Saturday, July 30, 2005

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

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 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.)


I do.


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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