About a man who has visions, hovering on the edge but hating it, restless and at war with the world but wanting the peace that passeth understanding. Everything he does is half-done, except his death. When he falls, his parched spirit crying "thirsty," his family falls apart. This is a poem about Toronto, the city that’s never happened before, about waiting for a bus, standing on a corner, watching a stranger: the bank to one corner, the driving school on another, the milk store and the church. This is also about the poet, her own restless sensibility woven in and out through moments of lyric beauty, dramatic power and storytelling grace. It is written in the margins, like a medieval manuscript with shades of light and darkness.

    Rich with historical context and a deeply engaging personal narrative.

    So skilled is she at developing these characters as engagingly "ordinary" that we find ourselves identifying with them without realizing how we got there....Eisenberg's writing at times approaches the beauty of a line of poetry. She manipulates her readers with a master's blend of humor and poignancy. Her stories are wondrous....-- David Wiegand, "San Francisco Chronicle"

    The anthology - the 22nd of its kind - is introduced by Jeannette Winterson. If you buy only one poetry book this year, this deserves to be it.

    With formal invention and a wild personae, ZIRCONIA compels one to follow gem-strewn trails of feminine intuition, savagery, ennui, fantasy, and intimacy to their diabolically fruitful conclusions.

    His eyes are dark with lust and something else I can't quite place."Say my name again, Kitten"*****Thrust into what she thought was a mythical world of wolves and mates. Avery's journey is anything but typical.Can she learn to love what she didn't dare to dream actually existed?Can he accept the baggage that comes with her?

    Through ghostly voices, fragmented narratives, overheard conversations, songs, and prayers in language reminiscent of medieval lyrics converted into contemporary idiom, the poems in Space, In Chains create a visceral strangeness true to its own music.So we found ourselves in an ancient place, the veryair around us bound by chains. There wasstagnant water in which lightningwas reflected, like desperationin a dying eye. Like science. Likea dull rock plummeting through space, tossingoff flowers and veils, like a bride. Andalso the subway.Speed under ground.And the way each body in the room appeared to bea jar of wasps and flies that day—but, enchanted,like frightened children's laughter.

    This volume takes as its subject the troubled sleep of late modernity, from the grandeur and failure of megacities to the retreats and displacements of the suburbs. The power of crowds and architecture commingles with the alienation and idleness of the observer, caught between “the brutal red dream/Of the collective” and “the parade/Of the ideal citizen.” The book’s action takes place in these gaps, “dead spaces beside the endlessly grieving stream.” The frozen tableau of the spectacle meets its double in the sense that something is always about to happen. Political furies and erotic imaginings coalesce and escape within a welter of unmoored allusions, encounters, citations, and histories, the dreams possible within the modern’s excess of signification—as if to return revolutionary possibility to the regime of information by singing it its own song.

    Wright, whom we know as a poet of exquisite miniatures, opens God’s Silence with “East Boston, 1996,” a powerful long poem that looks back at the darker moments in the formation of his sensibility. He shares his private rules for bus riding (“No eye contact: the eyes of the terrified / terrify”), and recalls, among other experiences, his first encounter with a shotgun, as an eight-year-old boy (“In a clearing in the cornstalks . . . it was suggested / that I fire / on that muttering family of crows”). Throughout this volume, Wright continues his penetrating study of his own and our collective soul. He reaches a new level of acceptance as he intones the paradox “I have heard God’s silence like the sun,” and marvels at our presumptions:We speak of Heaven who have not yet accomplishedeven this, the holiness of things precisely as they are, and never will!Though Wright often seeks forgiveness in these poems, his black wit and self-deprecation are reliably present, and he delights in reminding us that “literature will lose, sunlight will win, don’t worry.”But in this book, literature wins as well. God’s Silence is a deeply felt celebration of what poetry (and its silences) can do for us.

    Home comes and goes, like thoughts, like the clouds drifting over our slightly wild blue garden. It doesn't make sense, for I am loved by my husband and our children who scamper in and out during the day. I am loved by the dog even, who likes to listen with me to opera in the evening. Still, the feeling that home is somewhere in general and nowhere in particular returns, quite predictably, when I remember my mother." --So begins THE UNQUIET DAUGHTER: A journalist born of the wartime love triangle that inspired the one in Graham Greene's THE QUIET AMERICAN, searches for her father after barely surviving a bizarre youth of privilege, estrangement and cruelty. As she yearns for her father's love and presence -- and that of anyone in her family abroad who was kept from her -- Danielle's tall, beautiful, French and Vietnamese mother leaves her in burlesque house dressing rooms in the American Midwest, in convent schools in Long Island and Dublin, and with strangers in New York City. Meanwhile she lies to Danielle about who they are and their past for decades in this sometime-humorous near-tragic love story between a daughter and a mother and more. In the end we learn if Flood's journey through the truth of what happened between her parents in early 1950's Saigon satisfies her life-long quest for who she is. A story of resilience and love on many levels. A tale of the power of love."Powerful," "compelling," "heartbreaking," "a gripping story of self-doubt and self-discovery." --PUBLISHERS WEEKLY"The similarities in THE UNQUIET DAUGHTER between Flood’s parents’ lives and the plot of Graham Greene novel, THE QUIET AMERICAN, “are tantalizingly close, far too close to be coincidental; as Flood writes in the Prologue: ‘I came from a love triangle much like the one Greene describes in his novel. I am the sequel he never wrote.’“…As sequels go, Danielle Flood’s life story could easily be a Graham Greene novel, full of dark twists and turns, betrayals, heartbreak and the saddest of all forms of unrequited love …“…moving and at times imbued with humour…the tension is all too believable, but so is the joy…forgiveness and healing are at the heart of the story and the author’s ability to forgive is almost as powerful as the complex plot itself.” --THE CATHOLIC WORLD REPORT"I loved it." -- Sara Nelson, as books editor of O, THE OPRAH MAGAZINE."THE UNQUIET DAUGHTER by Danielle Flood is the true story of an exceptional woman. It takes the reader on an amazing journey. Exotic, mysterious, exciting, and romantic.Bravo Danielle Flood. It's a classic." -- Oscar-nominated actor Elliott Gould"When I was 13 or so, the Vietnam War in full flower, reading Graham Greene's THE QUIET AMERICAN let me appreciate fiction in a whole new way. Years later, Danielle Flood's riveting memoir-cum-mystery-story has let me appreciate Greene and his novel - and the intersections of fiction and nonfiction - in new ways. Such a story! And so beautifully told." -- Kurt Andersen, novelist, host of the public radio show STUDIO 360"Holy Moly, Mother of God...It's a knockout...Ferociously honest and gorgeously written, Flood's memoir is a fiercely tragic story of her search for her real father, her knotted relationship with her complicated mother-and her hard-won understanding of herself. About memory, love, loss and time, Flood's engrossing debut shines like mica and is as polished as platinum." -- Caroline Leavitt, NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author."Passionate and unflinchingly honest, this is a fascinating memoir...Danielle Flood is the child of an affair so much like the one described in the love triangle of Greene's novel, THE QUIET AMERICAN that she is perfectly right to make her startling claim, 'I am a sequel he never wrote." --Michael Shelden, author, GRAHAM GREENE THE ENEMY WITHIN"In Danielle Flood's clear eyed memoir of her early life with her exquisitely beautiful and deeply troubled mother, this truth echoes: the fact that a child could survive such emotional devastation and cruelty is a testament to her resilience and her valiant spirit." -- Leslie Daniels, author, CLEANING NABOKOV'S HOUSEFor a limited time, you can read and excerpt -- the prologue and the first two chapters -- of THE UNQUIET DAUGHTER at http://www.danielleflood.com

    Her voice is generous; her vision true; her subjects ordinary people, and ordinary situations which, when rendered through her language, become remarkable. In this, her fourth full collection of poetry, we see with new eyes-a grandmother's scarf, an alarm clock, a man carrying his son on his shoulders.Valentine for Ernest MannYou can’t order a poem like you order a taco.Walk up to the counter and say, "I’ll take two"and expect it to handed back to youon a shiny plate.Still, I like you spirit.Anyone who says, "Here’s my address,write me a poem," deserves something in reply.So I’ll tell a secret instead:poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,they are sleeping. They are the shadowsdrifting across our ceilings the momentbefore we wake up. What we have to dois live in a way that lets us find them.Once I knew a man who gave his wifetwo skunks for a valentine.He couldn’t understand why she was crying."I thought they had such beautiful eyes."And he was serious. He was a serious manwho lived in a serious way. Nothing was uglyjust because the world said so. He reallyliked those skunks. So, he re-invented themas valentines and they became beautiful.At least, to him. And the poems that had been hidingin the eyes of skunks for centuriescrawled out and curled up at his feet.Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give uswe find poems. Check your garage, the odd sockin your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.And let me know.

    The great composer’s subsequent sonata is originally dedicated to the young mulatto, but George, exuberant with acclaim, offends Beethoven over a woman. From this crucial encounter evolves a grandiose yet melancholy poetic tale.

    Now published for the first time in its completed form with new material, Loba, "she-wolf" in Spanish explores the wilderness at the heart of experience, through the archetype of the wolf goddess, elemental symbol of complete self-acceptance.

    Animals populate its pages—owl, groundhog, fox, each with its own inimitable survival skills—and the poet who so meticulously observes their behaviors has accumulated a lifetime’s worth of skills herself: she too has survived. The power of these extraordinary poems lies in their recognition that all our experience is ultimately useless—that human beings are at every moment beginners, facing the earth as if for the first time. "Don’t you think I’m doing better," asks the first poem. "You got sick you got well you got sick," says the last.Eschewing punctuation, forgoing every symmetry, the poems hurl themselves forward, driven by an urgent need to speak. Headwaters is a book of wisdom that refuses to be wise, a book of fresh beginnings by an American poet writing at the height of her powers.

    There are no beautiful rainbows here, no whispers, but raw cries from somewhere primal. "Silas' words dart in and out like a scalpel revealing layers of flesh that have been given-or-taken-by lovers, parents, cruelty, and fate." - Sean Felix