PRAISE FOR THE STARS OF EARTH:
Emily Grosholz is a poet of radiant intelligence, patient lyricism, and meticulous craft. She has a gifted naturalist’s regard for the living world and wherever she looks that world, for its part, offers her its poetry. With a philosopher’s wit and a mathematician’s eye for beauty, she can link geometry and physics to the apricot color of a robin’s breast. She also writes with great empathy for her subjects. The Stars of Earth collects four decades of her elegant and excellent work. We are lucky to have it.
— Mark Jarman, author of The Heronry
Compressed on the page then wafting ever outward on wings of imagination, fine poetry and fine theorems are first cousins. Or, more rarely, in poems like Emily Grosholz’s, twins: “Timid and fluid rainbows/ Over the nacreous surfaces/ Of shells, on peacock feathers/ And soap-bubbles, appear/ Whenever incident light/ Reflects off nether and upper/ Laminae of films, one wave train/ Tagging after another/ Like a younger sister.” Read this book.
— Marjorie Senechal, author of Shaping Space
I admire Emily Grosholz because of the sounds her poems make. She is always experimenting, even when the results seem effortless. The cunning irregularities are what most compel: the reader is never allowed to relax. The general readers among us are admitted courteously to the civilizing company. The heart, not as a hackneyed valentine but as a living muscle, is always present as pulse and passion. The overwhelming sense these poems give is of affirmation.
— Michael Schmidt, author of New and Collected Poems
The Stars of Earth is that rarest of books. Emily Grosholz chronicles everything from love to loss, childhood to marriage to parenthood. She explores two continents and the minds of scientists, artists, friends, long-lost family. And as befits a poet-philosopher whose pursuits include the philosophy of mathematics, she achieves potent mixes of the daily and the deep: Nietzschean thought served up in a deli; a toddler’s first steps along “the frail parabolas of love.”
— Melissa Balmain, author of Walking in on People
Emily Grosholz was born in the suburbs of Philadelphia, and attended the University of Chicago and Yale University. Since 1979 she has taught at the Pennsylvania State University, where she is now Edwin Erle Sparks Professor of Philosophy, African American Studies, and English. Her first book of poetry, The River Painter, appeared in 1984; her most recent book, Childhood, has been translated into Japanese, Italian and French, and has raised $2500 for UNICEF. She has lived in France, Germany, and the UK, and traveled to Japan, Russia, Costa Rica, and around the Mediterranean and the Baltic. She and her husband, Robert Edwards, raised four children in State College, Pennsylvania, on the flanks of the Tussey Ridge, countryside that they and their neighbors, with the ClearWater Conservancy, are working to protect and preserve. Her book, Great Circles: The Transits of Mathematics and Poetry, will be published in 2018 by Springer.
The Stars of Earth: New and Selected Poems (Word Galaxy Press, 2017) is her eighth book of poetry.
" [ ABLE MUSE ] fills an important gap in understanding what is really happening in early twenty-first century American poetry." - Dana Gioia.
"Able Muse is refreshing to read for its selection of poetry that adheres to form . . . a quality magazine offering the reader informed and unexpected views on life." - NewPages.
EDITORIAL - Alexander Pepple.
FEATURED ART - Zebra and zebra-related theme.
FEATURED POET - Emily Grosholz;
(Interviewed by Mark Jarman).
FICTION - Tom Larsen, Israel A. Bonilla, Bruce Johnson.
MEMOIRS - David Larsen.
ESSAYS - Laura DiCarlo Short.
BOOK REVIEWS - Brooke Clark.
POETRY - Frederick Wilbur, Roy Bentley, Aaron Poochigian, Catharine Savage Brosman, Terese Coe, William Conelly, Horace, Ryan Wilson, Francesco Petrarca, Lee Harlin Bahan, Tatiana Forero Puerta.
Travelling through Morocco and Algeria she eats pigeon pie with a family of cannabis farmers, and learns about the habits of djinns; she encounters citizens whose protest against the tyrannical King Hassan takes the form of attaching colanders to their television aerials - a practice he soon outlaws - and comes across a stone-age method of making olive-oil, still going strong. She allows a ten-year-old to lead her into the fundamentalist strongholds of the suburbs of Algiers - where she makes a good friend.
Plunging southwards, regardless, into the desert, she at last shares a lunch of salt-cured Saharan haggis with her old friends, in a green and pleasant palm grove perfumed by flowering henna: once, it seems, the favourite scent of the Prophet Mohammed. She discovers at journey's end that life in a date-farming oasis, haunting though its songs may be, is not so simple and uncomplicated as she has imagined.
Annie Hawes has legions of fans. Her writing has the well-built flow of fiction and the self-effacing honesty of a journal.