Emily Fragos – författare

The feline has inspired poetic adoration since the days of the pharaohs, and the poems collected here cover an astonishing range of periods, cultures, and styles. Poets across the continents and centuries have described the feline family-from kittens to old toms, pussycats to panthers-doing what they do best: sleeping, prowling, prancing, purring, sleeping some more, and gazing disdainfully at lesser beings like ourselves. Here are Yeats's Minnaloushe, Christopher Smart's Jeoffry, Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat, T. S. Eliot's Rum Tum Tugger, William Blake's tyger and Rilke's panther. Here are tributes from Sufi mystics, medieval Chinese poets, and haiku masters of imperial Japan, from Chaucer, Shelley, Borges, Neruda, Dickinson, and Shakespeare. Here are the cats of Mother Goose, and the one who wore the hat for Dr. Seuss.The Great Cat will delight cat lovers everywhere, celebrating as it does the beauty, the mystery, the gravity, the grace, and, of course, the unassailable superiority of the cat.

Music may be the universal language that needs no words-the "language where all language ends," as Rilke put it-but that has not stopped poets from ancient times to the present from trying to represent it in verse.Here are Rumi and Shakespeare, Elizabeth Bishop and Billy Collins; the wild pipes of William Blake, the weeping guitars of Federico García Lorca, and the jazz rhythms of Langston Hughes; Wallace Stevens on Mozart and Thom Gunn on Elvis-the range of poets and of their approaches to the subject is as wide and varied as music itself.The poems are divided into sections on pop and rock, jazz and blues, specific composers and works, various musical instruments, the human voice, the connection between music and love, and music at the close of life. The result is a symphony of poetic voices of all tenors and tones, the perfect gift for all musicians and music lovers.

Painting and sculpture have inspired great poetry, but so also have photography, calligraphy, tapestry and folk art. Included here are poems celebrating Leonardo da Vinci's 'Mona Lisa', Monet's 'Waterlilies' and Grant Wood's 'American Gothic'; well-known poems such as Keats's 'Ode on a Grecian Urn' and Auden's 'Musée de Beaux-Arts', Homer's immortal account of the forging of the Shield of Achilles and Garcia Lorca's breathtaking ode to the surreal paintings of Salvador Dali. Allen Ginsberg writes about Cézanne, E. E. Cummings about Picasso, Billy Collins about Hieronymous Bosch, and Joyce Carol Oates about Edward Hopper. Here too are poems that take on the artists themselves, from Michelangelo and Rembrandt to Georgia O'Keeffe and Andy Warhol. Altogether, this brilliantly curated anthology proves that a picture can be worth a thousand words - or a few very well-chosen ones.

For centuries poets in all the world's cultures have offered eloquent thanks and praise for the earth and its people. Both an emotion and a conscious practice, gratitude is a cherishing of what is over what has been or could be. It celebrates the joy in our lives while acknowledging the sorrows and losses that give that joy its keenness. The voices collected here range from Horace to Herrick, from Wordsworth and Keats, Yeats and Frost, to Czeslaw Milosz, Constantine Cavafy, Primo Levi, Langston Hughes, Anne Sexton, Nikki Giovanni, and many many more. Devotional lyrics drawn from the major religious traditions offer their perspectives, alongside poetic tributes to autumn and the harvest season that draw our attention to nature's bounty and poignant beauty as winter approaches.

Perhaps no other European city has so captured the poetic imagination as Paris. Poems of Paris spans the centuries from the Renaissance to the present, and includes a pantheon of French (and Francophone) poets - Ronsard, Deschamps, Villon, Baudelaire, Mallarmé, Verlaine, Apollinaire, Paul Eluard, Robert Desnos, Jacques Prévert, Aimé Césaire, Hédi Kaddour, to name but a few. Added to this are poems by the many visitors who have been mesmerized by Paris, some of whom made it their home - Rilke, Wilde, Cummings, Pound, Neruda, Beckett, Mandelstam, Nabokov, Rilke, Gertrude Stein, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, James Fenton... All the famous sights of Paris are touched on here, from Notre Dame to the Eiffel Tower, as are such classic Parisian themes as food and drink, art and love, and famous events from the Revolution to the Resistance.

With Little Savage, Emily Fragos delivers a magnificent collection in the American tradition of Robert Lowell and Elizabeth Bishop. With clean, strongly wrought lines she builds poems that are elegant and powerful.Marie Ponsot calls the collection “remarkable. What separates Fragos from her contemporaries is her amazing ability to empathize with the characters she creates—the misfits, the artists, the children kept in a fifteenth century school, the composer going mad. She convincingly becomes a young girl in the Venetian conservatory for the abandoned: “Sofia del violino. Once I saw myself / in a clear puddle of rain / water. My teeth are very crooked, I / know. We are none of us / startled by the other. We are all / the same. To Heaven.” These moments ache with honesty, humility, and make us wish that every sentiment expressed by Fragos could be true.Deceptively simple poems written by an unostentatiously skilled poet, Little Savage is permeated with a reverence for nature, music, myth and dance—a veritable treasure trove of compassion and grace.Richard Howard's ForewordYou are alone in the room, reading her poems. Nothing is happening, nothing wrong, but all at once, say around page 17 or 18, you hear – remember, no one is with you, no one else is there—a sigh. Or a whispered word: someone. You are not alarmed, but you had thought you were alone. Perhaps not. The sensation is what Freud used to call unheimlich, uncanny. That is the effect of the poems of Emily Fragos. Like their maker, her readers are accompanied, and not to their ulterior knowledge. It is not disagreeable to be thus escorted, attended, joined, but we had not expected it. And as Robert Frost used to tell us (“no surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader”), Fragos too has not expected such visitations, as she will call them. This poet—these poems—endure otherness, they are haunted:“I remain, with one of everything.” Even as one is being saved…conjure the army of others” “What would happen to my life when all along there has been nothing but me?” “Did you not see how I was made to feel when you put me among others” “And my body—uninhabited—suffers and wonders: whose hands are these? whose hair?”The poems will reveal whose, though I do not think Emily Fragos herself ever finds out. Inevitably, we recall that old surrealist shibboleth, “Tell me by what you are haunted and I will tell you who you are;” it can be the password to indentity. But this poet has what she calls “luxurious mind” and her ghosts are legion:Alone in my odd-shaped room, I practiceBlindness and the world floatsclose and away. I am uncertain ofeverything. I must walk slowly, carefully.She is acknowledging, with some uneasiness (“will you please tidy up?”), that it is not only the beloved dead, the proximate departed who are with her, who possess her, but others, any others. The remarkable thing about this poetic consciousness is that the woman’s body is inhabited—sometimes with mere habitude, sometimes joyously, more often with astonishing pain—by the prolixity of the real (and of the ‘unreal’); the poems are instinct with others:How dare youCare for me when all my lifeI have had this voltage to igniteme, this rhythm to drive me,when something inside your bodydares me to touch my handsto yours…And quite as remarkable, of course, is the even tonality of such possession; there is nothing hysterical or even driven about the voice of the poems as it records, as it laments or exults in these unsought attendants. There is merely—merely!—a loving consistency of heedfulness; and one remembers Blake’s beautiful aphorism: unmixed attention is prayer.Of course such poetic staffage is not peculiar to Emily Fragos; like Maeterlinck, like Rilke, she exults in her discovered awareness: “I need the other/the way a virus/needs a host.” Rather, she imbues, she infects all of us with the consciousness that there are no single souls: we are not alone.