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I highly recomend this book.
Pastor Ed Johnson
laklandbelieverschurch.com
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As a doctor who hasn't worked in genetics, I needed something like this to get me up to speed on this crucial area of modern medical science.
Strap yourself in and enjoy the ride.
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I will cherish my copy always.
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The book contains the following stories or novelettes of which the ones marked by asterisk I have read and were published as full books:
La belle Epoque
* Two Flappers in Paris
The Shuttered House of Paris
* Eveline
* Flossie (should be Flossie a Venus of Dixteen)
* Suburban Souls
Tableux Vivants
* Parisian Frolics
Cirque Erotique
* Sweet Dreams
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Many education majors lack an understanding of and appreciation for the very science process skills that they are now expected to integrate into their science program. This book can help fill in this experience gap with hands-on activities which can later be used with K-6 students.
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A special listening is at the core of this poetics of the syllable and the transcendental image. For "God still moves in the sound of the long 'o,' as Dylan Thomas once suggested; and although a half-century of deconstructive semiotics (and worse) have taught us to be much more cautious about such enthusiasms for the logos and the mystique of verbal and religious presence, such assumptions and risks of intuitive language and the inscape of imagery are at the core of Robin Magowan's poetry.
Magowan's Lilac Cigarette in a Wish Cathedral, as its wonderful title for this project suggests, registers a poetry of risk-fulfillment, tracking extremities and delicacies of sense and wish, mountain journeys, desert flights, movements into and out of the primacy of ecstatic fulfillment that haunts the Greco-Roman tradition as this comes down to the United States via a "whit manic" incarnation that haunts our little streets and huge continental hungers. He works this through the Emersonian sense of abandonment and solitary quest, which seeks "ravishment of the intellect by coming nearer to the fact" of self-loss and the desacralization that is the fate of commodity culture.
This is a singular collection, suggesting a life-long discipline in the poetic image and the path of heightened language, a highly wrought and prolonged "derangement of the senses" a la Rimbaud that has taken Magowan from Greece to Tibet and back it its quest.
The last poem in Lilac Cigarette in a Wish Cathedral (wherein, as Richard Howard aptly puts it in his trenchant introduction, "the hierophant smokes his lilac cigarette in a wish cathedral" that is each poem) is entitled "O," and moves from the crooning and screeching plea of a Whitmanic voice, "O my rooster's urge/ to spring voice loud" to the cranked-up ecstasy (bleeding sound into picture) of "dawn flushed/ crimson screaming o."
Pain and pleasure as elsewhere bleed into the mix, the poet lost into the rooster's urge to give rebirth to the whole mounting and morning landscape. In "Miniature," this transmutation of local scene into the mystique of poetic/ religious presence is effected not so much through the visual as through impactions of the aural, what Hopkins called the "inscape" of leaping vowels: "The pleasure of sounds innocently grasped/ A peacock in the eyes of the rain." This twisted and torqued little haiku of a poem depends on the "e" becoming "I" becoming "a" as much as upon the image transformation. The poem enacts, in "miniature," the mix of hearing and sounding that becomes the aesthetic medium of the "wish cathedral."
In a time still dominated by the locality of image (as in Williams) and the play of skeptical wit (Stevens, and his heirs like Ashbery), Magowan had always pursued something else, something closer to Breton or Michaux and the sources of magical incarnations in European surrealism as a kind of interior Orphic line. Magowan's book thus opens in Greece, and seeks the ecstasy of dance and music as tactic of self-loss. Later, "Orfeo" courts this lineage, where the poet (ancient to modern) descends to mount, "goes in a gorge/ Of pluming, spraying song." No gods or muse arises to help the sense of abandonment and self-loss amid the murmuring of deadly presence, "just a wingbeat to guide/ Murmurous wasp center, alone."
We would buy flour in 25 pound cloth bags. When we opened the bag, we would many times find weevils (smal bugs or worms) or small rocks in the floor. The first time I saw this, I told my father the flour was ruined and that we would have to throw it away. Dad said, "No, we will just pour it into a floor sieve and let the good flour fall through into a bowl to be used in cooking; the screen in the sift will catch the bugs and rocks and we will throw THEM away."
What a powerful and wise lesson my father taught me. I don't have to agree with EVERYTHING a person says in order for me to received something from God and be Blessed.
Thank you Dr. Richards. The book came into my life at a point when I really needed it!