Showing posts with label Barbara Bialick Doug Holder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barbara Bialick Doug Holder. Show all posts

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Review of THE REGRET OF A FLOWER, Selected Poems, by Gail Thornton, Redmund Productions, A Division of PME, LLC, Kershaw, South Carolina, 2013, $12.50



Review of THE REGRET OF A FLOWER, Selected Poems, by Gail Thornton, Redmund Productions, A Division of PME, LLC, Kershaw, South Carolina, 2013, $12.50

Review by Barbara Bialick

In The Regret of a Flower, Gail Thornton shows that even in the adversity of physical and mental illness, the human spirit moves toward love and creativity.  As she writes in the title poem, “You have taught me to accept/compliments gracefully,/because when I cut them/too close to the bud,/what I have is a stem/and a dead plume in my hand/taking up all of the space/where the love should be.” She has had to live with both polio and bipolar illness and yet she points out “I’m as varied as the sea,/words rolling out of me/in a tempest/…The turn of a phrase:/salt tears, refreshing me/as it spills onto the page-my naked world at midnight.”

Indeed she dedicates the collection to “my true love, Frank, without whom my poetry would lose its song in my heart.”

As she has moved through life, she discovered that people can love each other in different ways, even in the bustle of a writing workshop. In “Drunk as Drunk On Neruda” she writes,  “Finally, it was poetry that united us/we worked together on a poem/we both wished we had written/…we made love to the printed page and said goodbye without a touch…”

Indeed poetry is an important part of her life. Creativity trumps the alternative, which is to feel only pain. “Poetry is not horizontal-It grows like the Baobab/into the desert of my heart/groping for last year’s rain.”

In “Bipolar Ballroom” she can only wonder at the “Head bangers in my bedroom,/in my head room;/thoughts pile up like compost/fed by my baby tears./My fears, years of faking it/taking/then losing it, losing it/…Dreams keep five dialogues/in unison/Shouting.”
She also thinks back in “Polio and the Family House” which says, “You held me/captive in your rooms,/stretched taught, like sheets between trees./You held me while I lost my limbs;/The House:/Grinning,/keeps our faces tacked to the past…”

Writing poetry, however, can be a companionable activity. “The inkwell really my/unconscious dream/…reading/each line, as one would/the correspondence/from a faraway friend.”

Gail Thornton lives in a small town in Massachusetts. She has read poetry at the Boston Center for the Arts and at Newton Free Library. She has attended poetry workshops at the Cambridge Center for Adult Education as well as the William Joiner Center for War and Its Social Consequences at the University of Massachusetts Boston. You can read “Gail Thornton’s World” at gailthornton.blogspot.com.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Review, Poetica Magazine, Contemporary Jewish Writing, Holocaust Edition,


Review, Poetica Magazine, Contemporary Jewish Writing, Holocaust Edition Spring 2012, PO Box 11014, Norfolk, Virginia 23517, www.poeticamagazine.com, Michal Mahgerefteh, Editor-in Chief, 64 pages.




Review by Barbara Bialick, author of TIME LEAVES



At my age, the word “holocaust” reminds me of when I read about all of the horrors, as a child in Hebrew School, of the slaughter by the Germans of 6 million Jews during World War II from 1939 to 1945. That was in the 1960s. But I never forgot… On looking at this special issue of the fine journal Poetica, my thought was Oh no, I can’t read all this again! Yet in well-written poetry by 40 fine poets, is chronicled different views of the nightmare stories of the killing, incarceration, burning and starving, as well as thoughts and memories by and about the survivors.



But I realized who this important collection is really for—the younger generation, who need to hear about it also, or everything that happened will be forgotten. Jews continue to need to be reminded how we have been hated throughout history, even as Israel is often hated today by certain Jews as well as the Palestinians, indeed the whole Middle East.



In the poem, “Holocaust Remembrance Day, 2012”, Helen Bar-Lev writes “the oven warms; a cake bakes/a siren wrenches the heart/the radio plays somber songs/and people retell of the holocaust…of the loss”.



“Why do you sleep, O Lord? Awaken, do not/reject us forever,” writes Bernard Otterman in “Psalm 44 at Auschwitz.”



Another moving poem is “Budapest Shoes” by Jena Smith: “Sixty shoes line Pest bank, cast iron shoes…/shoes of the Jews, Hungarian Jews.”



I really like the poem “I Would Have Called You ‘Oma’” by Joanne Jagoda, about the grandmother she never met: “They shipped you on the train to Auschwitz/and you walked to the showers of gas/your precious light extinguished forever/And when I hold my own sweet grandchild/I think about you…”



This book exists like a holy encyclopedia, written and ready to read, too awful to be quoted so haphazardly. Just buy it and give it to someone of the young generation and let them get sick, too, before the old generations of witnesses and their children disappear, leaving no one to remember what really happened…