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“These poems transport me. . . .With them Armitage has earned an even more prominent place in Texas literature.” –WF Strong, Stories from Texas:  Some of Them Are True

“Armitage knows the landscape as intimately as the face of a beloved ancestor. .. .These poems will stay with the reader, evocative of the uncluttered country where the human heart’s tangled wilderness can find space, distance, peace.”–Kathryn Jones, author of An Orchid’s Guide to Life


    

Shelley’s Blog

06 Sep

Posted at 16:24h in Uncategorized by
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I can't find the reference now, but I remember its essence.  Look upon the land and hold it in your heart for when it is taken away its memory remains. The speaker I do remember was a Lakota Sioux to his people at the onset of white encroachment and Indian removal. Memory often holds what is no longer--memory, the only way perhaps both to reach back and to move forward. I thought of this when I read of the 2.5 million honeybees inadvertently killed in South Carolina during a morning aerial...

31 Aug

Posted at 15:18h in Uncategorized by
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Framed, just like that--what a picture.  But I didn't have my camera. Or binoculars.  I tried with the cell phone but even the zoom didn't bring him into focus.  And the window screen blurred what image it captured. There'd been foxes in my yard before.  Gray foxes.  The kind I think I saw when I was a kid out at the farm.   I've always said my nearly 100-year-old bungalow farmhouse on the outskirts of Vega, Texas was like living in a pasture.  And the foxes proved it.  When...

24 Aug

Posted at 16:15h in Uncategorized by
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It was the yellow shirt I saw first.  A canary yellow tee-shirt against the parched bench he sat on.  But there was a flash of something else. "Are you a potter?" I blurted out, surprising myself with my spontaneous directness. (I'm normally rather shy and though I get accused of encouraging conversation on airplanes, think of myself as more of an observer than an aggressive talker.} "Hmmmm." I couldn't quite make out what Mr. Yellow Shirt was saying. But he kept marking--what some folks would call doodling--on a cup. A styroform cup, the kind...