8th House Publishing is pleased to announce the publication of A Dirt Road Hangs From the Sky by Claudia Serea, a two-time Puschart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. Available December 2nd, 2013. Reserve your copy today!
Save the dates for her upcoming readings tour:
- GainVille Cafe, Rutherford, NJ—January 24
- Red Harlem Readers, NY—on February 9
- Cornelia Street Cafe, NY—February 27
- At the Inkwell Series, NY, KGB Bar—March 12
- Great Weather for Media Series, NY—May 4
Written in unsparing, haunting detail, Claudia Serea’s unforgettable A Dirt Road Hangs From the Sky brings to life the horrors of the brutal communist repression in her native Romania in the second part of the 20th century – the prisons, the torture, the barbarous inhumanity— preserving in memory a time that should never be forgotten. She writes: “Tell me, grandma, everything you know / so I can be your mouth when you are gone.” The grief is lasting; memory must serve as justice.
—Charles Rammelkamp, editor of The Potomac Review,
author of Fusen Bakudan
Beautiful, moving and brave; Claudia Serea’s poems tell a story of fear and repression, but also one of hope. This strong collection speaks out against systems of repression all over the world, with a message that is vital and a powerful voice.
—Victoria Hooper, Editor of Polluto
Dear friends, I’m very proud to announce my second full-length poetry book, A Dirt Road Hangs From the Sky soon to be published by 8th House Publishing, Montreal, Canada. More information here. Of course, my daughter is on the cover :)
I have a couple of new poems in the current issue of Prime Number Magazine. This photograph by Jerry Uelsmann is a wonderful companion for them. Enjoy!
The secret room where all the creatures go
Come with me,
I’ll show you a secret room
with furniture borrowed from trees.
Arthritic hands are knotted into chairs.
into headboards and tables,
and a piece of bark holds the mirror.
The winds blows
through empty eye sockets
and whistles through the tiny holes
in flute bones.
Don’t be scared.
In the back of the room,
the old milliner lady sits on a stump
and fashions felt hats
with ears and horns.
She sews fleece and skin
Behind her, on wooden pegs,
squirrels, rabbits, and chipmunks
beg to be set free.
You can sit
and watch her needle in
and out of
the shiny button eyes.
Her hands are quick.
In this room no one speaks,
not a peep,
or an open beak.
on the furniture of time.
You’re next, dear,
and makes me a hat
of grass roots
When it rains in Rutherford
Skinny as sticks,
two shadows share
He’s an old heron
that won’t die
even though spring has awakened
seeds in his belly
and grow when it rains.
She’s a mute nightingale
too scared to talk,
to think the thoughts.
It rains in Rutherford for days,
to every moment,
the way water clings to the leaves
to the throat.
they prove they’re alive.
In the small, white house
on Maple Street,
two birds listen
to the rain on the roof.
It rains in Rutherford,
and they can hear
angels walking in the backyard,
Here is my portion of the surreal group reading Mind-Roaming Journeys: Surreal Performances with Projections, Text , and Voice, from September 9th at Bowery Poetry: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AekurA5fslk.
Many thanks Daniela Petrova who shot the video and Barbara Rosenthal who organized the event. I had a lot of fun and would love to do it again soon! Below is another tiny sampling. Enjoy.
A baby goat jumps from dream to dream. In my dream, it just escaped from the slaughterhouse, and its hoofed feet leave traces of blood on snow. In your dream, the bell tied around its neck rings, and rings, and brings the spring.
Look at me, I’m dancing, says the smoke to the clouds.
Yes, they reply, but your feet are tied to the chimney.
Save the date: September 9, 7 p.m., at the Bowery Club, I’ll read with other surrealist artists. Some poems from Angels & Beasts and some new ones. Here’s a little preview. Illustration: Vladimir Kush.
In my grandmother’s village, there is a deep well. I swear it goes to the center of the earth. I don’t bend down to see my reflection, but I speak into it and my voice echoes. The water is salty from underground tears. Sometimes, the moon crawls into the bucket. I throw a coin inside, wishing for something to come true, and the well catches it in its teeth.
Mourning black were the women’s headscarves, like crows perched on their heads, and the graffiti smeared on walls: “Peace to you, our dead.”
This new poem is dedicated to the kids as young as 12 who died in the Romanian Revolution, December 1989.
I’m happy to report that 2 of my poems that appeared this spring in Apple Valley Review, “6:30 AM” and “Sleep,” were chosen to be featured by Accelerate Education in its language arts course “to show teens how poetry is written in the 21st century and how powerful it can be, compared to the rhyming, sing-song poems that they are more often shown in school. I want students to see the type of poetry that poets actually write these days!” You can read the poems again here: http://www.leahbrowning.net/Apple/Spring_2013/Claudia_Serea.html
This photo inspired a prose poem recently published by Dressing Room journal.
She comes to my window without a sound. Her face is white with petroleum eyes. Her cold hands reach into your body and grab the heart. It’s red and shiny and it shivers. She gives it to me, so now I carry two hearts: my own, and another one, the smallest, most radiant heart, glowing all night.
Here is a fun interview I did recently for Author Feast. Many thanks to Luke Abaffy, the nicest guy I know!