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What Flies Away
What Flies Away tells the story in poetry of the author’s mother’s descent into Alzheimer’s, her father’s sudden death and the miracle of her daughter’s birth. Campanella received the Poet Laureate Award twice for two poems "The Chase" and "How to Grieve," both of which are included in the collection.
- GenresPoetry
96 pages, Paperback
First published September 30, 2006
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About the author
Ann Campanella
10 books42 followersAnn Campanella is a former magazine and newspaper editor. She is the award-winning author of three memoirs and four collections of poetry. Her writing has appeared in newspapers, magazines, literary journals and online sites across the country and around the world, and she has been a guest on many podcasts.
Her first memoir, Motherhood: Lost and Found, named "One of the best Alzheimer's books of all time" by BookAuthority two years in a row, tells the story of her mother’s descent into Alzheimer’s at the same time Ann was trying to become a mother and dealing with a series of miscarriages.
After her book was released, Ann became a manager and director of AlzAuthors, an organization that represents hundreds of books about Alzheimer’s and dementia. In 2018, she was recognized by her hometown newspaper as one of the Most Influential Women in her community for her work promoting Alzheimer’s awareness.
Ann’s second memoir, Celiac Mom, takes her in a new direction. In 2001, Ann became a mother to her long-awaited daughter Sydney. A few years later, she learned that Sydney had celiac disease. Celiac Mom shares the story of a noncook determined to keep her daughter safe from gluten, a substance that was literally poisoning her. Ann reveals the challenges of upending a wheat-filled life in order to embrace a healthy future for her family.
Ann's new memoir, The Shoulder Season, shares her the story of her serious shoulder injury and how it transformed her life. BookLife calls this book, "a striking testament to the resilience of the human body and spirit."
Ann has a degree in English Literature from Davidson College and lives on a small farm in North Carolina. For more information about the author, visit her website at https:anncampanella.com.
Her first memoir, Motherhood: Lost and Found, named "One of the best Alzheimer's books of all time" by BookAuthority two years in a row, tells the story of her mother’s descent into Alzheimer’s at the same time Ann was trying to become a mother and dealing with a series of miscarriages.
After her book was released, Ann became a manager and director of AlzAuthors, an organization that represents hundreds of books about Alzheimer’s and dementia. In 2018, she was recognized by her hometown newspaper as one of the Most Influential Women in her community for her work promoting Alzheimer’s awareness.
Ann’s second memoir, Celiac Mom, takes her in a new direction. In 2001, Ann became a mother to her long-awaited daughter Sydney. A few years later, she learned that Sydney had celiac disease. Celiac Mom shares the story of a noncook determined to keep her daughter safe from gluten, a substance that was literally poisoning her. Ann reveals the challenges of upending a wheat-filled life in order to embrace a healthy future for her family.
Ann's new memoir, The Shoulder Season, shares her the story of her serious shoulder injury and how it transformed her life. BookLife calls this book, "a striking testament to the resilience of the human body and spirit."
Ann has a degree in English Literature from Davidson College and lives on a small farm in North Carolina. For more information about the author, visit her website at https:anncampanella.com.
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
May 14, 2019
My heart broke, broke more, then was transfixed by joy as I read this magnificent book of poetry by Ann Campanella, twice recipient of the Poet Laureate Award, the highest honor of the North Carolina Poetry Society.
Her collection cycles through life and death and birth and rebirth, chronicling her mother’s Alzheimer’s, father’s death, loss of beloved horse Crimson, and — after multiple miscarriages — miraculous birth of daughter Sydney.
The author deservedly received the Laureate Award for these two included poems:
The Chase
We’d try to catch her before
she got to the door dressed in layers
of sweaters or nothing at all
but socks and a bra.
She’d call out like a kid,
I’m going sailing with Dad!
Back then, I didn’t know to smile and
wave,
slip out the back, meet her at the door.
Why Ann! she would have said,
the lake evaporating from her mind,
Come in. It’s so nice to see you!
My father tried to reason with her.
Dear, it’s cold out.
The lake is miles away.
Your father won’t be there.
He was buried years ago.
She’d raise her hand to her mouth,
No one told me he died!
as tears sprang to her eyes.
I’d lead her back to her room
where clothes lay scattered
like lost feathers.
For a while she read my face
as if it were a map to her world.
At dinner, my father and I
exchanged looks
when she poured pepper
into her water,
stirred it with a fork.
Something funny’s going on
around here, she said.
Her meat and peas grew cold.
When we moved her to the home
I propped a smile on my lips,
learned to speak a new language.
On a weekend outing she announced,
I’m never going back to that prison!
I said, How ‘bout we do something fun.
She clapped her hands, Let’s go for a
ride!
I drove her down dark roads back to the
home.
In the car, she squeezed my hand,
You’re the only one I trust.
These days, words escape her.
Unable to walk, she sits for hours,
her legs still as some forgotten thought.
Head bobbing, the weight
of her chin pulls her sideways
until her trunk rests
against the edge of her chair.
What I’d give for another chance
to chase her down the drive.
When I caught her, I’d slip my hand
in hers, smile for real and say,
Let’s go sailing on this fine day.
—
How To Grieve
Find a pasture where an old horse grazes.
Open the gate and walk to a far corner of
the field,
lie down in the weeds. Let your skin go
hot then cold.
The horse will eye you warily, he might
even run
the other way. Don’t look at him.
Just lie there like a corpse
waiting for the dirt to be thrown.
When you begin to itch and your hair
feels alive,
sit up and cross your legs. Keep your head
down.
Study the crosshatch of grass beside your
ankle,
the tiny black bugs that float and land
on your hands. When you glance up
the horse will be standing like a statue,
neck raised, ears pricked.
He will step toward you and stop.
Don’t move or call to him. Simply sense
the curve of his haunches, the sturdy
plant
of his hooves. Take the carrot from your
pocket,
caress its damp shape. Snap it in two
if you want. The horse, a hesitant, eager
bundle of muscle, will step forward and stop.
Step forward and stop.
You will see that this is your life.
If you wait there long enough,
his long nose and thick barrel will approach.
He will wipe your hand clean with his
tongue.
He will drink long from the bucket of
water
beside you, then tickle your face
with the wiry hair of his muzzle, leaving
patches of drool on your shirt,
sticky and wet as tears.
When you make a sudden move
he will shy sideways, the crest of his mane
rising. He will turn and run, flinging
gravel
and dirt behind him. Don’t watch.
You will feel nothing but the rumble of
earth
and the wind of his leaving. Tomorrow,
the horse will be small on the horizon,
the pasture where you sit empty and
wide.
—
I thank Ann for the review copy and for the great honor of critiquing WHAT FLIES AWAY, published February 13, 2018, and available on Amazon.
Her collection cycles through life and death and birth and rebirth, chronicling her mother’s Alzheimer’s, father’s death, loss of beloved horse Crimson, and — after multiple miscarriages — miraculous birth of daughter Sydney.
The author deservedly received the Laureate Award for these two included poems:
The Chase
We’d try to catch her before
she got to the door dressed in layers
of sweaters or nothing at all
but socks and a bra.
She’d call out like a kid,
I’m going sailing with Dad!
Back then, I didn’t know to smile and
wave,
slip out the back, meet her at the door.
Why Ann! she would have said,
the lake evaporating from her mind,
Come in. It’s so nice to see you!
My father tried to reason with her.
Dear, it’s cold out.
The lake is miles away.
Your father won’t be there.
He was buried years ago.
She’d raise her hand to her mouth,
No one told me he died!
as tears sprang to her eyes.
I’d lead her back to her room
where clothes lay scattered
like lost feathers.
For a while she read my face
as if it were a map to her world.
At dinner, my father and I
exchanged looks
when she poured pepper
into her water,
stirred it with a fork.
Something funny’s going on
around here, she said.
Her meat and peas grew cold.
When we moved her to the home
I propped a smile on my lips,
learned to speak a new language.
On a weekend outing she announced,
I’m never going back to that prison!
I said, How ‘bout we do something fun.
She clapped her hands, Let’s go for a
ride!
I drove her down dark roads back to the
home.
In the car, she squeezed my hand,
You’re the only one I trust.
These days, words escape her.
Unable to walk, she sits for hours,
her legs still as some forgotten thought.
Head bobbing, the weight
of her chin pulls her sideways
until her trunk rests
against the edge of her chair.
What I’d give for another chance
to chase her down the drive.
When I caught her, I’d slip my hand
in hers, smile for real and say,
Let’s go sailing on this fine day.
—
How To Grieve
Find a pasture where an old horse grazes.
Open the gate and walk to a far corner of
the field,
lie down in the weeds. Let your skin go
hot then cold.
The horse will eye you warily, he might
even run
the other way. Don’t look at him.
Just lie there like a corpse
waiting for the dirt to be thrown.
When you begin to itch and your hair
feels alive,
sit up and cross your legs. Keep your head
down.
Study the crosshatch of grass beside your
ankle,
the tiny black bugs that float and land
on your hands. When you glance up
the horse will be standing like a statue,
neck raised, ears pricked.
He will step toward you and stop.
Don’t move or call to him. Simply sense
the curve of his haunches, the sturdy
plant
of his hooves. Take the carrot from your
pocket,
caress its damp shape. Snap it in two
if you want. The horse, a hesitant, eager
bundle of muscle, will step forward and stop.
Step forward and stop.
You will see that this is your life.
If you wait there long enough,
his long nose and thick barrel will approach.
He will wipe your hand clean with his
tongue.
He will drink long from the bucket of
water
beside you, then tickle your face
with the wiry hair of his muzzle, leaving
patches of drool on your shirt,
sticky and wet as tears.
When you make a sudden move
he will shy sideways, the crest of his mane
rising. He will turn and run, flinging
gravel
and dirt behind him. Don’t watch.
You will feel nothing but the rumble of
earth
and the wind of his leaving. Tomorrow,
the horse will be small on the horizon,
the pasture where you sit empty and
wide.
—
I thank Ann for the review copy and for the great honor of critiquing WHAT FLIES AWAY, published February 13, 2018, and available on Amazon.
March 1, 2018
Having read Ann's book, MOTHERHOOD: LOST AND FOUND, I was pleased to see the release of Ann's poems that lead up to the writing of her memoir. Wow. I can't write poetry, and I rarely read it, but I am so pleased that I took the time to read this compilation of memories, insights, and milestones found along the Alzheimer's journey. I highlighted so many passages that I wanted to revisit time and again. Here's just one passage that wafted through my heart:
The tide keeps rising.
Waves churn in mty mother's mind, my father fights to sae his crew,
and I stand on the far shore waiting for the next day's news.
There is beauty in the words Ann writes, but there is also humor. You will be pleased you decided to pick up this collection; I sure was.
The tide keeps rising.
Waves churn in mty mother's mind, my father fights to sae his crew,
and I stand on the far shore waiting for the next day's news.
There is beauty in the words Ann writes, but there is also humor. You will be pleased you decided to pick up this collection; I sure was.
May 19, 2019
My own mother passed away from Alzheimers and I wrote poetry before she died because it was a way to express the pain. Ann Campanella perfectly captures this pain and more in her exquisite poems, lush with sweetness and tears. What Flies Away encompasses so much of our human existence - grief over a father's passing, heartache over a mother caught in a disease, the joy and wonder of precious babies, the beauty of nature - and love of horses. Ann is a master wordsmith who has created a treasure for the heart. Especially recommended for those in the sandwich generation, those who have made it past, and those who just love beautiful writing.
March 13, 2018
What Flies Away, Ann Campanella’s newest release, is more than a collection of words formed into pretty poems. Each one is a statement about the cycle of life and in the end, the power of hope. Her words took me through the grief of losing loved ones, caretaking a parent and watching them disappear to the horrible clutches of Alzheimer’s, looking at one’s own mortality and in the end life renewing itself with the birth of a much-wanted, beautiful, baby girl.
These poems are about our daily lives in all its minute moments that yes, bring pain, sorrow, mourning, but also, much wonder, love and joy. Each poem is a song that struck a note in my heart my soul. These are words I will come back to read over and over. This book is a keeper.
These poems are about our daily lives in all its minute moments that yes, bring pain, sorrow, mourning, but also, much wonder, love and joy. Each poem is a song that struck a note in my heart my soul. These are words I will come back to read over and over. This book is a keeper.
November 22, 2021
This collection of poems pulls on your heart strings and moves your soul. Thevpoems are crafted with magic that portrays heavy subjects like grief, death, and Alzheimer's with ease-- a testament to the author's command over her craft. I felt as though I was in her shoes, experiencing her journey first hand. I could not put the book down. There is also hope, inspiration, and joy in the author's journey and every poem tells a story with honesty, each emotion depicted in its purest form. I thoroughly enjoyed the book and look forward to reading the author's memoir as well.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews