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Overview
Amy Fleury’s bewitching new collection of poems, Sympathetic Magic, unveils the everyday manifestations of sympathy as well as the connections wrought by “sympathetic magic”—that indelible tether that binds people, places, and objects across time and distance. Fleury’s lyrics journey across the landscapes of childhood and old age, body and spirit, past and future, exploring the boundless permutations of sympathy as it appears in the most surprising locations. Connections reveal themselves in the aggressive silence of the small town or the round penmanship of a loved one, and echo throughout the solitude and regeneration of the forest as well as the antiseptic air of the hospital. At the center of these travels lies the narrator, stretching her limbs from the heart of the heartland, her body a compass summoning us from all directions, emphasizing with tender simplicity that “we all live under the self-same moon, no matter the phase.”
Product Details
ISBN-13: | 9780809332250 |
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Publisher: | Southern Illinois University Press |
Publication date: | 03/26/2013 |
Series: | Crab Orchard Series in Poetry |
Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
Format: | eBook |
Pages: | 64 |
File size: | 559 KB |
About the Author
Amy Fleury is the author of a collection of poems, Beautiful Trouble, published by SIU Press, and the director of the M.F.A. program at McNeese State University in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Her poems have appeared in many journals, including Prairie Schooner, 32 Poems, River Styx, and Crazyhorse. She was the 2009–10 Amy Clampitt Resident Poetry Fellow.
Read an Excerpt
SYMPATHETIC MAGIC The stray dog limped through traffic, tugged by the invisible leash over miles and years and griefs to rest her head in your lap, trusting you with her sleep. Sometimes what is needed comes to hand- a book fallen open to a page of benediction, the balm of song from the car radio's dial, a pocket-laundered dollar to pay the toll. In distress, you wish for an apocryphal Veronica and she arrives at your side, offering her only tissue, dabbing at your actual eyes. But darkness still comes before day is yet done. Like a dowsing rod, you lean toward whatever is coming to you, the waters of loving, the sump of loss. Lean in. PENMANSHIP Opening the shoebox of my grandmother's letters is to receive again the pillowy words she wrote to the girl I once was. Those portly loops curlicue across her pastel stationery-silly, yet I still love how the sturdy girth of her Rs and her bosomy Bs carry their prodigious pocketbooks to town with the chubby vowels somersaulting after. I practiced my cursive when I wrote her back, using gray sheets from the Big Chief tablet. At school, my teacher, whom I otherwise adored, lassoed my letters with red ink, tried to stanchion my hand in the lines of Palmer Method exercises. Since then I've made a study of it, the slant and weight of a pen stroke, this dying art- the means by which we might come to know one another, how we wish to be understood. My mother's writing, pin-neat, is a steady stitch sewn into grocery lists and valentines, ending each line with the snipped thread of a sentence, while my dad, who rightly prefers to type, has a style that looks like somebody dumped out a drawer full of forks and rubber bands, his signature jouncing down a mile of bad road. And the seismograph of my brother's notes scrape the page with a series of halts and peaks. Years of grading student essays have taught me to decipher crimped print that embosses thought on paper; slashes, both erratic and brash; girlish, licorice twists; and briary marginalia. My friend sends an inscrutable postcard from Greece, and in the library, I squint over the great poet's words, so trembly and faint that graphite seems to evaporate into pure essence. My own script, fluid and elliptical, is a visceral pleasure, given the momentum of the pen. The last upstroke, a scarf unfurled in a gust of wind. A BRIEF HISTORY OF BARBED WIRE The horizon was traipsing away west and that vast land did not know it was owned. Acres were platted and plotted and plowed. The fly-vexed cattle of the dominion were herded, made to graze given pastures. Now a deputation of starlings alights the fence, which does not hold snowmelt, pollen or smoke, not the hawk, not the shadow of the hawk. Evenings the strung wire thrums a hymn of wind. SISTER ANONYMOUS They discover the dead girl in a culvert, blood corsaging her white fluttering blouse, an embarrassment of bloated limbs, broken teeth, a face gemmed over with scabs. Nearby ants scribble their hill, beginning a campaign for her last moist places. Some say it began in a truck stop's glass-spangled parking lot, the hum and fog of the rigs' exhaust muffling the shouts that followed her this far down the state highway, where a V of geese drags its shadow across winter's brittle pastures. Of course, who can know for certain? Dear sister anonymous, dead on the side of the road, where is your coat? The one your mother buttoned up to your chin, sending you off on that errand from which you never came home. GRAND MAL The aura comes on, and your face, almost becalmed, dims and strays. It begins with a twitch, your head quirking to the side, and then an electric arc spasms the body into gnashings and flailings and thrashings, and she tries to keep you from falling, but you do fall, an ugly thud on the floor, where she kneels to blunt, as best she can, your self-punishing fists and fitful kicks, saying your name. And from your mouth comes a primal, torn-open sound, and like a thunderous day with little rain, your contortions begin to quieten and quell, and at last you lay slack and insensible with your shoulders bruised and a bloody tongue. But mercifully you won't remember these halting minutes when you go so deep into yourself it seems to her you might not, might never, return.
Table of Contents
ContentsAcknowledgments
I.
Sympathetic Magic
Elk Skeleton
First Morel
The Fort
Penmanship
Bicentennial Year
Assumptions
Farm Auction
II.
At the Geographic Center
A Brief History of Barbed Wire
Here in Topeka
Verdure
Home Altar
Vocabulary of Ashes
At Thirty-Five
Two Solitudes
III.
Sister Anonymous
Niches
Specimens
Galileo's Finger
The Head of St. Catherine
Ex Voto
See You in the Funny Papers
In a Foreign City
IV.
Magnetic Resonance
Hospital Time
Vigil
Arising
Ablution
Grand Mal
V.
Green Temple
Sky Judge
In Acadiana
Hurricane Ike
Pacheco Burn
When at Last I Join
Spiritus Mundi