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Sans
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
April 19, 2020
Ethereal and raw, beautiful and gritty, aching, profound and searching.
I love the understated minimalism of the cover, reminiscent of an Agnes Martin painting. This slender, restrained volume silently beckons the reader to enter into a sacred and primal meditation on memory, one that will draw you down unexpected and poignant pathways, leading to the depths of both psyche and soul.
There is only time, a sighing
of the frame, a constant
reckoning with the buttresses
and pinions of memory
that hold off the collapse
of experience into one
great wash…
In Sans, Ford explores memory as it relates to so much of the human experience – love, loss, meaning, yearning and lament. He gives voice and imaginative form to the tension of our temporal experience, as as time and memory inevitably erode, and yet we seek to grasp the disintegrating fragments.
... in breath's still pause
dangers had gathered, drawn in
by the unconscious act
in which world and flesh
pull taut against each other
enough to allow
erosion, until one day
I took stock/and found nothing left
but the husk of an image…
~
Like worship stripped
of prayer, the relics I chose
to keep took the place
of moments lost,…
This carefully pieced, insightful work contains truly some of the best poetry I have read in years. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Treat yourself to its art and dare to ponder its meaning. Gift it to the ones you love. Here are some more excerpts to whet your appetite:
… there/ being no rupture so/ deep as between time/ and the living of it
…, what’s/ more ageless, more/ ephemeral than the blood/ we seek to possess, that runs/ through and between us
… each act/ sunk into the welter/ of muscle and breath and/ the creeping resignation that/ to hold precious is not/ to redeem…
I love the understated minimalism of the cover, reminiscent of an Agnes Martin painting. This slender, restrained volume silently beckons the reader to enter into a sacred and primal meditation on memory, one that will draw you down unexpected and poignant pathways, leading to the depths of both psyche and soul.
There is only time, a sighing
of the frame, a constant
reckoning with the buttresses
and pinions of memory
that hold off the collapse
of experience into one
great wash…
In Sans, Ford explores memory as it relates to so much of the human experience – love, loss, meaning, yearning and lament. He gives voice and imaginative form to the tension of our temporal experience, as as time and memory inevitably erode, and yet we seek to grasp the disintegrating fragments.
... in breath's still pause
dangers had gathered, drawn in
by the unconscious act
in which world and flesh
pull taut against each other
enough to allow
erosion, until one day
I took stock/and found nothing left
but the husk of an image…
~
Like worship stripped
of prayer, the relics I chose
to keep took the place
of moments lost,…
This carefully pieced, insightful work contains truly some of the best poetry I have read in years. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Treat yourself to its art and dare to ponder its meaning. Gift it to the ones you love. Here are some more excerpts to whet your appetite:
… there/ being no rupture so/ deep as between time/ and the living of it
…, what’s/ more ageless, more/ ephemeral than the blood/ we seek to possess, that runs/ through and between us
… each act/ sunk into the welter/ of muscle and breath and/ the creeping resignation that/ to hold precious is not/ to redeem…
July 12, 2017
This daring text seeks to reconcile time through the observed moment. Poems that bleed together like ink into dry fabric, these are writings that hypnotize, merge, form hallucinations of another's life, impressed fortuitously upon the reader's.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews