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Love poems in quarantine
(Book)
Author
Published
Port Townsend, Washington : Copper Canyon Press, 2022.
Format
Book
Status
On Shelf
Port Angeles - Nonfiction (Adult)
811.6 RUHL
1 available
811.6 RUHL
1 available
Copies
| Location | Call Number | Status |
|---|---|---|
| Port Angeles - Nonfiction (Adult) | 811.6 RUHL | Available |
Description
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Subjects
LC Subjects
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Table of Contents
One. Early days of quarantine --
What are we folding when we are folding laundry in quarantine? --
Easter poem during plague time (because there is no fake grass to put in your baskets this year, but there is real grass instead) --
Menopause in quarantine --
On homesickness, back when we traveled --
Behold and be-held --
March --
The sun in quarantine --
Regeneration --
Poems and dreams are free --
To Max Ritvo, who once said to me: --
A spider in our bed --
Differences between me and my dog --
Poems are good company --
Three kinds of light --
Two. Poems written after May 25, the day George Floyd was murdered --
White backup singers, June 1 --
Fire sermon --
Separating the laundry, June 6 --
Weekapaug --
For Robyn Tamura --
Whiteness near the Fourth of July 2020 --
Prom, 1989 --
A white lady at a theater cocktail party --
Fires --
Mothers' Day --
An end to apartheid in America --
Three. Haiku, tanta and senryū in quarantine --
Spring --
Crossing --
Love poem to my husband, who fixed the Scotch tape dispenser today --
Poppy anemone --
Was my poetry party a super-spreader? --
Haiku written with my son in March --
When in doubt, count --
Nonessential workers --
Yard --
Sleeping very late --
When I was a child I loved to watch soap bubbles pop in the evening air --
"I lose socks in the" --
Teaching on Zoom --
For Kathleen --
Ambiguity of red --
What day is it? --
Koan --
Sisyphus --
For Elvis Costello, who said to me: --
"I will teach you how" --
Quarantine, day 20 --
"Look out your window:" --
Dog mind --
The woman who was bagging my groceries, when I asked how she was, said: --
A riddle, the answer: live theater --
Trio on Zoom --
I am running out of things to cook --
For my oldest daughter --
And that is enough for now --
"In the city I noticed" --
Swallow --
I read that people who groom more during quarantine are happier and it seems like a chicken-or-egg situation but my friend tells me about foot masks so I buy one --
"When will we ever" --
Midday, and the children come out of their rooms where they have been learning on screens --
Watching the food lines grow in New Jersey --
Quarantine, day 90 --
Remembered poem of a second grader named Patrick, Queens, twenty-five years ago --
Another reason dogs are wise --
The shortest story --
"How holy, that day" --
It used to be very impolite --
Summer --
On a Zoom call, watching my in-laws throw my father-in-law's ashes into the sea --
Remembering a time we could eat oysters together --
While I am on a work Zoom call, my son --
White people make bread while Black and Brown people die in America --
A negative test while the moon rises --
Birthday haiku for Uncle Joe written on Zoom --
This summer --
How white am I? --
My daughter asked me when she was three: --
On time zones --
"My dog rubbed herself" --
Love and mess --
Equal taste --
Coral --
Mediation, day 121 of quarantine --
Polish the stone or the mind --
Walking in the dark --
In Tibet it is said that when --
Watching the bird fly standing still --
Shelter --
Move your pants before the tide comes in --
Time decides --
For Anne's seventy-sixth birthday --
Sunset --
For Tony --
And today all that happened was --
Communion wafer in the night sky --
For Anne --
Night-blooming cereus --
On entitled Brooklyn parents --
For John Cage, who said: --
My dog tries to walk into our old house --
Lawn mowers and Bashō's grass pillow --
You ask me to look in your eyes, and the familiar and unfamiliar rhyme --
If a dead butterfly can still fly, what does that signify? --
Can sea cucumbers be instructive? --
My children are baking bread again --
It was not a day for singing --
Large waves and children --
Immortality through property --
On a walk I saw a snake, a rabbit, and a dead rat --
I am a messy cook and this annoys my husband who is an orderly cook --
I think about patience while I chop mushrooms --
To my children --
This morning --
Today --
What is a child's duty? --
Quarantine in August, the overripe month --
Fall --
Cause and effect --
Meditation, day 207 --
Your body, a temple --
Attempt at holding opposing truths in the mind --
"Don't store your anger" --
A photo from when I was sick --
Waiting for a storm --
A shuttered business --
"There is no cure for" --
Bell's palsy, ten years out --
"Could I live in the" --
Books as food --
Tomorrow and tomorrow and time zones --
An argument --
I wear your sweater for extra warmth --
Is God a who or a what when the world falls apart? --
"Do you have grief to spare?" --
Books don't spread germs --
Block island --
Election day is windy in Rhode Island and the weather report says that --
"I thought it was a mist..." --
Alchemy --
"I was a child of" --
Hungry ghosts --
Winter --
As the days get shorter and shorter --
Today I learned that in kindergarten, a boy named --
"My first love came with" --
Snowstorm --
Again, snow --
Still life --
When I see you again --
"Computers can be" --
"The moon rises just" --
I made two false assumptions looking at a red cardinal --
Tanka, January 6 --
Boiling water isn't mad at the tea --
"This field. This snow. This" --
"Are you studying" --
Mediating outdoors --
Playing card games with others --
Meditation, January 18 --
Meditation, January 19 --
Nap --
Late afternoon --
Lesson from quarantine --
Upon walking --
Winter in Illinois --
A person can be pedantic about anything --
Counting the stars is impossible --
I'm scared of the desk today, so --
"The doors don't quite shut" --
And I was so happy --
"Why is my gaze so" --
Passage from one yard to another --
And all the frozen snow melted today --
I don't know anything about time --
Spring again --
And after all that --
A year since quarantine began --
"I am lucky: when" --
What of my eyes and their infallibility? --
"I no longer know" --
"There are things I must" --
"Instead of writing," --
My glasses sit on the rug --
Scrolling upon waking up --
I have brought my dog with me. Why? --
What is the holy name, you or the Lord? --
After the long winter --
"My dog writes for me" --
Freedom --
Horse racing --
The volunteers at the senior center vaccine parking lot, Six months without a barber and --
Equinox --
Seeing or showing --
Noon --
After all, it is irrational to be afraid of mold, which will come unless you eat the fruit --
Walking in a spring rain --
As in chess and other games... --
For three years I --
Sometimes God is when strangers touch --
Needs --
Changing the locks --
When my daughter heard the story of Oedipus --
"My dog sits zazen" --
I will try to --
There is a house somewhere --
I read somewhere that your cuts heal faster when you are in love and today --
"I want to be a" --
Morning dove --
Talking things over, we looked up and saw --
I, on top of you, looking at your face, and --
In the place where you were born --
Another storm --
"The window is shut" --
I learned that quarantine meant 40 days and now it's day 400 --
"What the earth does well" --
Poem catching --
"Where is the birdcall?"
More Details
Published
Port Townsend, Washington : Copper Canyon Press, 2022.
Physical Desc
xvii, 163 pages ; 20 cm
Language
English
Notes
Description
"A collection of poems written by Sarah Ruhl"--,Provided by publisher.
Description
"An award-winning, multi-genre writer grapples with the pandemic, death of George Floyd, and other crises of our times in gnomic poems written from inside the purgatory (and sudden revelations) of quarantine."--Amazon.com