Between Frames

by Wendy Barker

ISBN: 1-931247-35-8 $9

Book design by David Ray Vance

Cover image by Paul Berge

ABOUT Wendy Barker

Wendy Barker's collections of poetry include Poems from Paradise, Way of Whiteness, Let the Ice Speak and Winter Chickens, and a chapbook, Eve Remembers. Other books include Poems' Progress, Rabindranath Tagore: Final Poems (with SaranindranathTagore), Lunacy of Light: Emily Dickenson and the Experience of Metaphor, and (co-edited with Sandra M. Gilbert) The House Is Made of Poetry: the Art of Ruth Stone. Among her honors and awards are an NEA fellowship, a Rockefeller residence fellowship in Bellagio, the Mary Elinore Smith Poetry Award from The American Scholar, the Sourette Diehl Award for Literary Translation from the Texas Institute of Letters, the Violet Crown Book Award, and the Award for Literary Excellence from Gemini Ink. She teaches at the University of Texas at San Antonio.

Pecan Grove Press

ABOUT Between Frames

by Wendy Barker

"Wendy Barker's poems pulse with the life that's at the heart of trees, on the wings of birds, and inside movies and marriages. What a thrill to be in the presence of the abundant mystery and beauty in this wise and tender work."

—Barbara Ras

"Wendy Barker has an uncanny, exquisite way of shaping whole worlds with a few well-chosen words—lives falling apart and sparking together—an astonishing sequence of poems on chronic pain—the movies and pauses of our days—one reads her work and feels a clarity fall into place all around the moment. Barker shares this gift of poetry wondrously."

—Naomi Shihab Nye

 

 


WAS IT WHEN

the rock band next door 
 finally stopped, the first day 
 in months not bound to someone 
 else’s pitch, volume, starts, 
 stops, rises, decibels? 
  
 Even slicing lemons took 
 a mustering of resistance 
 against what pulsed, what 
 permeated membranes of our 
 walls, windows, double-paned, 
  
 and useless. Was it then, 
 when the boys stopped, that 
 the birds returned? Chickadees, 
 their quick darts—and the jays, 
 jostling the feeder. 
  
 Territories. Whose? This morning 
 the cardinal, in the sun’s first 
 silence, his chirr, chirr, chirr, chirr. 
 Music. Announcement of turf: 
 I am filling this space, I am a feathered 
  
 pebble in a pool, I am rippling 
 circles and circles of waves, 
 I occupy more space 
 than you can imagine, 
 and as for you, you stay put. 

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