{"product_id":"quick-isbn-9780771080913","title":"Quick","description":"The human body is a world. How it contains all that it does, how it is altered, and how it is transformed after death are the concerns of \u003ci\u003eQuick\u003c\/i\u003e, a new collection of poetry from one of Canada’s most exciting poets. From the shock of a near-fatal car accident to a meditation on the body as one world within other, larger worlds, the book becomes an anatomy in itself.“Simpson’s intelligent poetic language renders, in three dimensions, images of compelling resonance. . . .” \u003cbr\u003e— \u003ci\u003eQuill \u0026amp; Quire\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“In this new collection, Anne Simpson’s voice is instantly recognizable. The poetics of distancing ‘how does love make itself so small?\/ small as an eye-tooth, tissue-thin’ hold in check deeply felt emotion, and this tension brings the poems to a new level of intensity. . . . These are poems of extraordinary range, intelligence and empathy.”\u003cbr\u003e- Pat Lowther Memorial Award jury citation\u003cp\u003eANNE SIMPSON is the author of four books of poetry, \u003ci\u003eIs\u003c\/i\u003e (2011); \u003ci\u003eQuick\u003c\/i\u003e (2007), winner of the Pat Lowther Memorial Award; \u003ci\u003eLoop\u003c\/i\u003e (2003), winner of the Griffin Poetry Prize; and \u003ci\u003eLight Falls Through You\u003c\/i\u003e (2000), winner of the Gerald Lampert Memorial Prize and the Atlantic Poetry Prize. She has also written two novels, \u003ci\u003eFalling\u003c\/i\u003e (2008), longlisted for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award and winner of the Dartmouth Award for Fiction, and \u003ci\u003eCanterbury Beach\u003c\/i\u003e (2001). Her book of essays, \u003ci\u003eThe Marram Grass: Poetry and Otherness\u003c\/i\u003e (2009), delves into issues of poetry, art, and empathy. While her home is in Nova Scotia, she has been a writer-in-residence at many universities and libraries across Canada.\u003c\/p\u003eCLOCKS OF RAIN\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e–are you all right are you hurt can you move how clearly men speak\u003cbr\u003ethrough the blown-out window undo the seat belt undo the seat belt\u003cbr\u003eand fall headfirst into the rain pulled from a wrecked car the side\u003cbr\u003eof the road scarlet apples rolling here there each one a miniature\u003cbr\u003eemergency a loop of cord a coat a scattering of glass hands shaking\u003cbr\u003ewater running down someone’s face dark trees behind a van\u003cbr\u003ebrushwork on a Chinese screen a fire truck police car glaze of rain\u003cbr\u003ethis is where it happened an ambulance with its doors opening\u003cbr\u003einto a throat of darkness–\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStops.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt stops–\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUpside down,\u003cbr\u003ehe’s moaning, blood in his hair.\u003cbr\u003e                                                                            Broken glass\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003egrinds in my mouth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e                            Smashed air.The many clocks\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eof rain, slapping wipers jerk and lift of the tires the car silkily\u003cbr\u003eveering off the wrong way on a wet road a long, vertiginous descent\u003cbr\u003efrenzy of wipers this is how it comes gracefully the end of things\u003cbr\u003ea guardrail a ditch a life closing with a little sound a \u003ci\u003eclick \u003c\/i\u003enothing\u003cbr\u003eto fear brace hard the car slams into the rail on the driver’s side\u003cbr\u003ehooks metal flips hurtles down the highway on the roof the wheels\u003cbr\u003espinning like a chase of deer–\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStops.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt stops–\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003einside out bones showing against shadow white puzzle pieces\u003cbr\u003enestled one against the other delicate skull wide-open jaw sinuous\u003cbr\u003elength of spine in the hospital a doctor traced\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e                          smashed air. The many clocks\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003emany voices are you all right are you hurt can you move how clearly\u003cbr\u003emen speak through the blown-out window undo the seat belt undo\u003cbr\u003ethe seat belt and fall headfirst into the rain pulled from a wrecked\u003cbr\u003ecar the side of the road scarlet apples rolling here there each one\u003cbr\u003ea miniature emergency a loop of cord a coat a scattering of glass\u003cbr\u003ehands shaking water running down someone’s face dark trees behind\u003cbr\u003ea van brushwork on a Chinese screen a fire truck police car glaze\u003cbr\u003eof rain this is where it happened an ambulance with its doors\u003cbr\u003eopening backwards to show watery marks on the ultrasound yes\u003cbr\u003eyou’re thinking it could be you it could be your bird heart beating\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003enow now now\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnne Simpson\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of three books of poetry, \u003ci\u003eLight Falls Through You\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the Gerald Lampert Memorial Award and the Atlantic Poetry Prize; \u003ci\u003eLoop\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the Griffin Poetry Prize and a finalist for the Governor General’s Award for Poetry; and her new collection, \u003ci\u003eQuick\u003c\/i\u003e. She is also the author of a novel, \u003ci\u003eCanterbury Beach\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in Antigonish, Nova Scotia, where she helped establish the Writing Centre at St. Francis Xavier University.   \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Word about the Poem\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cb\u003eby Anne Simpson\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eHow do we write the state of shock? This was the question that came to me after I wrote the first drafts of “Clocks of Rain.” In these earlier drafts, I wrote a long poem, broken into sections, in which the speaker looks back on an accident some time after it happens.  But then it became a story, distanced by remembering. It seemed to me that I hadn’t gotten inside the accident itself. I knew that it had to be much more immediate to work effectively. And the form had to change. I had to find a form for dislocation, something that would reveal a break in the temporal, so I came up with an entirely different poem. I cut it back, shook it up. I thought of how people get thrown around in an accident, even though they might be strapped into a car. Ultimately, I wanted the sharp realization that comes with a close call — that life is not just given back, but given back differently — breaking out of the poem.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eHow the Poem Works\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cb\u003eby Anne Compton\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Clocks of Rain” is reminiscent of Simpson’s “Seven Paintings by Brueghel” (\u003ci\u003eLoop\u003c\/i\u003e, 2003), the sonnet series that lamented the stopped clocks, stopped lives of the Twin Towers. “Clocks” is, however, an everyday tragedy — if there is such a thing — a road accident. The debris at the accident scene includes “a loop of cord,” undoubtedly a nod to the formal experimentation that Simpson began with \u003ci\u003eLoop\u003c\/i\u003e and quickens here. Referencing her earlier work, “Clocks of Rain” also extends the painter-poet’s interest in beauty and violence — the collision of those in everyday life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAbandoning the stop signs of punctuation that make syntax negotiable, “Clocks” enacts pavement’s chaos on the page. Simpson, who devoted a section of \u003ci\u003eLight Falls Through You\u003c\/i\u003e (2000) to those very signs, creates in this prose poem the panic of an auto accident. Fragments trail between paragraphs. The poem, as much as the automobile, hydroplanes on the surface of its story: An accident happens, the driver suffers an injury, but narrative perspective remains uncertain. Point of view veers among first, second, and third person. The four paragraphs view successively the wreck, the moment of the accident, the victim, ending where they began, with the “many voices” milling around the wreck. This structure imitates the “Upside down” coming-to-rest of the vehicle, the “inside out” of the victim. With her signature tact, and painter’s eye, Simpson imbues gruesome detail with tenderness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe shock of it all is signalled by the abrupt beginning — a dash; by the breathless, brief phrases jamming the moment; by the unmarked dialogue: thoughts and speech — inside the wreck and outside — are indistinguishable. Perceptions occur — “scarlet apples rolling here there” — but ownership of those perceptions is unclear. Form, here, forces the reader to “fall headfirst” into chaos, but it’s the heart — whose heart — that is at risk. Risk is what interests Anne Simpson these days. “Clocks of Rain” — the noun phrase metaphor of the title, repeated in the poem — “\u003ci\u003eclick\u003c\/i\u003e” off a life. Like John Donne’s bells, which toll for “you,” these “Clocks” rain on everyone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnne Compton is the author of \u003ci\u003eProcessional,\u003c\/i\u003e winner of the Governor General’s Award for Poetry and the Atlantic Poetry Prize, and \u003ci\u003eOpening the Island\u003c\/i\u003e, winner of the Atlantic Poetry Prize.  Her most recent work is \u003ci\u003eMeetings with Maritime Poets: Interviews\u003c\/i\u003e. She is the editor of \u003ci\u003eThe Edge of Home: Milton Acorn from the Island\u003c\/i\u003e and co-editor of \u003ci\u003eCoastlines: The Poetry of Atlantic Canada\u003c\/i\u003e, and the author of \u003ci\u003eA.J.M. Smith: Canadian Metaphysical\u003c\/i\u003e.","brand":"McClelland \u0026 Stewart","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303412158693,"sku":"NP9780771080913","price":13.5,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780771080913.jpg?v=1767735295","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/quick-isbn-9780771080913","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}