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These Things Will Never Happen Quite Like That Again
"In this sense-rich, threshold-crossing, body-wise, girl-to-woman story, the lyricism of the verse novel allows for fluidity between internal and external impressions. Wonderfully grounded in concrete descriptions of cooking, crafting and motorcycle riding, it is the space between words and the ideas suspended in the titled chapters that makes way for the heightened or expansive awareness that the narrator realizes. It is through her sense-rich and supersensible realizations that she can experience the beauty of what will never happen quite like that again." --Michael Ventura & Jazmin Aminian Jordán "In this vital new collection of poems by Ash Good, desire for the sacred, desire for oneness with the Beloved, becomes a journey and a story. This journey/story begins with visionary observations such as 'the universe fits in that two-man tent, ' and concludes with the epiphany-like acknowledgment of 'the gauze/of the thing/that connects everything.' Here, inner life and outward existence--spirit and body--are both given their due in a voice as spare and natural as Gary Snyder's, as insightful and alchemical as Rumi's. Open These Things Will Never Happen Quite Like That Again , read it cover to cover, and enter the sacred and sensuous space created by this gifted poet. You will want to reside there." --Gail Wronsky, author of So Quick Bright Things
176 pages, Paperback
Published March 28, 2017
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
April 25, 2018
This is the kind of book that finds you when you need it. The types of truths you discover here will crack you open and lick you out and put you back together again.
It’s almost impossible to describe what the collection is, but I can tell you what it does.
When I finished reading one of the last pieces, I felt an overwhelming urge to pray. I was at work, but I needed to pray. I didn’t even know what I would be praying to. I took my 15-minute break and walked outside to a path a coworker who had long since departed once showed me. I picked up a sprig of pine needles lying on the path because I wanted to bring something back with me, some remembrance.
I walked the path until I saw a tree stump. The top of it was sawed off so cleanly that it almost appeared polished. It looked like an altar. I realized that I had picked up the sprig to offer it here, and I placed it in the center of the stump where there was a divot perfect for the sprig.
After a jogger ran past, I knelt down in front of the tree with my hands at heart center and listened, though my mind was still busy.
There, I learned and relearned that trees are connected and communicate through mycelium underground. They share nutrients and news about intruders that way. And when a tree dies, the other trees continue sending it nutrients for over a century, an offering to their dead.
It is at such a stump that I listen and hear that I must learn to be loved.
When I stood up, I realize that the stump was not one tree but two with two ring centers fused together. I’ve never seen tree rings like that before or since.
These are the sorts of events this type of book wills into existence. These poems are not about you, but you will find yourself here, cradled, safe, named. In another person’s growth, you will discover what it means to have purpose. This is so much more than a book of poems. It is a book of life.
It’s almost impossible to describe what the collection is, but I can tell you what it does.
When I finished reading one of the last pieces, I felt an overwhelming urge to pray. I was at work, but I needed to pray. I didn’t even know what I would be praying to. I took my 15-minute break and walked outside to a path a coworker who had long since departed once showed me. I picked up a sprig of pine needles lying on the path because I wanted to bring something back with me, some remembrance.
I walked the path until I saw a tree stump. The top of it was sawed off so cleanly that it almost appeared polished. It looked like an altar. I realized that I had picked up the sprig to offer it here, and I placed it in the center of the stump where there was a divot perfect for the sprig.
After a jogger ran past, I knelt down in front of the tree with my hands at heart center and listened, though my mind was still busy.
There, I learned and relearned that trees are connected and communicate through mycelium underground. They share nutrients and news about intruders that way. And when a tree dies, the other trees continue sending it nutrients for over a century, an offering to their dead.
It is at such a stump that I listen and hear that I must learn to be loved.
When I stood up, I realize that the stump was not one tree but two with two ring centers fused together. I’ve never seen tree rings like that before or since.
These are the sorts of events this type of book wills into existence. These poems are not about you, but you will find yourself here, cradled, safe, named. In another person’s growth, you will discover what it means to have purpose. This is so much more than a book of poems. It is a book of life.
Displaying 1 of 1 review