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  The Strength In Our Scars

  Bianca Sparacino

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  The Strength In Our Scars is Bianca Sparacino's reminder to you: No matter what you're going through, no matter where you are on your healing journey—you are strong. 
   
   
   
  Through poetry, prose, and the compassionate encouragement you would expect from someone who knows exactly what you're working through, Sparacino is here with the words you need. The Strength In Our Scars tackles the gut-wrenching but relatable experiences of moving on, self-love, and ultimately learning to heal. In this book you will find peace, you will find a rock, you will find understanding, and you will find hope. 
   
   
   
  Remember: Whatever is dark within you has also carved light into your soul. Whatever is lost within you has also brought you back home to yourself. Whatever is hurt within you is also healing you in ways you may not understand at that moment in time. This book hopes to show you that.

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  Atlantis - From their pens to...

  Hart Crane

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  Harold Hart Crane was born on the 21st July 1899 in Garrettsville, Ohio. 
  Crane was drawn to literature at an early age, becoming a voracious reader and pursuing self-education rather than attach himself to a more formal college education, although he did attend East High School in 1913.  His developing love of poetry was nurtured with the works of the English Romantics and the French Symbolists, as well as near contemporary American poets. 
  Much of his youth was spent shuttling between Cleveland and New York as his parents’ marriage descended into continuing conflict before they separated with Crane still in his teens.  Shortly after Crane attempted to enlist in the U S Military but was rejected for being a minor. 
  His first published poem also came in 1917 with ‘C33’ and its reference to the cell number that Oscar Wilde was incarcerated in. 
  Crane now centred more of his time in New York and immersed himself in the vibrant artistic scene of Greenwich Village.  Alongside this he dabbled in various jobs to support himself, including copywriting and work in a munitions factory, as he continued to develop his ambitions for a poetic career.   
  His early work was already being noticed for its lush and rich use of words and by the time ‘White Buildings’ was published in 1926 he was being critically acclaimed. 
  Despite this success his personal life was troubled.  It was both nourishing his work and fuelling complex patterns of despair as he sought to establish his identity.  In a time when homosexuality was openly condemned his openly gay attitude sat uneasily as he pursued relationships that were both intense and emotionally fraught. 
  His acclaimed work ‘The Bridge’ in 1930 was both ambitious and a foundation stone for new American poetry.  Against this his battles with depression and alcoholism were being lost. 
  Hart Crane died on the 27th April 1932 by jumping from the deck of a steamship into the Gulf of Mexico upon his return to the United States.  He was 32.

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  Many Things Invisible

  Carrington MacDuffie

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  This haunting collection of 15 spoken word pieces penned by a widely published poet interweaves with sound design to create evocative and richly colored works of the imagination. Surreal, with a hint of the fairy tale, crossing grittiness and darkness with sweetness and light, the stories and images seem to emerge from the dream state.  The sound design includes original music, found sound, field recordings and electronics, providing a soundscape for the poetry.This highly original, multi-layered confluence of language and sound can be experienced intimately for the depth of its content, or enjoyed lightly for its strange dreamy atmosphere.

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  To The Immortal Memory of the...

  William Cowper

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  LibriVox volunteers bring you 10 recordings of To The Immortal Memory of the Halibut, On Which I Dined This Day, Monday, April 26, 1784 by William Cowper. This was the Fortnightly Poetry project for May 29, 2011.William Cowper is attributed with various familiar quotations, one is..GOD moves in a mysterious way,His wonders to perform;He plants his footsteps in the sea,And rides upon the storm.Olney Hymns (1779)--'Light Shining out of Darkness'

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  The Viewing Party

  Yong Shu Hoong

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  Singapore Literature Prize winner Yong Shu Hoong’s latest book features more than just poetry. There is also a ghostly tale at its core, complete with prose poems and micro fiction of exactly 100 words each, as well as annotated excerpts from an abandoned work. 
   
  In this viewing party, readers are invited to take a peek into the domain of death and cinema. You are part of a mob of dispassionate onlookers. Sometimes, you get to play the voyeuristic judge. 
   
  Winner of the 2014 Singapore Literature Prize for English Poetry 
   
  “There’s a warm easiness to Yong’s voice that’s balanced by a sharpness of insight. He cuts through the layers of familial and social habit to the unseen images and urges that give the mundane the sheen of the numinous. If the book is a viewing party, Yong is a genial and attentive host, inviting us in to absorbing scenes of everyday curiosity and surprise.” 
  -Jen Crawford, Assistant Professor and Coordinator of Creative Writing Programme at Nanyang Technological University, Singapore

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  Red Suitcase

  Naomi Shihab Nye

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  Poet, teacher, essayist, anthologist, songwriter and singer, Naomi Shihab Nye is one of the country's most acclaimed writers. Her voice is generous; her vision true; her subjects ordinary people, and ordinary situations which, when rendered through her language, become remarkable. In this, her fourth full collection of poetry, we see with new eyes-a grandmother's scarf, an alarm clock, a man carrying his son on his shoulders. 
   Narrated by the author.Valentine for Ernest MannYou can’t order a poem like you order a taco.Walk up to the counter and say, "I’ll take two"and expect it to handed back to youon a shiny plate.Still, I like you spirit.Anyone who says, "Here’s my address,write me a poem," deserves something in reply.So I’ll tell a secret instead:poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,they are sleeping. They are the shadowsdrifting across our ceilings the momentbefore we wake up. What we have to dois live in a way that lets us find them.Once I knew a man who gave his wifetwo skunks for a valentine.He couldn’t understand why she was crying."I thought they had such beautiful eyes."And he was serious. He was a serious manwho lived in a serious way. Nothing was uglyjust because the world said so. He reallyliked those skunks. So, he re-invented themas valentines and they became beautiful.At least, to him. And the poems that had been hidingin the eyes of skunks for centuriescrawled out and curled up at his feet.Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give uswe find poems. Check your garage, the odd sockin your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.And let me know.

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