Reckless Toward Blossoming
by Deborah Lawson
Starting with a promise, Reckless Toward Blossoming begins a conversation with solitude, landscape and awakening. Through an ever-expanding world, we journey with the poet to navigate the “intersections of ditching streams,” ask haunting questions of the “lake with no bottom” and find courage on “the only 40 acres I know anything about.”
The discoveries of geography mirror an inner journey that is at times elevated and at times a plunge into dark reflection. Passing through these “tumbled terrains,” the poet’s voyage ultimately opens into realms of hope and spacious anticipation, where “Bones knit./Sunlight returns.”
$15.95 CAD
Additional information
| Weight | .180 kg |
|---|---|
| Dimensions | 9 × 6 × .25 in |
| Page Count | 90 |
| Binding | Soft Cover |
| Year Published | 2013 |
Deborah Lawson
Deborah Lawson is a freelance writer, editor, communication consultant and Workshop facilitator. An award-winning poet whose work has appeared in literary magazines and poetry anthologies, she occasionally strays into songwriting. Deborah’s first book of poetry, Reckless Toward Blossoming, is to be one of the volumes in the 2013 Quartet series from Frontenac House.
“How to navigate between a life previously held and the one in which, after a moment’s scattered turning, we find ourselves? Reckless Toward Blossoming has its roots here, balanced between childhood in a military household, where every year meant new territory, and the life of a wife and mother decades later, facing an expected anchor suddenly cut adrift. The beauty of these poems (and there is so much deep beauty here) is in their willingness to navigate those severed edges. Lawson asks us, in myriad subtle ways, whether we ought to give in at the sight of those black, impassable places, or whether trust is strong enough to carry us across grief. And it is—impossibly, gracefully, every time.”
– Dr. Jenna Butler
“In Reckless Toward Blossoming, Deborah Lawson reflects on time (and its tick-taunts), on years that are lost to painful freedoms, and on ‘hope’s other name,’ which is ‘surprise.’ These are elegant, forceful poems that play beautifully with the sound of language: “a rolling chrome hubcap / coiling noisily on the concrete.”
~Alice Major