In Elegies for Small Game , Shelby Stephenson continues his celebration of place, family, and memory. But here there is a new eloquence and authority of rhyme and ballad form, with laments for those who have gone on, and odes to hunting dogs, songs for game like possums and rabbits, a gallery of portraits of people and loved pets, and even imaginary pets of childhood. In poem after poem Stephenson catches the exuberance of childhood, the romance of hot-rods, the delight of barnyard basketball, and the poignant poetry of birdlife in the countryside. In dialogue and hymn, this singer and...
In Elegies for Small Game , Shelby Stephenson continues his celebration of place, family, and memory. But here there is a new eloquence and authority ...
The Hunger of Freedom sings history, 19th century and 20th century, with distinct cadence. The author, Shelby Stephenson explores family, ancestors, ghosts and landscape with razor-sharp clarity. This detailed collection of affecting poems depicts a sense of place and the slaves who toiled there.
The Hunger of Freedom sings history, 19th century and 20th century, with distinct cadence. The author, Shelby Stephenson explores family, ancestors, g...
It's more than poetry, these are historical recipes that are viable, and from his mother's recipe box. Poems do not need forms, they need recipes, and Shelby Stephenson's poems cook. They inter-weave ingredients with metaphors to create delicious poems that entice our palates and our imaginations. Stephenson uses ingredients such as flour, sugar, butter, and eggs to bake enormous poetry cakes, cakes packed with memories and sensual flavors for all. Andrew Jarvis, editor, poet, and author of Choreography, Sound Points, The Ascent, and The Strait
It's more than poetry, these are historical recipes that are viable, and from his mother's recipe box. Poems do not need forms, they need recipes, and...
Shelby Stephenson can walk out his back door-even in his sleep, it seems, so tithed to the land is his subconscious-and see what lies hidden before our very eyes: in the roods and plowsoles, the tree bark and creek beds, in his beloved spectre ancestors forever singing in his head. He writes about the mystery of the dirt-what it yields, what it reclaims-with more precision and prescience than any poet I can think of. I can hear him now, whispering his sacramental litany, his invocation: "it is nothing but a song-the long journey home." Fiddledeedee is Shelby at his best. Blessed be his wholly...
Shelby Stephenson can walk out his back door-even in his sleep, it seems, so tithed to the land is his subconscious-and see what lies hidden before ou...
