{"product_id":"poems-isbn-9780375702259","title":"Poems","description":"Prior to her stunning first novel, \u003cb\u003eFugitive Pieces\u003c\/b\u003e, Anne Michaels had already won awards and critical acclaim for two books of poetry: \u003cb\u003eThe Weight of Oranges\u003c\/b\u003e (1986), which won the Commonwealth Prize for the Americas, and \u003cb\u003eMiner's Pond\u003c\/b\u003e (1991), which received the Canadian Authors Association Award and was short-listed for the Governor General's Award and the Trillium Award. Although they were published separately, these two books, along with \u003cb\u003eSkin Divers\u003c\/b\u003e, a collection of Michaels's newest work, were written as companion volumes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePoems\u003c\/b\u003e brings all three books together for the first time, creating for American readers a wonderful introduction to Anne Michaels's poetry. Meditative and insightful, powerful and heart-moving, these are poems that, as Michael Ondaatje has written, \"go way beyond games or fashion or politics . . . They represent the human being entire.\"Anne Michaels is the author of the best-selling novel \u003cb\u003eFugitive Pieces\u003c\/b\u003e, which was translated and published in more than two dozen countries and won several awards, including the 1997 Lannan Literary Award for Fiction and, in Britain, the Guardian Fiction Award and the Orange Prize. She lives in Toronto.Ice House\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I regret nothing but his suffering.\"\u003cbr\u003e--Kathleen Scott\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWherever we cry, \u003cbr\u003eit's far from home. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt Sandwich, our son pointed\u003cbr\u003epersistently to sea.\u003cbr\u003eI followed his infant gaze,\u003cbr\u003eexpecting a bird or a boat\u003cbr\u003ebut there was nothing.\u003cbr\u003eHow unnerving,\u003cbr\u003eas if he could see you\u003cbr\u003eon the horizon, \u003cbr\u003eknew where you were \u003cbr\u003eexactly:\u003cbr\u003eat the edge of the world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou unloaded the ship at Lyttelton\u003cbr\u003eand repacked her:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"thirty-five dogs\u003cbr\u003efive tons of dog food\u003cbr\u003efifteen ponies\u003cbr\u003ethirty-two tons of pony fodder\u003cbr\u003ethree motor-sledges\u003cbr\u003efour hundred and sixty tons of coal\u003cbr\u003ecollapsible huts\u003cbr\u003ean acetylene plant\u003cbr\u003ethirty-five thousand cigars\u003cbr\u003eone guinea pig\u003cbr\u003eone fantail pigeon\u003cbr\u003ethree rabbits\u003cbr\u003eone cat with its own hammock, blanket and pillow\u003cbr\u003eone hundred and sixty-two carcasses of mutton and\u003cbr\u003ean ice house.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMen returned from war\u003cbr\u003ewithout faces, with noses lost\u003cbr\u003ediscretely as antique statues.\u003cbr\u003eaccurately as if eaten by frostbite.\u003cbr\u003eIn clay I shaped their\u003cbr\u003eflesh, sometimes\u003cbr\u003eretrieving a likeness\u003cbr\u003efrom photographs.\u003cbr\u003eThen the surgeons copied\u003cbr\u003enose, ears, jaw\u003cbr\u003ewith molten wax and metal plates\u003cbr\u003eand horsehair stiches;\u003cbr\u003ewith borrowed cartilage,\u003cbr\u003efrom the soldiers' own ribs,\u003cbr\u003eleftovers stored under the skin \u003cbr\u003eof the abdomen. I held the men down\u003cbr\u003euntil the morphia\u003cbr\u003eslid into them.\u003cbr\u003eI was only sick\u003cbr\u003eafterwards.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWorking the clay, I remembered \u003cbr\u003emornings in Rodin's studio,\u003cbr\u003ehis drawfuls of tiny hands and feet,\u003cbr\u003elike a mechanic's tool box. \u003cbr\u003eI imagined my mother in her blindness \u003cbr\u003ebefore she died, touching my face,\u003cbr\u003eas if she still could\u003cbr\u003ebuild me with her body,.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt night, in the studio\u003cbr\u003eI took your face in my hands and your fine\u003cbr\u003earms and long legs, your small waist,\u003cbr\u003eand loved you into stone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe men returned from France\u003cbr\u003eto Ellerman's Hospital. \u003cbr\u003eTheir courage was beautiful.\u003cbr\u003eI understood the work at once:\u003cbr\u003eTo use scar tissue to advantage.\u003cbr\u003eTo construct through art,\u003cbr\u003eone's face to the world.\u003cbr\u003eSculpt what's missing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou reached furthest south,\u003cbr\u003ethen you went futher.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn neither of those forsaken places\u003cbr\u003edid you forsake us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt Lyttelton the hills unrolled,\u003cbr\u003ea Japanese scroll painting;\u003cbr\u003ewe opened the landscape with our bare feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo much leaned by observation.\u003cbr\u003eWe took in brainfuls of New Zealand air\u003cbr\u003eon the blue climb over the falls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOur last night together we slept \u003cbr\u003enot in the big house but\u003cbr\u003ein the Kinsey's garden.\u003cbr\u003eBelonging only to each other.\u003cbr\u003eGuests of the earth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMid sea, a month our of range \u003cbr\u003eof the wireless;\u003cbr\u003eon my way to you. Floating\u003cbr\u003ebetween landfalls,\u003cbr\u003ebetween one hemisphere and another.\u003cbr\u003eBetween the words\u003cbr\u003e\"wife\" and \"widow.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e- \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNewspapers, politicians\u003cbr\u003escavenged your journals.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut your words\u003cbr\u003enever lost their way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe mourn in a place no one knows;\u003cbr\u003eit's right that our grief be unseen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI love you as if you'll return\u003cbr\u003eafter years of absence.\u003cbr\u003eAs if we'd invented\u003cbr\u003emoonlight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStill I dream of your arrival.","brand":"Knopf","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301822222565,"sku":"NP9780375702259","price":21.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375702259.jpg?v=1767734910","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/poems-isbn-9780375702259","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}