- Written by LVNT
- Published: 01 November 2013
Las Vegas, Nevada - Baobab Press is pleased to announce the publication of All She Wrote, a beautiful new book of sonnets by Nevada poet, William Wilborn, available now. We would be honored if you would consider reviewing All She Wrote in your publication and have included here two poems from this collection for your perusal. If you would like to review the book, please let me know by return email. Please send us a digital or print copy of the review when published.
The sonnet is one of the oldest poetic forms in Western literature, adopted with immortal success by poets as diverse as Dante, Shakespeare, and Robert Frost. In the hands of William Wilborn, the sonnet becomes a powerful vehicle to explore the poignant ironies of history and daily life, the urgencies of love and age, and the heartbreaking truths that lurk behind encounters with art and beauty. These masterfully crafted poems give the ancient sonnet a fresh vibrancy and relevance suitable for the voices and experiences of our time.
Following are two poems from All She Wrote
After everything, she wrote, I love you still.
In a spindly script some news of summer rain,
Of spoiled supplies, a fire on the hill,
And then a list of Anglo-Saxon names.
After everything, she says, I am content.
After typhus, fire, infidelity,
The death of children, then the President,
The death of everything she’d hoped to see.
Small mercy she could not anticipate
The righteous harpies of a later age
Descending on her pitiful estate
To loot and mangle even what she said
She’d found of sustenance among the dead.
The last assault is history’s to wage.
For James Jones
If Bechet’s Blue Horizon makes me think
Of rain that afternoon, that windy dusk
Of whisky under palms out on your porch
The night before the Japs hit Pearl, when I
Walked out deliberately to miss the bus
And then came stumbling back to call a cab
That you dismissed, then took me to your bed,
So that when actually they struck we were
New lovers in your raw wallpapered shack
Where, being AWOL, I at once awoke
To see the rest of it, the consequence
Of being who I was before the state,
I think, still, that that perfect clarinet
Made sense that nothing afterwards could match.
About the Author - William Wilborn grew up in Bonner, Montana. He attended the University of Montana, Stanford and Cornell and taught English at the University of Nevada in Reno for many years. He has published in Poetry, TriQuarterly and other reviews. Rooms, his first book of poetry, was printed by Harry Duncan of Cummington Press in 1991.