Absence ◆ Presence
will be available on January 17, 2023
from
You can order it here.
Endorsements
“Christien
Gholson's ability to use language to surprise and enthrall me on every page
gives me the calming knowledge that poetry will always be important. When a
writer is able to bring the mundane world of working behind the cash register
at a small country store to life in ten pages, I know that there will be poets
among us till the sun implodes. Gholson tackles all the important themes in new
ways: life, love, nature, house fires, seasons, grief, death. ‘All the
different worlds inside us never really leave us . . . ’”
—r soos, poet
“Absence ◆ Presence offers a window into how all
things are connected across space and time; the view from Christien Gholson’s
window is disturbingly clear, and the view stretches beyond every horizon.
Gholson’s metaphysical craft rewards readers in ways that linger long after his
poems leave their lips. Gholson works where the fabric between worlds is thin
and translucent; his vivid imagery, and distinctly New Mexican voice, work in
tandem to tenderly and unflinchingly shine the light of darkness into all our
hearts.”
—Sky Island Journal
“Absence ◆
Presence reads like a gorgeous koan, fitting because many of the poems are
inspired by or written after Zen and Daoist master poets: Li Bai, Du Fu, Han
Shan. Gholson’s voice is almost painfully aware and full of heart. These poems
attempt to make sense of our modern world as seen through the eyes of an
ancient soul. Despite all odds, the soul finds redemption by witnessing,
naming, and appreciating those aspects of the world that still have meaning,
are lasting, and can’t be bought and sold.”
—Lissa Kiernan, author, Two Faint Lines in the Violet, Glass Needles &
Goose Quills, and The Whispering Wall
You can order it here.
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Thanks.
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From the book:
1.
This canyon tricks the ear by its
tricks of space: stone ridges, corridors,
echoes inside a labyrinth of stone cul-de-sacs.
Somewhere, a trumpet plays Summertime.
Summertime rises from a hidden blue room
or falls from a falling orange sky. No way
to find the point of origin…
2.
Years ago, I listened to a ghost
play sax between the back of an abandoned
gas station and a rail line embankment.
Never seen, never seen, held together by
half-memorized Coltrane solos. Music
that pulled loneliness from my body, showed
it to my face, like the still-beating heart
to a grateful sacrifice.
3.
Coyotes sing over a kill a half-mile off.
Their voices mingle with the trumpet, sound
as if they are just beyond the fence. Once,
at midnight, while I let stars crawl in and out
of my coat, my coat, I heard a woman
whisper to someone: I'm sorry, I love you, but…
It could have come from anywhere on earth.
4.
Summertime ends. I shout into the night.
No words, just a voice full of joy, of joy,
trying to reach itself across time and space.
When it returns, it sounds like a raven's head
laughing at the bottom of an empty well.
