Nostalgia for a world where we can live :: poems /
Gespeichert in:
| 1. Verfasser: | |
|---|---|
| Format: | Elektronisch E-Book |
| Sprache: | English |
| Veröffentlicht: |
Carbondale :
Crab Orchard Review & Southern Illinois University Press,
[2018]
|
| Schriftenreihe: | Crab Orchard award series in poetry.
|
| Schlagworte: | |
| Online-Zugang: | Volltext |
| Beschreibung: | 1 online resource (x, 74 pages) |
| Bibliographie: | Includes bibliographical references. |
| ISBN: | 9780809336845 0809336847 |
Internformat
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| 100 | 1 | |a Berlin, Monica, |d 1973- |e author. |1 https://id.oclc.org/worldcat/entity/E39PCjH3GQ3b674HPGYDTFpXVC |0 http://id.loc.gov/authorities/names/n2014080173 | |
| 240 | 1 | 0 | |a Poems. |k Selections |
| 245 | 1 | 0 | |a Nostalgia for a world where we can live : |b poems / |c by Monica Berlin. |
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| 505 | 0 | |a Cover Page; Title Page; Copyright Page; Dedication; Contents; Nostalgia for a World Where We Can Live; What a year looks like: drenched. So soggy here. So much; No apples on the apple tree this summer, and if there were; Another late summer early quiet blue-skied morning, my son; On either end of this year, on either end of every goddamn year, ; When we turn the calendar's page, my little boy looking; The dark flurry of another morning purred; This afternoon the sky's making the kind of promises it can; Days the hours are no more fact than the unbelievable; Sometimes being here is like | |
| 505 | 8 | |a To scale, yes, days to scale, even when they grow so clutteredJust before the blood draw the other morning, I filled in small; We loved the rush hour most, the cars suit-filled, briefcase-heavy, ; Today, three flights up, with my whole body, I lifted; Some disasters are given names, others called after; The truth is I have trouble forgiving most things, although I've never minded; By rote the body learns nearly everything, after; It's true. There are places we'd rather be; Not quite another season, but almost, and on the window ledges, | |
| 505 | 8 | |a How I wish more things I read I misread, like the bodies in the mineBecause you're still in another time zone disparate things; The problem is the revolving door, this; Because I wasn't thinking peninsula; If there's a joke more complicated than "knock-knock," more; Too lazy to lip-read in noisy rooms, the other night; A kind of stutter, that over and; Down the hall the accordion man turns into a door; Long before the horse pulls up lame there is the matter; Back to this wind, up against it even, ; The linens soften, now threadbare, just as I'm waking, small, in this | |
| 505 | 8 | |a When morning was almost unrecognizable as morningWhat the wind kicks up, what the waters trouble, even; The forecast's calling for flurries tomorrow, and worry; At the new year, in the dark, I watched time; The lesson tonight nothing less than; In this, this snow-brightened light of a near-spring morning, I think of his glass; How quickly the body, when asked, forgets; Stay mouthed through; How quiet every end when it comes, briefest glimpse of a future; If all the love we'll know is the kind of love; Because all day the sky held back; Not only the night; Notes; Acknowledgments; Back Cover | |
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| 776 | 0 | 8 | |i Print version: |a Berlin, Monica, 1973- |s Poems. Selections. |t Nostalgia for a world where we can live. |d Carbondale : Crab Orchard Review & Southern Illinois University Press, [2018] |z 9780809336838 |w (DLC) 2018010149 |w (OCoLC)1015987447 |
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| adam_text | |
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| author | Berlin, Monica, 1973- |
| author_GND | http://id.loc.gov/authorities/names/n2014080173 |
| author_facet | Berlin, Monica, 1973- |
| author_role | aut |
| author_sort | Berlin, Monica, 1973- |
| author_variant | m b mb |
| building | Verbundindex |
| bvnumber | localFWS |
| callnumber-first | P - Language and Literature |
| callnumber-label | PS3602 |
| callnumber-raw | PS3602.E75776 A6 2018eb |
| callnumber-search | PS3602.E75776 A6 2018eb |
| callnumber-sort | PS 43602 E75776 A6 42018EB |
| callnumber-subject | PS - American Literature |
| collection | ZDB-4-EBA |
| contents | Cover Page; Title Page; Copyright Page; Dedication; Contents; Nostalgia for a World Where We Can Live; What a year looks like: drenched. So soggy here. So much; No apples on the apple tree this summer, and if there were; Another late summer early quiet blue-skied morning, my son; On either end of this year, on either end of every goddamn year, ; When we turn the calendar's page, my little boy looking; The dark flurry of another morning purred; This afternoon the sky's making the kind of promises it can; Days the hours are no more fact than the unbelievable; Sometimes being here is like To scale, yes, days to scale, even when they grow so clutteredJust before the blood draw the other morning, I filled in small; We loved the rush hour most, the cars suit-filled, briefcase-heavy, ; Today, three flights up, with my whole body, I lifted; Some disasters are given names, others called after; The truth is I have trouble forgiving most things, although I've never minded; By rote the body learns nearly everything, after; It's true. There are places we'd rather be; Not quite another season, but almost, and on the window ledges, How I wish more things I read I misread, like the bodies in the mineBecause you're still in another time zone disparate things; The problem is the revolving door, this; Because I wasn't thinking peninsula; If there's a joke more complicated than "knock-knock," more; Too lazy to lip-read in noisy rooms, the other night; A kind of stutter, that over and; Down the hall the accordion man turns into a door; Long before the horse pulls up lame there is the matter; Back to this wind, up against it even, ; The linens soften, now threadbare, just as I'm waking, small, in this When morning was almost unrecognizable as morningWhat the wind kicks up, what the waters trouble, even; The forecast's calling for flurries tomorrow, and worry; At the new year, in the dark, I watched time; The lesson tonight nothing less than; In this, this snow-brightened light of a near-spring morning, I think of his glass; How quickly the body, when asked, forgets; Stay mouthed through; How quiet every end when it comes, briefest glimpse of a future; If all the love we'll know is the kind of love; Because all day the sky held back; Not only the night; Notes; Acknowledgments; Back Cover |
| ctrlnum | (OCoLC)1066742281 |
| dewey-full | 811/.6 |
| dewey-hundreds | 800 - Literature (Belles-lettres) and rhetoric |
| dewey-ones | 811 - American poetry in English |
| dewey-raw | 811/.6 |
| dewey-search | 811/.6 |
| dewey-sort | 3811 16 |
| dewey-tens | 810 - American literature in English |
| discipline | Anglistik / Amerikanistik |
| format | Electronic eBook |
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| indexdate | 2024-10-25T15:50:01Z |
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| series2 | Crab Orchard series in poetry |
| spelling | Berlin, Monica, 1973- author. https://id.oclc.org/worldcat/entity/E39PCjH3GQ3b674HPGYDTFpXVC http://id.loc.gov/authorities/names/n2014080173 Poems. Selections Nostalgia for a world where we can live : poems / by Monica Berlin. Carbondale : Crab Orchard Review & Southern Illinois University Press, [2018] 1 online resource (x, 74 pages) text txt rdacontent computer c rdamedia online resource cr rdacarrier Crab Orchard series in poetry Includes bibliographical references. Print version record. Cover Page; Title Page; Copyright Page; Dedication; Contents; Nostalgia for a World Where We Can Live; What a year looks like: drenched. So soggy here. So much; No apples on the apple tree this summer, and if there were; Another late summer early quiet blue-skied morning, my son; On either end of this year, on either end of every goddamn year, ; When we turn the calendar's page, my little boy looking; The dark flurry of another morning purred; This afternoon the sky's making the kind of promises it can; Days the hours are no more fact than the unbelievable; Sometimes being here is like To scale, yes, days to scale, even when they grow so clutteredJust before the blood draw the other morning, I filled in small; We loved the rush hour most, the cars suit-filled, briefcase-heavy, ; Today, three flights up, with my whole body, I lifted; Some disasters are given names, others called after; The truth is I have trouble forgiving most things, although I've never minded; By rote the body learns nearly everything, after; It's true. There are places we'd rather be; Not quite another season, but almost, and on the window ledges, How I wish more things I read I misread, like the bodies in the mineBecause you're still in another time zone disparate things; The problem is the revolving door, this; Because I wasn't thinking peninsula; If there's a joke more complicated than "knock-knock," more; Too lazy to lip-read in noisy rooms, the other night; A kind of stutter, that over and; Down the hall the accordion man turns into a door; Long before the horse pulls up lame there is the matter; Back to this wind, up against it even, ; The linens soften, now threadbare, just as I'm waking, small, in this When morning was almost unrecognizable as morningWhat the wind kicks up, what the waters trouble, even; The forecast's calling for flurries tomorrow, and worry; At the new year, in the dark, I watched time; The lesson tonight nothing less than; In this, this snow-brightened light of a near-spring morning, I think of his glass; How quickly the body, when asked, forgets; Stay mouthed through; How quiet every end when it comes, briefest glimpse of a future; If all the love we'll know is the kind of love; Because all day the sky held back; Not only the night; Notes; Acknowledgments; Back Cover American poetry. http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85004382 Poésie américaine. FICTION General. bisacsh American poetry fast Poetry https://id.nlm.nih.gov/mesh/D055821 poetry. aat Poetry fast Poetry. lcgft http://id.loc.gov/authorities/genreForms/gf2014026481 Poésie. rvmgf has work: Selections Poems (Text) https://id.oclc.org/worldcat/entity/E39PCFBj7Rjkd73pMgXbX76mgq https://id.oclc.org/worldcat/ontology/hasWork Print version: Berlin, Monica, 1973- Poems. Selections. Nostalgia for a world where we can live. Carbondale : Crab Orchard Review & Southern Illinois University Press, [2018] 9780809336838 (DLC) 2018010149 (OCoLC)1015987447 Crab Orchard award series in poetry. http://id.loc.gov/authorities/names/n98090864 FWS01 ZDB-4-EBA FWS_PDA_EBA https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&scope=site&db=nlebk&AN=1942260 Volltext CBO01 ZDB-4-EBA FWS_PDA_EBA https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&scope=site&db=nlebk&AN=1942260 Volltext |
| spellingShingle | Berlin, Monica, 1973- Nostalgia for a world where we can live : poems / Crab Orchard award series in poetry. Cover Page; Title Page; Copyright Page; Dedication; Contents; Nostalgia for a World Where We Can Live; What a year looks like: drenched. So soggy here. So much; No apples on the apple tree this summer, and if there were; Another late summer early quiet blue-skied morning, my son; On either end of this year, on either end of every goddamn year, ; When we turn the calendar's page, my little boy looking; The dark flurry of another morning purred; This afternoon the sky's making the kind of promises it can; Days the hours are no more fact than the unbelievable; Sometimes being here is like To scale, yes, days to scale, even when they grow so clutteredJust before the blood draw the other morning, I filled in small; We loved the rush hour most, the cars suit-filled, briefcase-heavy, ; Today, three flights up, with my whole body, I lifted; Some disasters are given names, others called after; The truth is I have trouble forgiving most things, although I've never minded; By rote the body learns nearly everything, after; It's true. There are places we'd rather be; Not quite another season, but almost, and on the window ledges, How I wish more things I read I misread, like the bodies in the mineBecause you're still in another time zone disparate things; The problem is the revolving door, this; Because I wasn't thinking peninsula; If there's a joke more complicated than "knock-knock," more; Too lazy to lip-read in noisy rooms, the other night; A kind of stutter, that over and; Down the hall the accordion man turns into a door; Long before the horse pulls up lame there is the matter; Back to this wind, up against it even, ; The linens soften, now threadbare, just as I'm waking, small, in this When morning was almost unrecognizable as morningWhat the wind kicks up, what the waters trouble, even; The forecast's calling for flurries tomorrow, and worry; At the new year, in the dark, I watched time; The lesson tonight nothing less than; In this, this snow-brightened light of a near-spring morning, I think of his glass; How quickly the body, when asked, forgets; Stay mouthed through; How quiet every end when it comes, briefest glimpse of a future; If all the love we'll know is the kind of love; Because all day the sky held back; Not only the night; Notes; Acknowledgments; Back Cover American poetry. http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85004382 Poésie américaine. FICTION General. bisacsh American poetry fast |
| subject_GND | http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85004382 https://id.nlm.nih.gov/mesh/D055821 http://id.loc.gov/authorities/genreForms/gf2014026481 |
| title | Nostalgia for a world where we can live : poems / |
| title_alt | Poems. |
| title_auth | Nostalgia for a world where we can live : poems / |
| title_exact_search | Nostalgia for a world where we can live : poems / |
| title_full | Nostalgia for a world where we can live : poems / by Monica Berlin. |
| title_fullStr | Nostalgia for a world where we can live : poems / by Monica Berlin. |
| title_full_unstemmed | Nostalgia for a world where we can live : poems / by Monica Berlin. |
| title_short | Nostalgia for a world where we can live : |
| title_sort | nostalgia for a world where we can live poems |
| title_sub | poems / |
| topic | American poetry. http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh85004382 Poésie américaine. FICTION General. bisacsh American poetry fast |
| topic_facet | American poetry. Poésie américaine. FICTION General. American poetry Poetry poetry. Poetry. Poésie. |
| url | https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&scope=site&db=nlebk&AN=1942260 |
| work_keys_str_mv | AT berlinmonica poems AT berlinmonica nostalgiaforaworldwherewecanlivepoems |