When you sit down to write a poem, or pause in a hectic moment to scribble, who is your audience? As you record that voice, that internal line of thought, as you let your will and secrets and fear splash upon the page, are you thinking of me? Are you contemplating the hipster in the bar or the bookish soul in cafe? Are you thinking of the house wife and mother, the corporate soldier, the burnt flame? Well most will say they write for themselves. They write for a release, but as you share your skeletons and skin there has to be some level of awareness. Some level of understanding that these pages will be viewed if only by a hundred or so familiar eyes. It has to fill you with a mixture of comfort and a fear may strangely resemble a sense of terror and accomplishment.
The debut collection from New York poet Heather Bell is an intimate array of confessions and dreams and all of the sultry and unforgiving thoughts of a woman on the verge of discovery. She utilizes the excitement of a young relationship, the desires and insecurities of a woman, and slight taste of humor to deliver a wonderful collection of poems. What is surprising are the little lines that she slips in when least expected. For example,"The trees catch bird flu and develop wings" or "we laugh like wet beach balls". It is a series interesting word combinations that needed to be shared with someone.
Verve Bath Press is run by Amanda Oaks, and Nothing Unrequited Here is a beautiful handmade chapbook. Only 100 were made and I have copy #27.