Saturday, July 30, 2005

Lorna Dee Cervantes's New Limited Edition Chapbook Available Now!


LDC_Chapbook
Originally uploaded by Lorna Dee Cervantes.
Blog Exclusive: I have a limited number of a very limited edition of my new chapbook, And the Earth Did Not Forget Them/Y la tierra no los olvidó for $25 dollars each. Hand-sewn & published by Wings Press as a limited edition of 100 for 10th Annual Latina Letters Conference, the chapbook contains recently revised versions of two long poems, "Coffee" and "Bananas." Or, what I like to call "highly unpublishable political poems about ubiquitous comestibles."

Special Summer Offer for all my blog buds:

$50 for chapbook now and new hardbound copy of DRIVE: The First Quartet which includes all 5 books in this new literary pentych in time for the holidays—all signed & personalized by me & shipped free of charge to you. How's that for having poets in blog places? You can also advance order & advance pay for our (LD & Wings Press) deluxe artbooks edition of the individually bound books in a hand-crafted wooden box, which may include additional goodies in the MANGO tradition for $250.

(Note: All prices set by my publisher.)

Just click on my Amazon.com secure pay system, pay $25 or $50 and fill out info to be sent to me regarding your payment (otherwise it is anonymous) & send me an email with amount sent, shipping address & info for personalization in case you'd like to send a book as a gift.

(If you have ever been a "lifetime" subscriber to MANGO I will hunt you down and send you a book. We are still alive, esas y eses! Send me an email with new address, to make you easier to find.)

EAT POETRY.

I do.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Emily Peros said...

in my sleep I eat letters, words
I have grown too full of them
my mass has increased, I awake
jaw aching with gluttony
I am stocking up for a dry spell
and it weighs me down so
I cannot move

I tie little pieces of string to my fingers
and despite all the reminders
I often misremember who I am
a fluid dream of living ink
velvet on the inside
the tattoos on my flesh will tell
who I am
a ruse of a lunatic muse
writing the story all over my face

covered over by my own pen
my face is not mine anymore
she belongs to the mirror
divided from what I am
by the thin sheath of poetry
that hides in my pores, pouring out
ink like blood, I cannot think
I’m too busy trying to breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

eating poetry is like ice cream, or figs, or violets, it inspires, intimates, and can make us fat on it... be well lorna

3/8/05 10:58  

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