The Spring Flowers Own & The Manifestations Of The Voyage

by Etel Adnan

Poetry. "With this book of poems Etel Adnan establishes herself as a major poet who belongs beside internationally acclaimed poets like Transtromer, Bly, Neruda, Vallejo, and Pessoa." Eric Sellin"

Genres: Poetry

101 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1990

About the author

Etel Adnan was born in Beirut, Lebanon in 1925. She studied philosophy at the Sorbonne, U.C. Berkeley, and at Harvard, and taught at Dominican College in San Rafael, California, from 1958–1972.

In solidarity with the Algerian War of Independence (1954–1962), Adnan began to resist the political implications of writing in French and became a painter. Then, through her participation in the movement against the Vietnam War (1959–1975), she began to write poetry and became, in her words, “an American poet.” In 1972, she returned to Beirut and worked as cultural editor for two daily newspapers—first for Al Safa, then for L’Orient le Jour. Her novel Sitt Marie-Rose, published in Paris in 1977, won the France-Pays Arabes award and has been translated into more than ten languages.

In 1977, Adnan re-established herself in California, making Sausalito her home, with frequent stays in Paris. Adnan is the author of more than a dozen books in English, including Journey to Mount Tamalpais (1986), The Arab Apocalypse (1989), In the Heart of the Heart of Another Country (2005), and Sea and Fog (2012), winner of the Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Poetry and the California Book Award for Poetry. Her most recent books are Night (2016) and Surge (2018). In 2014, she was awarded one of France’s highest cultural honors: l’Ordre de Chevalier des Arts et Lettres. Numerous museums have presented solo exhibitions of Adnan’s work, including SFMoMA; Zentrum Paul Klee; Institute du Monde Arabe, Paris; Serpentine Galleries; and Mathaf: Arab Museum of Modern Art, Qatar.

Reviews

[Edita · Rating 5 out of 5]

Light comes down. Descends the stairs, so to speak, like a woman coming down the scale of her years. Dies at the bottom. Light starts all over again. In the meantime the Mountain waits. Very patiently. Electric lights start to burn. Everything becomes more horizontal. My thinking is horizontal. What do I mean? Does it become submissive, weary, melancholy, yielding? It becomes fugitive, it slides sideways, like the eyes of some Russian dancers, it avoids, and lingers, tries to charm Reality, the strategies of a woman, her means, her tools; it ponders, compares itself to the sea, to at least the surface of a glass of water, of the table; it gets heavy, gains weight and suffers, and does not find any rest… Twilight is my hour.

[Marek Torčík]

"they use colors as we use words
they recite poems in my ears
they never die, oh no!
we only cease to see them...
as I stopped seeing her in my dreams.

*

One night in Wyoming
there was a sky and a road
the stars were outshined
by radio satellites

my memory spills over
my days
and like a balloon occupies the
whole universe
because she ate flowers and
pills
she is not here tonight
but in a field of
white flowers
she is planted, as they are
in the soil in the heat"

[Monica · Rating 5 out of 5]

I am so grateful for Patti Smith’s recent Substack posted that introduced me to this poet. These poems really resonate with me—especially the flower and tree poems and those about Theodora.

[nour · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Poetry starts where meaning ceases"

The first poetry book I actually finish, read like a wistful fever dream.

"ferocious is the truth which / manifests itself solely in the / lie of the poem."

"The sky is the beginning of a new / continent / unmapped is my space / unchartered my vision
Flowers push their way into the hollow / of my ligaments / make roots in my veins / and clutter my throat"

[Natasha · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Green was the forest drenched / with shadows / the roads were serpentine

A redwood tree stood / alone / with its lean and lit body / unable to follow the / cars that went by with / frenzy / a tree is always an immutable / traveller."

No one collection of poetry has ever sat the way Adnan's writing does, setting home in my bones. I often forget wonderment exists in the world, and here she kindly reminds. I read her words for the first time soaking in a salt bath. The echo of her writing in my own voice felt like an experience that was meant to be. I am grateful for Adnan in that moment and many moments thereafter. The beauty of her writing is a demonstration of the capacity of language to unveil new pathways toward understanding ordinariness in violent circumstances. I am similarly partial to poetry that breathes through descriptions of nature as Adnan takes care to meld her art with the world she perceived outside. If you can read her words aloud, please do.

[Denise Nader · Rating 5 out of 5]

Esto es otro nivel de poesía. La introspección y madurez son abrumadoras, las preguntas por la naturaleza de la mente alcanzan la profundidad de los textos budistas. La belleza, siempre presente, acompañan la precisión y la devoción por el silencio y la palabra.

[Matt Miles · Rating 5 out of 5]

Adnan’s poems give life to worlds of meaning with the best of them.

[Jada · Rating 3 out of 5]

i feel like i didn't get half of it, but it was still an altogether enjoyable experience.

[atito · Rating 5 out of 5]

literally impossible that the world keeps going after her passing