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Monday, April 14, 2014
Mary Meriam, editor, "Irresistible Sonnets"
The editor travelled for several decades throughout the United Kingdom, Canada, the United States, and Australia (with side trips to Finland, France, and Greece) to collect the rarest, most beautiful, most irresistible contemporary sonnets. The trip was fruitful. Among many colorful characters, the editor found Old Tom in the garden, a bull rider from the American West, God's secretary in His Office, the magician's bashful daughter, and Aunt Mim and Uncle Jimmy at the Rehab Lounge. Published by Headmistress Press on March 31, 2014, Irresistible Sonnets consists of 71 sonnets by 71 living poets. There are city poets, country poets, older poets, younger poets, 43 women poets, 28 men poets, rising poets, and poets laureate.
This is a treasure that you must allow to ravish you slowly.
--Robin Williams, Author of Sweet Swan of Avon: Did a Woman Write Shakespeare?
Irresistible Sonnets has a personality, at times whimsical, at times serious, but always passionate.
--Quincy R. Lehr, poet, critic, and general man-about-town
This stunning collection of "Irresistible Sonnets", like a handful of snowflakes, contains no two alike.
--Rayne Allinson, Author of A Monarchy of Letters: Royal Correspondence and English Diplomacy in the Reign of Elizabeth I
Meriam has assembled a collection of arresting, frequently astonishing poems that prove the sonnet is still alive and well, emotionally urgent, linguistically inventive, and, just as the title promises, irresistible.
--Joy Ladin, American Poet
Note: I feel compelled to say that I did not in any way suggest to Mary Meriam that she use my sonnet here, but I thank her for the kind surprise and am grateful to her for the work she put into this lovely book! --Marly
by Marly Youmans
Let it go, let it all go down the drain—
The forest ashes where a witch was burned,
Dirt from the cellar where a queen was slain,
No heir escaping death, and nothing learned,
The crescent moons of darkness under nails,
Ditch-digger’s drops of sweat, the blood from soil
That sprouted fingertips, the slick from snails
Where the butchered peasants were left to spoil:
Let it swirl, let it all swirl down the drain—
Let murderous grime be curlicues to gyre
Around the blackened mouth, let mortal bane
Be gulped, and waste be drink for bole and briar.
Here’s a new-washed babe; marvel what man mars,
The flesh so innocent it gleams like stars.