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davidfcooperI'm not sure who the author of this review is (perhaps the poet wrote it herself?), but the work described merits a look.
ECSTATIC by Mira McEwan (cover photos by Dede Hatch)
Mira's poetry is a mix of spiritual contemplations, the earthiness of everyday realities, a strong pinch of humor, and an overriding compassion and insightfulness that one would expect of a nurse. Her writing style deftly varies to fit the topic-- from stream of consciousness to free verse to structured form (including a handful of haiku) to poems built on colloquialisms and quotes. I'm excited to introduce her work...
Mira McEwan was born in 1969 and raised in Toronto, Canada.
Her poems have appeared in Proem, Transitions, Re-Visions, Hydra,
and U.C. Review. She holds a Master's degree in Literature, with a
concentration in British Romanticism and American Transcendentalism.
She is also a registered nurse. Mira spent several years teaching
literature and creative writing, and now divides her time between nursing
and writing. Her literary influences include Rumi, Sharon Olds, and
William Carlos Williams. She loves to play chess, hike in the woods,
and read novels, preferably while eating something delicious.
Currently she is working on a manuscript of short stories.
Mira lives in Upstate New York with her husband, daughter, and two cats.
* * * * *
i am that
the soul salt in warm water
water distilled
into air filtered in ether
burning in the highest flame
it is nothing in
relation to nothing
breath asymmetric no
voice
catch the soul in love discarded surrender
to the soaring wind
bringing you here come
be still in this light
give praise all give praise
for light in winter
dusk
* * * * *
Remembering
Sometimes sitting up in bed as I swallow that
first sip of coffee, and lower the cup back down to rest
on my leg, I remember. It is butterfly kiss caught in the
corner of my periphery, a brief, almost imperceptible AHA!
that bursts as soon as I lunge for it. It is a knowing and a not
knowing. It is a veiled secret one keeps from one's self, like
when you hear your son is gay, or that your wife is sleeping
with the roofer, and you sense that AHA! hurtling toward you and
settling in the chest because not only do you
know, you know that you always knew. It was there in the
background simmering and rumbling, this knowingness, this
remembering what you always knew. And I wonder (not for the
first time) as I lift my coffee cup, that if I can know what
people say before they say it, or who is watching me before
I turn around, then it seems to me that I should be able to
remember where I lived before I was born, who I was with,
what we talked about, and who told me all of this.
* * * * *
Newborn Exam
You are unwrapped and placed on the table, a gift.
Wild-eyed, your parents survey and appraise you
as you are weighed and measured, your reflexes
tested, straining against a love both fierce and simple.
You are amphibious still, your skin tender and
translucent like a breast, organs
partway visible. Your spirit flickers, speaks
insistently through your desire. Soul essence within
and without meets and mingles, this moment of touch
invisible to the eye, marked by a gasp of inspiration.
Your rapidly-beating heart and rhythmic breath, a
groundswell of feeling, the whistling silk of damp roses
opening. I hold you in my hands, lift you up to my face and
breathe. Cloves. Rainwater. Sweet grass.
She is learning the intermingling dance language of
being human. Her hands fluttering together and apart
like mating butterflies laces with my hand, grabs
my finger. Her body a twig of willow,
yielding, bending, twisting, bowing, and unbreaking.
Each moment closer to essence sensing a
little grace familiar, the tears in her eyes
making us appear dewy and luminous.
In time she will ossify and rise to the upper ether of
yearning, rest in the place where longing worships
itself, melting and swelling against walls, against
choking sounds and silence. She will run from other
people's projections, living and dying
in slow pieces, migrating in and out of a continuous
series of small tragedies, the whole of her life hiding
and revealing the startling presence of truth, a carrion
bird perched on the edge of a windowsill.
Perhaps she will learn that there is nothing holding
an idea but will, and that each act performed by the
body must hold within it a sacred seed of giving, that
everything alive has thorns. Perhaps she will rest in the
simple persistent fact of loneliness, and understand
that life is sleight-of-hand and the gray secrecy of time made
glamorous with various shades of truth, and that
falling in love is the most ruthless trick there is, that life
is a smoky glass pane, daring and teasing one to look
inside but making everything thick and distorted.
Perhaps then she will fulfill her life's purpose, to do
nothing, to do it well, to seek without seeking, to relinquish
some of the terrifying darkness she carries within her.
* * * * *
A Poem Composed Entirely From
Blurbs Found in the TV Guide
High school students try to stave off an invasion of
alien body snatchers. Face the nation. Cheesy reality.
Hour of Power Religious Programming. A demon
poses as an imaginary friend. Jeopardy. Wall Street
Journal Report. An ill-conceived romantic comedy.
Marriage Crazy. Alien vs. Predator. Surreal Life.
Work is slow at the mortuary and the staff gets
tense. Good pulpy fun. A security officer
battles a dragon. A monster battles both Japan
and Godzilla. Scofield arrives in prison where he
aligns with a former mob boss and gets in the
middle of a race war while trying to free his framed
brother. A comic rhapsody. Overarching
government conspiracy is cartoonishly
obvious. A mysterious agent plots to steal
government funds in this illogical thriller. A
woman vanishes during a magic act and never
reappears. Whose Line Is It Anyway?
The history of ketchup is examined,
making an already tense affair more so.
Karen gets stood up on a date.
We See Everything. The Adventures of
Piggley Winks. Rolie Polie Olie. Drama. All New This
Fall. Horror. Lois fulfills her dream of becoming
a model. Meanwhile, Brian suffers from worms.
* * * * *
© 2007 by Mira McEwan
* * * * *
58 pages of poetry, size - 6' x 9', perfect bound, cost - $11.00, includes mailing.
to order or for more info>
mankh@allbook-books.com
or
Allbook Books
PO Box 562
Selden, NY 11784
ECSTATIC by Mira McEwan (cover photos by Dede Hatch)
Mira's poetry is a mix of spiritual contemplations, the earthiness of everyday realities, a strong pinch of humor, and an overriding compassion and insightfulness that one would expect of a nurse. Her writing style deftly varies to fit the topic-- from stream of consciousness to free verse to structured form (including a handful of haiku) to poems built on colloquialisms and quotes. I'm excited to introduce her work...
Mira McEwan was born in 1969 and raised in Toronto, Canada.
Her poems have appeared in Proem, Transitions, Re-Visions, Hydra,
and U.C. Review. She holds a Master's degree in Literature, with a
concentration in British Romanticism and American Transcendentalism.
She is also a registered nurse. Mira spent several years teaching
literature and creative writing, and now divides her time between nursing
and writing. Her literary influences include Rumi, Sharon Olds, and
William Carlos Williams. She loves to play chess, hike in the woods,
and read novels, preferably while eating something delicious.
Currently she is working on a manuscript of short stories.
Mira lives in Upstate New York with her husband, daughter, and two cats.
* * * * *
i am that
the soul salt in warm water
water distilled
into air filtered in ether
burning in the highest flame
it is nothing in
relation to nothing
breath asymmetric no
voice
catch the soul in love discarded surrender
to the soaring wind
bringing you here come
be still in this light
give praise all give praise
for light in winter
dusk
* * * * *
Remembering
Sometimes sitting up in bed as I swallow that
first sip of coffee, and lower the cup back down to rest
on my leg, I remember. It is butterfly kiss caught in the
corner of my periphery, a brief, almost imperceptible AHA!
that bursts as soon as I lunge for it. It is a knowing and a not
knowing. It is a veiled secret one keeps from one's self, like
when you hear your son is gay, or that your wife is sleeping
with the roofer, and you sense that AHA! hurtling toward you and
settling in the chest because not only do you
know, you know that you always knew. It was there in the
background simmering and rumbling, this knowingness, this
remembering what you always knew. And I wonder (not for the
first time) as I lift my coffee cup, that if I can know what
people say before they say it, or who is watching me before
I turn around, then it seems to me that I should be able to
remember where I lived before I was born, who I was with,
what we talked about, and who told me all of this.
* * * * *
Newborn Exam
You are unwrapped and placed on the table, a gift.
Wild-eyed, your parents survey and appraise you
as you are weighed and measured, your reflexes
tested, straining against a love both fierce and simple.
You are amphibious still, your skin tender and
translucent like a breast, organs
partway visible. Your spirit flickers, speaks
insistently through your desire. Soul essence within
and without meets and mingles, this moment of touch
invisible to the eye, marked by a gasp of inspiration.
Your rapidly-beating heart and rhythmic breath, a
groundswell of feeling, the whistling silk of damp roses
opening. I hold you in my hands, lift you up to my face and
breathe. Cloves. Rainwater. Sweet grass.
She is learning the intermingling dance language of
being human. Her hands fluttering together and apart
like mating butterflies laces with my hand, grabs
my finger. Her body a twig of willow,
yielding, bending, twisting, bowing, and unbreaking.
Each moment closer to essence sensing a
little grace familiar, the tears in her eyes
making us appear dewy and luminous.
In time she will ossify and rise to the upper ether of
yearning, rest in the place where longing worships
itself, melting and swelling against walls, against
choking sounds and silence. She will run from other
people's projections, living and dying
in slow pieces, migrating in and out of a continuous
series of small tragedies, the whole of her life hiding
and revealing the startling presence of truth, a carrion
bird perched on the edge of a windowsill.
Perhaps she will learn that there is nothing holding
an idea but will, and that each act performed by the
body must hold within it a sacred seed of giving, that
everything alive has thorns. Perhaps she will rest in the
simple persistent fact of loneliness, and understand
that life is sleight-of-hand and the gray secrecy of time made
glamorous with various shades of truth, and that
falling in love is the most ruthless trick there is, that life
is a smoky glass pane, daring and teasing one to look
inside but making everything thick and distorted.
Perhaps then she will fulfill her life's purpose, to do
nothing, to do it well, to seek without seeking, to relinquish
some of the terrifying darkness she carries within her.
* * * * *
A Poem Composed Entirely From
Blurbs Found in the TV Guide
High school students try to stave off an invasion of
alien body snatchers. Face the nation. Cheesy reality.
Hour of Power Religious Programming. A demon
poses as an imaginary friend. Jeopardy. Wall Street
Journal Report. An ill-conceived romantic comedy.
Marriage Crazy. Alien vs. Predator. Surreal Life.
Work is slow at the mortuary and the staff gets
tense. Good pulpy fun. A security officer
battles a dragon. A monster battles both Japan
and Godzilla. Scofield arrives in prison where he
aligns with a former mob boss and gets in the
middle of a race war while trying to free his framed
brother. A comic rhapsody. Overarching
government conspiracy is cartoonishly
obvious. A mysterious agent plots to steal
government funds in this illogical thriller. A
woman vanishes during a magic act and never
reappears. Whose Line Is It Anyway?
The history of ketchup is examined,
making an already tense affair more so.
Karen gets stood up on a date.
We See Everything. The Adventures of
Piggley Winks. Rolie Polie Olie. Drama. All New This
Fall. Horror. Lois fulfills her dream of becoming
a model. Meanwhile, Brian suffers from worms.
* * * * *
© 2007 by Mira McEwan
* * * * *
58 pages of poetry, size - 6' x 9', perfect bound, cost - $11.00, includes mailing.
to order or for more info>
mankh@allbook-books.com
or
Allbook Books
PO Box 562
Selden, NY 11784
