carol poster
After 20 years of university teaching, Carol Poster has returned to freelance nonfiction and poetry writing while continuing to do scholarship in history of rhetoric, rhetoric of religion, orality/literacy, and game studies.
Address: Tucson, AZ, United States
Address: Tucson, AZ, United States
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Papers by carol poster
Here is a poetry that is elegant and formal in its deft and compelling use of language, in its musicality, economy, and rhythmic virtuosity; a poetry that is welcoming and wise. It is a poetry of wonder and praise that sings to what is dear and perishable: life and the nourishing environment that sustains and inspires it. It is also a devotional poetry, if by devotional, we mean a poetry devoted to observing life as clearly and attentively as possible as an act of responsibility, respect and love: “Soft purple and green clay like a faint bruise.” Poster’s poetry proclaims with reverence, and with a good deal of humor throughout, its intricately woven and moving song, “I love best what my love cannot make stay.”
- Gregory Dunne, author of Home Test, Fistful of Lotus, and Quiet Accomplishment, Remembering Cid Corman.
Carol Poster makes a very welcome return to poetry with this fine collection of poems that mix sharp observation with subtle expressions of emotion. Poster displays a sharp eye for nature, often most tellingly when found in an urban setting, portraying: “a vast emptiness/at the heart of the intersection,/except for a few left-turning SUVs,/and the butterfly….” (“Complicity”) She is able to render the voice of an ex-miner unsentimentally and un-patronizingly when she hears his story: “Kids moved to Salt Lake a few years ago./Guess there wasn't much for them to stay for --/even with the electric." (“Electric Lake”) And the stunning title poem presents a meditation on mortality (remembering Genesis 3:19) that is both bracing and beautiful: “Now the vultures circle in late afternoon thermals,/As if the crumpled houses and rusted mining gear/Were the carcass of some great creature/Laid out for their feasting.” A rich and rewarding addition to our store of poetry.
- Gregory Luce, author of Signs of Small Grace, Drinking Weather, and Memory and Desire