through but the first I d recommend to someone interested in her unique melding of medieval history, art, chemistry, Christian spirituality and nature, always nature.Below, some favorites.Flora in Calix light after David Jones It was as ifyou had cut the lightwith a bladeof alchemical temper the bright trailing briar,the rippled chalice,the brimming of brilliancy.I was unpreparedfor the haunting of radiance but did not the Saxon kingin the ship burialsuffer ten silver bowlschased with crossesat his shoulder In the cool galleryI glimpsed cup and corn,necklace and calix,the flower and the seal inspiritingson a glass ground,electric composure.Calipers cannot measurethe drawing powerof the wound the percussion of crystal and water,the sensuous atonementof the light.Nor is there any specificationfor miracle for ungirdling the sunagainst the day of burial.But years later,I saw the priestswalking on Armageddonand rememberedthe deep nectaries,the dynamics of mercy,caritas the blood red petalagainst bewilderment. from The Honeycomb, 1989 The next two are from 1992 s Sighting the Slave Ship The Ringing Chamber I was four months gone my breasts already tenderagainst the bell ropes we were ringing quarter peals,the sun flooding the bell chamber,the dist rippling between the joistswhen the child quickened,fluttered against the changes and suddenly through the clerestoryI saw that colder quickening random, reciprocal cloudshadowand the flaxfieldlike water under the wind.The Yew Walk What is the distancebetween us, you saidwhen we slept nakedbut barely touched the quilt thrown back,streaks of moth dustacross your breast.That night I dreamtyou brushed againstthe trees of the yew walk the strange fine pollen dustshook out,sifted most eerilyinside your dress.I do not knowwhy its green goldso long unloosedkindled your nakedness or why I woke to kissthe estranging dustthe single flesh.And a few from A Litany of High Waters 2003 Tundra It is dead quiet over Siberia.For three daysthere has been nothing to seefrom the Graf Zeppelinthrough the cloud.In the silken interior,a priest reads the lesson Jonah, prayingeven out of the fish s belly while the Northern Lightscrackle and swishagainst the ship s fabric.These things happen the fixed harness of the stars,a spare parachutefor the stowaway,chance ignition.Falcons on a blue field2 You lure meas if fleshwere the onlymagic accessorythe hearta parcel of silksdying and risingin red.But seeing the marrowof wingboneslaid ona white gauntletI wonder if it isthe makingor unmakingof the heartwhistles me down.Sea swallows Truly birds of appetite,wearing their long habit of lightwith vehemencefollowing the midnight sunfrom pole to poleas if absolving the dark.Surely they were therebefore anything was,unsung and beyond metaphor My other reviews of Stainer s books The Wound Dresser s Dream 1996 , Parable Island 1999 and Crossing the Snowline 2009.

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