My two part review begins with the poet's bio and ...
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My two part review begins with the poet's bio and backstory in  <a href="http://www.nyjournalofbooks.com/book-review/illuminated-dark-selected-poems-tuvia-ruebner">New York Journal of Books</a> and continues with a discussion of his poems in <a href="http://www.examiner.com/article/israeli-books-the-illuminated-dark-selected-poems-of-tuvia-ruebner">examiner</a>.
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Check Your Review of
Miracles of Sainted Earth (Mary Burritt Christiansen Poetry Series, 1)
by Victoria Edwards Tester
Here is your review the way it will appear:
= A REAL VOICE, UNDERSTANDABLE, ELOQUENT, LIKE MARY OLIVER
Reviewer: Glenn G. Boyer from Tucson,, AZ USA
This is a poet of universal understanding, as all should be, but so few are. When you first dip into this poetry you follow a most unusual spirit inside and outside and around what she knows, and she knows what Winston Churchill knew - we are first and foremost spirit - that we never die because we are a part of everything. Even Victoria Tester's Index turned out to be poetry, whether she knew it or not, because when she writes that's what she writes.
It is often impossible to follow great lyric language, or wade through the imagery that became substance instead of form in modern poetry. Imagery here takes us back to Whitman, the first American poet of the land, and what it nurtures - life, strong life, boisterous life, celebrating itself as the gift of God that it is. You have no trouble understanding what is written here, and to know that the writer experienced it. Though there is inevitable acknowledgment of pain, and despair, which are part of life, most of all there is the underlying, wonderful life, of which despair is usually not a dominant part. We are reminded here that suffering is made endurable by the hope that life will go on and become better, and we will again live to celebrate life at its best. There is a voice here that says, "when all else fails you in extremis, reach out and you will touch God because He is always there, though we often forget that when things are going well."
Here is a poet that brings to life what England's poet laureate, Alfred Tennyson meant when he wrote: "Tell me not in mournful numbers, life is but an empty dream." There are dreams here, "magic realism," strong spiritual acknowledgement, but the dreams in which they are encountered are never empty.
Tester's life is joy, affirmation, an invitation to rush into the world and holler, "Ain't life wonderful, and full of wonders?"
How she does this with such incredible eloquence without obscuring a clear understanding would puzzle me except that I have seen often enough how God gives a gift to a very very few, to share with the rest of us. You will read these poems over and over and become stronger for it, be comforted, because faith flies out from every page.
Definitely Pulitzer quality, but most of us know how hard it is to be noticed by the august Committee that conferred on LAUGHING BOY the big one and ignored LOOK HOMEWARD ANGEL.
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First, disclosure: Jose Angel Araguz has been one of my favorite poets since I read his debut chapbook (The Wall, Tiger's Eye Press, 2012), and his second one (Corpus Christi Octaves, Flutter Press, 2014), fully met my already-high expectations, so I had even higher expectations for Reasons (Not) to Dance (FutureCycle Press, 2015).

I'm embarrassed (and delighted!) to admit I underestimated; the pieces in this third chapbook still stunned me on the first read. And the second. And the third. I had reason to expect fine poems I could enjoy again and again, poems that made me buy extra copies of the book to share with other poets, poems that made me want to write poems -- that had been my experience with both of his previous books, and this third one does not disappoint in that regard.

But the thirty-two prose poems in Reasons (not) to Dance demand further attention: they are poems, and somehow more than poems -- they may also be koans, or parables. After three readings, I still feel like there's much more to discover and contemplate here, so I'm embarking again, today July-01, with the intention of reading one and only one of these each day, and letting each one sink in. My reading list is booked through August-01. I'm exploring.
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This is a lovely book. The author, a writer and musician, combines a love for the poetic word with a sense of the poetry in the observed world. Each poem (right-hand page) is accompanied by a photograph (left-hand page). The images and poetry play off one another in ways that surprise and which call one to re-reading and re-examination. The fact that this volume has served as my first serious introduction to a place I had not really known is a bonus. I plan to give this book for Christmas. http://vimeo.com/108142113
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This is the first Clauidia Emerson book I've read and it makes me want to read her others. I have to admit though, that on my first reading, I thought, "Big whoop." But after sitting and really digesting it, it started to win me over. She has the great poetic ability to capture, with candid detail, those rare emotional moments we have in life, like: divorce, death, lost love, fear of being lonely, etc.

There's no questioning her poetic skill.  She uses all the tools and uses them well. But I think what turned me off initially was her ryhme scheme and use of white space. Sometimes her ryhming is too thick and noticeable, which gets in the way of what she is trying to convey. Also, many of her poems are long and structured using tercets (3 line stanzas). After reading five or six poems that look the same, you begin to grow weary and lose interest. Other than those considerations, "Late Wife" is an excellent collection. I am looking forward to her next piece of work.

Favorite poems and quotes from "Late Wife":

1. The Autobon Collection- "There will always be/such things I regret knowing."

2. House-Sitting- "Evenings/I lit candles as though for guests/and danced with my own vanishing/as the prisms moved in the draft/my body made of the stillness."

3. Rent- "But I imagine the walls still disappear inside/themselves, vacant forms, and the house grows/lighter, a deceitful ruin that lingers, rising//longer than it should above you and the fertile/hunger that will, with enough time, consume it-/before going on to another survival."
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In this book, Maxine Hong Kingston proclaims to want to live the life of the poet.  Working on her "longbook"--her thousand-plus page novel about Vietnam war veterans (her first novel since 1989's "Tripmaster Monkey")--has consumed so much of her life, creatively and otherwise, that she longs to live a poets life.  The poets life, as she conceives it, is a life full of peace, surrounded by the most beautiful, beatific, awe-inspiring things.  Instead of the arduousness of plots and stories, the brevity and aesthetic succinctness of poetry seems like a much more cozy alternative.  Her enthusiasm for the poet's life is always near being tongue-in-cheek.  A fellow poet reminds her that poets must revise, like novelists.  Also, there's the sense that in arguing for poetry, she is arguing against it by claiming it to be like an aesthetic hit of crack--it's wonderful to experience in short and powerful bursts, then it goes away.  So, perhaps, she ends up arguing for the novel ... it's hard to tell.  Nevertheless, as she documents her poetry experiments, some nice lines and scenes emerge (particularly the last section of the book, "Spring Harvest," where she experiments with "four word poems"!).  She also claims to close "To Be the Poet" with a poem (on Fa Mook Lan--another variation of the Fa Mu Lan myth, a la the "White Tigers" story in "The Woman Warrior") that will end her longbook.  Kingston's poetry is hardly "strong" in the Harold Bloom sense but it is pleasant enough.  But it leaves us longing even moreso for the "longbook."
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I don't recall why I purchased this book several years ago, but it was a wonderful decision on my part.  Not only did Bloom introduce me to dozens of masterpieces, but he also included a brief synopsis of each poet, providing the reader with some insight into the man/woman behind the lyrics.  I read most of the poems aloud, and some of them I have returned to time and time again. This is where I learned of Whitman and Marlowe, and the sad but moving Timor Mortis Conturbat Me (the fear of death bewilders me).  However, I was irritated by Bloom's treatment of Poe and Ezra Pound. And having read other works by Bloom since then, this is apparently a common theme.  Regardless, Bloom is good at what he does, and his introduction to each poet was quite special.  Above all, I thank Bloom for including Keats; I've devoured much of this poet's work since then.  A thick volume yes, as it should be.  I must recommend this collection, particularly if you wish to be properly introduced to masters of English poetry.  Purchase the hardback volume if you can, as you will one day be thankful for the added longevity of a higher quality paper.
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I feel certain that Bill Moyers is a journalist, not a poet. At least, he claimed that was the case when he wrote a book entitled "Moyers on America: A Journalist and His Times!" Now he's written a book called "The Language of Life: A Festival of Poets." It's a reprint (as well as an audio product). Somehow I missed it the first time around.

As its title suggests, it is a collection of poetry by poets. So I bought it and opened the book and began to read. Lo and behold, the second chapter is a conversation with James A. Autry whose book "Looking Around for God" is like a "fleck of foam" that "floats in the air." I thought Autry was retired from his career in Des Moines, Iowa, managing Meredith Publishing Group, a Fortune 500 company. In this conversation, though, he offers his poetry to all even though he's not a poet.

That's a bit strange, I think. Here I am, one who has a hard time distinguishing between prose and poetry, reading about a conversation between a journalist, who isn't a poet, and a business man, who isn't a poet, but writes poetry. I am even enthralled by reading the "prose" of their conversation about "poetry."

To make matters worse I haven't gotten beyond this second conversation and I here I am recommending that you buy and read this book. Autry said, in the book I referred to previously and have reviewed, that he was "looking around for God." He may not know it because sometimes God can be found in "divine hiddenness." And this manifestation of the "Holy One" is in on this conversation, even though hidden. While Autry is "looking around for God," my word to him and his conversation partner is, "Quit looking"! God can be found in many of "these" conversations. Talk about "festival of poets!" Gary Snyder, in a later chapter, says poetry comes "blundering over the boulders at night" and he goes "to meet it at the edge of light!" And "standing there on the edge" is, maybe, God or is it poetry? There just may be no difference. And there is the name Brian Swimme uses to "name the Name." Allurement.

Enthralled, allured, captivated, astounded, captured -- I am all these and I recommend that you read this book and surrender yourself to whatever or whoever you meet at the edge. I have chosen to fling myself over the edge into the abyss with the hope that something or Someone just may snatch me back, put me on the edge again so that I can, as a poet said, "shout or scream poetry into the wind" Buy, take up and read Moyers' book. You won't regret it.
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hooray! i found the 2nd book of poems that i love. about a year ago i decided to have a go at liking poetry. it's been rocky, with ups and downs along the way, but only two peaks of excellence have i so far experienced the wonders of. the first peak was billy collins collection "sailing alone around the room." now a second work of poetic joy has entered my mind: al purdy's "rooms for rent in the outer planets," a collection of poems written between 1962 and 1996. in the afterword (a collection of blurbs, interview outtakes, and whatnot) to this work mr purdy answers the question "what do readers want from a poem?" he says: "primarily, i suppose, to be entertained. and that involves tuning in on some emotion or feeling or discovery that is larger and more permanent than he is. some flashing insight that adds a new perspective to living." well, i don't know if that fits all readers of poetry, but it certainly works for me. mr purdy's poetry has a strong sense of history running through it like a current. his words romance the past. and often the very, very distant past at that (pre-mankind). standing here and now and contemplating that long distance over time seems a preoccupation in his writing. a connection from then up to now haunts much of his work. in a way he reminds me of one of my favorite non-fiction authors; loren eiseley, an anthropologist and naturalist whose work is filled with the same sort of beauty and wonder involved in connections between beings of the distant past and the present. mr purdy; though, balances his serious side with a fine sense of humor that infuses his poetry with an anodyne (however temporary) to the tragedy life has been awash in through the ages. a great poet. an encouragement and inspiration for me to move ahead and search out more poets i can relate to and love.
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This is a cop out review. I still don't know enough about poetry to give it a decent review. To do that I would need to put it in some kind of context but I'm such a beginner when it comes to poetry I can't just yet. Maybe later. But I do love the poems in this short volume. I found it because one of my favourite artists, the wonder singer Iris DeMent, just did an album based on her poetry called The Trackless Woods. (It is a stunning album but many have trouble with DeMent's voice. I love her voice.) Only one or two of the songs she does can be found in this book but that's okay. A bit of an unorthodox way to discover a poet but what does it really matter?
847646
is a thought-provoking collection of poems in two parts.  Part I contains poems of observation, humor, things-familiar, homage and reflection (some are amusingly devious).  Part II is a partial recasting and continuation of Harrison's stunning chapbook entitled "An Undertaking"--a very personal journey through great tragedy.

As with Harrison's previous books, his poems are extremely accessible and make one stop and think about life and the influence that we have on one another and our circumstances (and coincidences).  The two seemingly disparate parts of this fine book are brilliantly tied together by the first and last poems, "Incomplete Knowledge" and "The Names of Things".
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In the introduction of this book, Buddy Wakefield writes, "It is important to me that the reader knows that the poems in this book are intended for personal delivery from me to you on stage" and I'm sure most of the people thinking of purchasing this book are familiar with Wakefield's explosive and important spoken work performance. This book doesn't merely try to replicate the experience of Wakefield's live performances, but rather it successfully deepens it.

Many of Wakefield's best know poems are in this volume, including "Convenience Stores," "Pretend," and "A Little Ditty Called Happiness," among others. These poems -- which are beautifully formatted and ordered in the book -- are frequently accompanied by brief personal essays by Wakefield, who talks about inspirations for and reactions to the work.

What could have been an odd "Behind the Music" choice instead instead gives the reader intimate insight into the mind of working and touring poet. Although Wakefield has earned national and international acclaim for his performance poetry, he still seems to very much see himself as a journeyman. And through this book, he invites us to see the struggles and joys he faces as he makes his way into the world as a poet.

"Some They Can't Contain" wonderfully celebrates not just Wakefield's transformative poetry, but who Wakefield is: a writer who works in the service of a pure and welcoming heart.
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"Poetry Slam" by Gary Mex Glazner is part-anthology, part-history, part-description of slams, slam poets, and slam poetry. It romanticizes the image and description, but excels as a history. As an anthology, it has much room for improvement, but this could be a result of the limits of performance poetry.

Kerouac's ghost must wonder at how formulaic slam poetry has become. From the aggressive, ideological depth of Ginsberg and Burroughs, we now have the regurgitated flavors of Whitman-wannabes evoked pretentiously in the pop-soliloquys now barraging modern poetry readings. Yet, the slam has introduced thousands of young poets that poetry is worth their time. Glazner demonstrates this inconsistency, but not intentionally as we see the up and down quality of the poetry samples he provides.

An excellent part of the book is the description of poetry slam rules, distinguishing local and national rules, and how this form is meant as an oral art form, not a written one. This is the challenge faced by every slam poetry book: how to present it. Some poems here make the transition, and there a few gems worth a read. Marc Smith, founder of the slam, has "My Father's Coat." An interesting poem called "Ali" by Michael R. Brown. opens with the compelling "Five inches shorter than his fighting height" shows some fine imagery and intriguing approaches to poetry meeting culture.

For a deeper look at Beat literature, see the "Beat Reader," or for poetry only, "Beat Poets" edited by Carmela Ciuraru. "Poetry Slam" is a good start, but these books will provide better examples of the style and quality slam poets esteem to reach.

Anthony Trendl
editor, HungarianBookstore.com
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"Endpoint" is a fitting conclusion to the poetry collections John Updike published over the course of his prolific writer's life. And it's all the more poignant because the author was assembling this collection in the weeks preceding his death from lung cancer. Updike knew he was dying, yet, as the end approached, devoted himself to one final task.

"Endpoint" is not uniquely elegiac, though; far from it. Updike's verse had taken that wistful turn as far back as "Americana," which had been published way back in 2001. But that volume read more along the lines of something penned by a professor emeritus, while this one deals quite specifically in some poems with the author's fast-approaching mortality.

For those who discover and appreciate this volume and want more, I must regretfully inform that almost all of Updike's previous poetry collections are long out of print. His "Collected Poems" is still available, though, and contains nearly all the poems he published up until 1993. Also noteworthy: "Americana," the only volume of his verse published after 1993 and thus not represented in "Collected Poems," can be had in the form of a used copy for very little money. Get those two volumes, along with "Endpoint," and you have virtually all the author's verse.

John Updike, author, was many things to many readers -- great novelist, outstanding short-story writer, prolific essayist and critic, and a very good poet whose work in the latter category ranged from light verse to free verse to the sonnet. He will be missed, and remembered.
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I feel it's always hard for a new reader to approach a writer like Stevens--that is, a writer erudite, difficult, and brilliant in the extreme.  One of Stevens' prime concerns, or so it strikes me, is the interplay between reality and poetry, and what must happen for a poem to come into existence--and what is left of reality once a poem has been completed.  The poems that come to mind as I write this are, of course "The Idea of Order at Key West," easily one of my favorite short poems; "The Man with the Blue Guitar"; and some of the "Metaphor" poems.  But really, epistemological concerns drove all of Stevens' work, and we end up with thoughtful analyses that in retrospect strike the reader as disguised philosophical inquiries, such as "The Snowman."  One of my personal favorites is "Domination of Black," concerning a narrator who senses an ominousness revolving around the images of hemlock trees in the darkness, and the sounds of peacocks crying, and feels terrified.

Some cantankerous reviewers have labeled Stevens an obscurantist, or even a writer of absolute nonsense.  Please do not believe this kind of bad hype.  Stevens never received the praise or prestige awarded to Eliot, Pound, or Frost, and as such he is not as widely known, but can easily be grouped in with them as one of the great poets of the 20th century.
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Initial disclaimer: I know the author. That said, I like this poetry collection very much. I had naively planned to write comments about the poems that I particularly admired and liked, but, since I annotated over forty poems as especially fine, I shall have to be more discriminating. Cavalierly clumping poems into groups, there were six poems with a light frivolous flavor that I loved: "Hello," "Carnegie Library," "Nudge," "Poetry Defined," "Rubaiyat LXXI, Revised," and "Appropriate Salutaions." All excellently executed. There are science fiction poems and science poems, including "Checklist," "A Fire on Ganymede," and the beautiful "A Universe." There are many excellent romantic-relationship poems, with repeated themes of the narrator reflecting on his love being rejected or undervalued. My favorite of these was "For Love, This Cup," which is specific yet universal, tender, and haunting. Two other relationship poems, though not romantic relationship poems, also stood out to me: "But will they come when you do call for them?" which is about the narrator's parents, and "Photonic Relationships," which is about his brother. (At least, that is how the poems are presented, but they may be fictitious rather than autobiographical.) One poem with a clearly invented first-person narrator, "All the Important People #2," deals with ageing, and is tender and moving and among my favorites in the book. Many of the poems are clever; many exhibit the author's breadth of knowledge. Some, even though I may like them, remain at least partially cryptic to me, including the opening poem "All the Important People #5." (I find many poems cryptic, so this may reflect upon me rather than upon the poems.) Even though I found it somewhat cryptic, I loved the poem "At the Mountain Inn, Shaded by Broken Pines," and wished there were more in that voice or world. The endings of the poems are often wonderful, sometimes turning the poem in a new direction, for example the skillful and witty "Supplementary" shifts (for me) toward yearning in the closing two stanzas. There are two variants on the title poem, both of which I liked very much, but the second slightly the more, because of its final four-word stanza. Quite a few poems are pointed, and I particularly liked both the points being made and how that was achieved in "We Used To Have Faces" and "Famous Poet, Rant, Point of Order." A very fine collection.
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This is a thoughtful and hopeful book of poetry that called to mind two of my favorite poets, Woody Guthrie and Dylan Thomas.

I thought of Woody Guthrie and his poem " I've Got to Know" while reading di Suvero's "Tell Us." Both poems speak to the injustice and greed and fear fostered by illusions of grandeur and purported needs of socitey that serve to oppress those less fortunate. The unmistakable references to war in both poems are haunting and will give the reader, regardless of political leanings, pause especially at this point in time. It would be interesting to compare the lives and poetry of Guthrie and di Suvero. I suspect they are kindred souls that reached out and touched the stars in spite of the adversity that somehow invoked pure beauty in their writings.

In a blend of sometimes subtle, sometimes humorous and always thoughtful verse the reader is taken from poems with a war theme to ones of love and life and hope. The author notes in the beginning that this collection contains "...some new poems, some with a bit of gray between the lines, some angry and some still filled with hope." And so they are. These are not the touchy-feely type of poems that seem to be in vogue today. These are poignant, heartfelt, self-experienced poems that deal with life and love and questions that visit us all sooner or later. They truly offer faith, hope and charity in the biblical sense.

Now, as to my being reminded of Dylan Thomas while reading these poems. di Suvero writes that a new book should "...acknowledge the past as another mistake to be undone." He refuses to cease pointing out the inequities he views in life and even after close to 8 decades takes to heart Thomas's admonishment to "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night." In a compelling manner di suvero continues to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

This book is worthy of the readers time. Read it slowly...twice or more and be prepared to be moved in a special way.