In The Bellstone, author Michael Kalafatas discovers a poem about Greek sponge divers written by his grandfather in the early 20th century, and using that as a starting point, travels to Greece to explore both the history of the sponge diving industry and that of his own family. What begins as an explanation of Greek culture turns into a fascinating and touching personal story of connecting with one's past. The author also describes Greek influence in this country and on the pearl industry. The book is both historical and anecdotal, with the poem woven throughout, connecting every facet of the story. Even the acknowledgments refer to the content - that's how well this book flows! It is a learning experience, an enjoyable read, and an amazing family story.

Inspired writing which will inspire any reader. In the Bell Stone, Michael Kalafatas discovers his grandfather's epic poem 70 years after it was written. The writer follows his heart untangling the mysteries revealed in the poem and takes the reader on a journey to far off places both under the sea and across the globe. His story reveals the daring and bravery of his ancestors while sharing with the reader the untold story of sponge divers in the Aegean. This unique story will inspire others to take a smiliar journey--to discover the treasured
stories of their own special families.

This book was inspired by a Greek epic poem written by the author's grandfather, a popular leader on the island of Symi in the Dodecanese. For untold generations the island's young men had dived naked into the sea, holding their breath as they gathered sponges. But in the poet's lifetime the introduction of mechanized diving equipment brought wealth to some and death or paralysis to many.

Michael Kalafatas visited the Aegean islands, met many relatives and learned all he could about different diving techniques. He follows the history of the sponge trade from the Sultan's seraglio in Constantinople to the desert coasts of Australia and the more lush landscape of Tarpon Springs, Florida, where he lived as a boy. He wrestles with such difficult issues as why divers persisted in risking their lives even after they had learned how they could work less dangerously.

The personal character of much of the book adds to its appeal. In short, this is one of the best books I've read this year.

Olga Broumas is the bearer of the ancient traditions of Hellenic culture and she has entwined this with the culture of her everyday life of America. This book embodies the true meaning of Western Civilization. There is no other like her. Buy this book and it will change your life!

It's difficult to describe poetry in general, and Broumas's poetry in particular. I could say she is one of my favorite poets and Rave is one of my favorite books of poetry.

There is the context - Rave is a collection from several of her earlier works: Beginning with O, 1977 (Yale Series of Younger Poets); Soie Sauvage, 1979; Pastoral Jazz, 1983; Black Holes, Black Stockings (with Jane Miller), 1985; Perpetua, 1989; The Choir, 1989-1991; Sappho's Gymnasium (with T Begley), 1994; Ithaca: Little Summer in Winter (with T Begley), 1996; several translations of Odysseas Elytis.

Her poetry feels like an urgent, rich process of exploration and discovery that reaches to primal energetic depths to reorient, heal, and recreate the present. Her words seem to take shape from a deep energy that fires the insights and images that these words form as they come together. At other times, the words seem grounded in the specific physicality of the present, and Broumas's touch seems to listen deeply to that physicality, back to its energetic origins, and her words sound echos from these depths.

I am honored to read her poetry, and I am moved.

RAVE is one of the best books of poetry published in years, a shockingly brilliant and beautiful work, and infinite book--one of the most inspiring I know of--exhibiting on every page an almost Bachlike balance of intellect and inspiration. This is one of the very few books that will last, and a great antidote to the boredoms and tediums being cranked out by our more illustrious names.

Olga Broumas understands the makings of the fantastic being. The book involves several types of fluid mixing -- mythology & history from her Greek heritage, shamelessly erotic flashes & soft touches, & some well-known western fairy tales & legends. For me, the climax of her cursive, unique language is in the second-to-last poem of the book, Little Red Riding Hood, in which she describes being born with her "mantle of blood" then elegantly, respectfully minding her mother's advice in life, which is "mind where you got to go, mind you get there," & a delicious amount of other world-wary stances. Between that poem & one of the first, Triple Muse, which ends, "We are of one mind, tuning our instruments to ourselves by our triple light," there is no slackening of vision.

Olga Broumas's "Beginning With O" was required reading when I attended college in the late 1970s. Having read and re-read the book many times, I came away regretting that I was born male and could not, therefore, be lesbian. For these are love poems of the highest order--exquisitely crafted, dangerously erotic, and even comical, as when Broumas writes: "There are still other fluids/fecund,/tail-whipped with seed...." Broumas clearly owes a great deal to her spiritual ancestor, Sappho. A Greek by birth, Broumas shares Sappho's love for other women and, while more sensuous and erotic and less witty overall than the 7th century BC master whom Plato referred to as the "tenth Muse", her celebration of beauty rivals Sappho's own. Most satisfying is the section of "Beginning With O" titled "The Twelve Aspects of God" wherein Broumas reexplores classical mythology in the light of goddess-worship; her goddesses are potent, sexual, and often real women. The light she sheds is shimmering--more moonlight than sunlight, her words are not "winged" but fall from a wet tongue into dark places which are beautiful not only for their lunar sheen but for the darknesses themselves. Sappho wrote, "If you're squeamish, don't prod the beach rubble." Broumas delights in prodding; seaweed and cunt are words of celebration in her remarkable lexicon.

This is the confession of the most luminous Greek poet of our age.Once you start reading it you don't want it to finish. The experience is like talking to a friend who is an extraordinary fairy-tales teller. Elytis presents his world, wich is a world of love, sun, blue and hope.

I've been enjoying this book for 6 years, every since I bought it for a creating writing class at Indiana University. The poems are lovely, well crafted, and imaginative in their use of language.

If you love poetry, I highly recommend this book.

I bought Sappho's Gymnasium by Olga Broumas and T Begley on the basis of the first-lines listed on Amazon.com. The easy-going spirituality I saw in them appealed to me-I thought, "This looks just right." These poems are not the poems I've been waiting for my whole life, but I'm glad I've read them.

I was writing a letter to my friend about these poems and described them as "kinda crazy, out-there." There's no punctuation, which doesn't sit well with me, but it fits with Broumas and Begley's style. These short poems are mostly strings of images with some reflection too. Connections between the images aren't made-the reader needs to make the connections for herself. But in most places it's impossible to make these connections in a way that's wholly satisfying. Sometimes it feels pleasant to let the images play themselves in my mind-it feels like my unconscious is making sense of them in a way that's vague and beautiful. Sometimes the images interact, resonate with one another, in a way that I could never describe. But other times I get frustrated, as if the writers are playing a game with meaning, and it's a game I've played before, and I don't want to play with them.

This ambiguity is obviously what the poets wanted. Everything is viewed as if through a screen or in a very hazy, bright light. There are moments of clarity that I enjoy very much. For the most part, the poems don't seem whole-they're heavily dependant on one another-but there are occasional poems that stand alone as complete. I particularly like these ones; they seem more successful.

Because of the ambiguity, this book is generally frustrating to me, but also because of the ambiguity, it's also generally a pleasure. The easy-going spirituality that attracted me to this book initially is not explored as much as I wanted, but it is an undercurrent throughout the poems, a part of that bright, hazy light.