Dreamers' Songs: Nancy Bevilaqua's Poems

A great WordPress.com site

Tag: God

Gospel of the Throwaway Daughter

My poetry collection, Gospel of the Throwaway Daughter, should be out before Christmas. For the most part, the book is about my own vision of the relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene (and yes, I do believe that the relationship was intimate), and of their lives and those of the people around them at that time and place. Here are the blurbs that poets David Rawson, Kevin Davd LeMaster, Shaindel Beers, and Jordi Alonso wrote for the book after reading the manuscript:

“Nancy Bevilaqua’s poems beautifully incorporate the language of apocryphal and Gnostic texts, as well as Roman mythology, giving us pollinated lines full of an understanding of what it means to love supernaturally and to feel limited by our physicality. The characters of the New Testament are blooming, are transformed, are given true voices that are calling out past the limitations of the body. The images in these poems juxtapose the sand under our feet with stardust, uniting the sad truths of death, time, and money with elusive, honey-dripping truths that hint at a larger world.”

–David Rawson, Author of We Are Lovers Who Forgot Dinosaurs

“…Gospel of the Throwaway Daughter could well have been found tightly sealed in a jar in Qumran alongside its earlier gnostic cousins. These poems, quiet, but confident in their passion for love, desire, and holiness, echo to the Gospels and back. Taking the modernist dictum to heart to ‘make it new’, Bevilaqua, like H.D. before her, has taken stock of her poetic ancestry and focused it, channeling her myriad source texts, blending language, time, and voice, to create something lovely and new.”

–Jordi Alonso, Author of Honeyvoiced

“…takes a bold look at the New Testament and the Gnostic gospels, questioning belief, faith, dogma, and the nature of religion itself while creating a new world where ‘we will / find / what strangeness comes to bless.’ Despite the cruelty of the world both in biblical times, and now, we are reminded to ‘Pretend it doesn’t matter / how the hawk will devil fragile birds that we set free.’ Bevilaqua’s verse reassures us, ‘It’s only a matter of time / before a blessing / comes along’ in this beautiful, sensitive collection.”

–Shaindel Beers, Author of A Brief History of Time and The Children’s War and Other Poems


“…an ethereal, uplifting collection that weaves a poetic quilt of expertly crafted word choices and deep, sometimes dark imagery. It seems to blend a glimmer of hope with even the darkest poem, capturing the reader and holding him until the very end.”

–Kevin D. LeMaster, Tupelo Press 30/30 Poet

Hence the Name…

I published this (anonymously, for reasons that may become clear if you use the “Look Inside” feature and read the Introduction) a while back:
http://www.amazon.com/Love-Broken-Bird-World-Dreamers-Songs/dp/1489594884/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1400855327&sr=8-1&keywords=Love+in+the+broken-bird+world

Blues

It’s when you don’t think–
in the hands of the One.
The church of everything–
it’s in the blues.

Holding Breath

(From Holding Breath: A Memoir of AIDS’ Wildfire Days)

HOLDING BREATH

April dusk drained, while I was out,

into your mouth, the black

collapsing cave, your glottis ticking off

 

last swallows of the day. You watched tides

receding, patterns on the rug

recounting dreams, frail fingers

 

fingering cold fences

that held you in your bed.

Coming in with sheets

 

and pillows from Delancey, I smelled your skin

beleaguered., tasting itself, falling

away, the smell of fruit

 

rotting in a bowl, unnaturally sweet.

The nurse dismissed, I prematurely lit the room

with candles against night.

 

Then night began, a shadow

lapping in the shallow moments. Rats

and pigeons rustled, pestilent,

 

trapped in walls; open windows lifted tongues,

sending quiet cadenced prayers

to infiltrate God’s monotone. Your eyes,

 

slow fish, slid in wide ellipses

while I prepared us for the caterpillar ride

to dawn. By nine I lay

 

against your back between the rails, your muteness

sharp against murmurs from the street,

against the muffled rush of breeze

 

through pale fingers of new leaves. Hooded figures

flickered and bowed

in gestures of atonement on the walls.

 

There was nothing to do

but wait. I lay you down. Sometime that night

your whisper broke

 

an interval of sleep. I need,

you said. I waited while

you shook it from inside your head.

 

I need someone

to hold my breath for me. That night

I never slept again,

 

imagining you driving on some prairie road,

your arm dancing in the wind outside the window

with the rhythm of a country song.

 

I warmed your back curved hard

against sleep, passing the hours preparing

for the time that we had left.

 

–Nancy Bevilaqua

 

Blogging the Numinous

Don't go back to sleep.

Andrea Blythe

Poet, Writer, Lover of Life

Zevstar

All Content Copyrighted. All Rights Reserved.

VossNetBlog

Where Soul Meets Body

Veronica Golos, Poet

Exploring Content & Form

Serenity's Ashrama

"Our inner hankering is for satisfaction, happiness, sweetness, love, beauty and mercy." Swami B.R.Sridhar maharaja.

Magdalene.org

Celebrating the Mysteries of the Woman Who Knew The All

Mortimer George Creations

a gentleman's thoughts, style and life

DoubleU = W

WITHIN ARE PIECES OF ME

grungebandsfan

Grunge Music is Not Dead

Philip Dodd, Author of Angel War Blog

This WordPress.com site is the bee's knees

The Ark of Identity

Laura M Kaminski's poetry practice and links

O at the Edges

Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.

UP!::urban po'E.Tree(s)

by po'E.T. and the colors of pi

ASCENT

Concordia College ~ Moorhead Minnesota

Blue Heron Review

“An awake heart is like a sky that pours light.” ― Hafiz