Poesía



Any poem by Elizabeth Davis will be intelligent, playful, and scientifically accurate-a rare combination of qualities. This volume offers pleasure upon pleasure as the reader is lead through four seasons of a most interesting life, closely observed. From a bossy squirrel to a languid goddess of Summer; from childhood jungle fantasies to the search for retirement housing, we are in the hands of a strong, observant poet who never turns away from the difficult questions or the hard (or funny) answers. -Sharon Cumberland

EN CONTEXTO es un acercamiento a experiencias, anécdotas, sueños y todo un universo de posibilidades narradas a través de un lenguaje sencillo. Haciendo uso del arte literario se logra una composición de lectura fácil y divertida, donde sin duda cada uno podrá descubrir nuevos espacios e identificarse así mismo entre líneas.





This book starts out listening for bees, and hears none, the listener being something of a pupa in a cocoon on the early pages. Honeycombs begin not as sources of Swiftian sweetness and light, but sloughs of despond. Honeybees themselves, initially silent, burn like fire at the stake. The hive is the shadow of death, full of sand fleas that stand in for the desiderated insects, along with "scrubitch" mites, Hercules caterpillars and flies: electro-kinetic pellets flecking / blank walls. The planet and its atmosphere, thus un-beed, become a single organism whose surface swarms with flotsam, jetsam and scabs reincarnating as silverfish. Earth's innards comprise more non-beehives that pullulate instead with arachnids and microbes and single cells that Vincenz eventually nurtures to dinosaurhood. We get former human cultures who made hive-like arrangements: ...the Cucuteni-who incinerated their own homes before wandering on...Bajau Laut tribes of Semporna who built their homes on coral reefs in the ocean. And that settled ocean, as always in Vincenz, is near. It's the opposed cosmos, again not a social ins

















That week, we went to a kabuki show, stories of wandering souls? in search of revenge, or lost love. ? On my last night in Tokyo my father comes in? at a wooden gate, wet with rain? ? from ?The Wooden Gate? ?