Insomnia
A few weeks ago, I was invited by Daniel Garcia Ordaz, the publisher at El Zarape Press, to write an introduction for their latest release. How could I refuse? Not only do Daniel and I go way back, but it was a pretty exciting offer because 1. the author of the book is none other than Edward Vidaurre, who I love and 2. I'd never been invited to write an introduction to a book before, and it sounded like something every proper poet should try her hand at.
So, away I went. I dove into Edward's book, and quite honestly, I was blown away by how smooth the book read, how the poems and their rich images just kept flowing, one after the other. I wanted to express that breathless feeling in my intro, but not only that, I wanted to give Edward's book context. I THINK that's what an introduction is there for, to give a collection some context and explain how it fits into the greater discourse of contemporary poetry.
So that's what I tried to do. I hope I was able to give Edward's book justice. Here's an excerpt from my introduction:
Want to read more? Well, order your bad self a copy! It's now available in both paperback and on kindle HERE
So, away I went. I dove into Edward's book, and quite honestly, I was blown away by how smooth the book read, how the poems and their rich images just kept flowing, one after the other. I wanted to express that breathless feeling in my intro, but not only that, I wanted to give Edward's book context. I THINK that's what an introduction is there for, to give a collection some context and explain how it fits into the greater discourse of contemporary poetry.
So that's what I tried to do. I hope I was able to give Edward's book justice. Here's an excerpt from my introduction:
Above all, Edward’s voice is his own. These poems are also regional, poems that masterfully illustrate the quirkiness of life in El Valle through the eyes of a Barrio Poet. Come down the resacas of the lower valley with Rumi and watch “the rocks under [your] feet dance” towards their drowning death in its waters. Dream of a “raspa-colored heaven” where the “skies are blue coconut and chamoy.” Listen to the song of border-town barrios at night -- a barking dog, an opening door, “a mother’s heart” with her “mouth wide open / screaming into the dead night without a sound.” These poems illustrate what life is like when you live with your eyes open, bloodshot and always awake.
Want to read more? Well, order your bad self a copy! It's now available in both paperback and on kindle HERE
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