mud palace of aberdeen

The Mud Palace of Aberdeen

Here are cogent poems that ask questions. Questions that cannot necessarily be answered. Or poetic explorations of parallel worlds. Explorations into unknown and uncharted territory. A whirlwind tour of Native American shamanism. Or just plain shamanism. The price of being a poet is to create unexplained patchwork quilts in response to the more mysterious aspects of the world around us. ­­Come and enjoy and savor the poetic experience as rich as a good cup of coffee savored in the universal cafe.

Some long and divinatory prose poems, some sweet and lyrical pieces of meaningful, melopoeic associations. “Divination takes place only on certain days when the moon agrees not to be mars.” Sometimes I am lost in the ether of space poetry, at others I am brought back by shamanistic verses that can’t help but command emptiness, space, the immediate surrounds. Dervishes, rainbows, caravans, prophets, seers: all kinds of poems weave a magical net of ancestry and spirit. Women make much of time in tidbits of intergenerational irony. A secret autobiography is revealed as a grandmother spirit in a flask. The lifetime of one solitary seer becomes the singular thought of an ordinary being while the emotional injustices of an ordinary being are enveloped in remembrance of the poet’s sense of grace. The back cover claims: “A whirlwind tour of Native American shamanism. Or just plain shamanism.” I didn’t really get more than one or two explicit references to Native Americans—mostly just the impression that good “Western” medicine is humility.