Just Waking

Just Waking by Christopher Howell
Lost Horse Press, 2003

Chris Howell was a professor of mine when I was an undergraduate. He was a tremendous teacher; I was lucky to learn about poetry from him. That aside, these are poems both joyful and mournful, lyrically sharp in a quiet way. Consider:


I am in the forest,
on the plain, or the great green
blue sea from which all was
brought forth. Surely
I am a power unsolved
by the tight mortal image
winding down to mere
demonstrations of my charm.
Indeed, my eyes burn
with this belief and I kick
up my heels like a dancing horse
or a lively pot of glue.

I have a copy of this somewhere, but I hadn’t seen it in a while, so when I saw it at the library, I picked it up to read through it again. Same as some of the other library books as well. Revisiting books that remind you of a particular time and place pokes the memory a bit, in a good way.


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