Genesis

By Kate Kearns

That tingle in the brain is called a word;
it bats itself against its fleshy bounds.

A touch is not a touch until it burns,
and waves turn into horses on command.

The dead are not alive but seem to be,
though history gives dates to their demise.

A storm is rain and wind but also rage;
a flower’s just a bud until it yearns.

To understand a poem is to drown
and still the word insists upon itself.

You’ll hear it beat as sure as wings on air:
again again again again again.

 

 

 

Kearns_Kate_COVThis is one of the twenty poems in my collection, How to Love an Introvert, published by Finishing Line Press.

Click here to order.

PRAISE FOR HOW TO LOVE AN INTROVERT:

“From this little book’s opening poem, ‘Genesis,’ in which ‘the word insists upon itself,’ to its closing poem’s imperative, ‘Tell it like the scrape of the match before it’s burned up,’ How to Love an Introvert quietly celebrates the tidal cycles of human grief and resilient joy.   Kate Kearns creates a Maine landscape of human loves–mother, husband, daughter, father, sister—a register made in iambic waves as they touch her shore.”

Janet Sylvester, author of That Mulberry Wine, The Mark of Flesh, and Visitor at the Gate

“I look through those who look through me,” says the transparent speaker of “Window,” one of the twenty clear-eyed and lapidary lyrics in Kate Kearns’s debut chapbook, How to Love an Introvert.   As a lyric poet must, Kearns thinks in images.  She also feels on her pulses the subtlest insinuations between people and nature, from “the hollering sea” to “the curtain [that] moves a little with the draft.”   We recognize a devotion to, and kinship with, Elizabeth Bishop in these poems, made explicit in the superb homage, “Leaving Samambaia.”  But Bishop’s salutary influence undergoes an alchemical change, Kearns bringing her own brand of poignant intimacy to perceptions that are fresh, eccentric, and often beautiful.  And no one can hear the expert free-verse cadences in a poem like “In the Grey” without thinking, this poet’s ear is as fine and refined as her eye.

Steven Cramer, author of Goodbye to the Orchard and Clangings.

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