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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

Years ago I read an essay by Annie Dillard in the Atlantic.  I wish I could remember the title, the date.  But the point is one of her lines (and Dillard's essays were always poetic) has stayed with me all these years.  The line went something like this: I felt like a bell just before it is struck.  She was standing in a field--a simple act--when she experienced seeing in a new way.  When I first read this line I immediately flashed to a collection of small bells,...

Years ago, when I was trying to write a memoir about landscape, place, homeland, I worked for a time in my garage.  The house I lived in was small--two bedrooms--and there was no study.  So I put some plywood pieces together, rescued my great aunt's old Formica kitchen table, and moved to the garage. One of the advantages of having a garage for a study is the large walls.  (One of the disadvantages is that it is cold in winter and hot as blazes in summer.)  In the spirit...

Sometimes they come like padded cat's feet, sometimes crashing down in a sinus headache before dawn. Some writers think of them first (they become guides) and for others they're an afterthought. I remember when an artist friend of mine did me the honor of naming one of her pieces.  It was made of hog gut--twisted, stretched, dried into a provocative elliptical form now dangling from her Kailua (Hawai'i) home ceiling.  This was the same house she had to tent and treat because of the pervasive termites that plague the...