Reseña del libro "Cairn (en Inglés)"
From the author of Poems from Terra, landmarks, monuments, and tombstones along the road of life. Meditations on nature, love, longing, war, and being. PRAISE FOR JAMES THOMAS FLETCHER: A penetrating and provocative smorgasbord. His poems sing and inform in thoughtful, non-conforming, wonderful ways. Life's harmonies coupled with a realistic sprinkling of irony and brilliant dissonance. An existential celebration of life. From intimacies of love to an explanation of the universe, by way of a walk on the noir side ... Fletcher spotlights the quirks of human longing and the enigmas of memory. I have always favored the slow sipping of a refreshing libation mixed with a perfect blend of romance and magic ... adorned with the lemon-lime twist of macabre fantasy. The breadth of topics is impressive. [Fletcher's] depth of thought, humor, love for words, and poetic skill made the book a joy and a challenge to read. Humor, passion, reverence, irreverence; a connection to people, a reflection on life and self, an exploration of ideas. The tantalizing hints and allusions made me want to have the poet in the same room so that I could plumb for more. Highly personal, experiential.... free flowing exuberance of the visual. The intensity of feeling is superior.... Their complexity is almost painful.... I was moved, confused, astounded, curious, excited. A 'Fletcher' adds feathers to arrows to make them fly true. James Thomas Fletcher's poems ... fly straight to a reader's heart. Fun, intelligent, trenchant. Explore these shorter samples for a glimpse into Cairn. BLUE LAKE thunderstorms rage outside the window and a young heron sits in the middle of my lake like a blue asparagus on the back of a sun drenched iguana OBSIDIAN Obsidian. The word lies immovable on the page. A boulder among pebbles of words. Poets unearth it as an ancient coin found beneath the sand or sprinkle it like a rare dark jewel. Its thud-heavy weight attracts the eye like light to a black hole. TUCKPOINTING When no one's looking the ivy vine slips its feet into the mortar between the line of scruffled bricks, tucks itself into the cracks and waits creviced for winter.
