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In A Certain Place

ISBN:ISBN: 0930526252
TITLE: In a Certain Place. Paperback.
PRICE: $12.00
EDITORS: Kreiter-Foronda, Carolyn K. and Alice Tarnowski

Cover photo by Robert E. Lackey: "Poppies in Monet's Garden, Giverny"  


DESCRIPTION: The poems in this anthology explore the theme of place. This book is an appropriate gift for any occasion. Poets included are Jean Bower, Gail Collins-Ranadive, Gabriele Glang, Carolyn Kreiter-Foronda, Mariquita MacManus, Judith McCombs, Fan Ogilvie, Betty Parry, Cheryl Romney-Brown, Elisabeth Stevens, Elizabeth Sullam, Charles Sullivan, Alice Marie Tarnowski, and Stacy Tuthill. Introduction by Br. Rick Wilson, T.O.R. Franciscan

That certain place . . . is the firm-rooted place of vision and confidence in a torrential human landscape of changing mores, shattered hopes, tenuous trusts and tentative commitments. It is the place of life-giving clarity in something greater than ourselves, something awesome and enduring enough to keep us anchored and safe in the storm. It is the place, at once inviting and fearsome, where the numinous speaks and we listen--the place of vitality, conversion and missioning forth to live in a world too often profaned by those things that corrupt our humanity."
                --Br. Rick Wilson, T.O.R. Franciscan

Alice Marie Tarnowski has published poems in various poetry journals, including Light, Christian Century, Potpourri and The Lyric. A poem about Prague was set to music by Czech composer Daniel Dobias. She received a Meritorious Honor Award from the United States Government for her service on the US SALT TWO Delegation Support Staff and in 1992, an American Czechoslovak Society Merit Award as Volunteer of the Year.




Donna Bruna

              --after Leonardo da Vinciís Mona Lisa, 1503-05

 The enigma seems tied in with the landscape behind her.

What is your secret, donna bruna?
The countryside pulls greens of a lake
into the corners of your mouth.
The light hovers there, and it matters
that the road behind you spirals,
tapers off toward the west,
that a bridge softens curiously
against the deep curve of your back.

How calmly you accept this condition,
one hand crossing the other, light caught
forever in the folds of skin, caught
in the lunar precipices beyond.


The air clouds with mist,
and the landscape changes
to Florentine streets
where a woman smiles desperately,
radiant creature locked in a pose,
the artist painting
at the end of a road.

Femina scura, he should let you go.
The light vanishes from skies.
Your eyes fill with years.


Four centuries, and your eyes,
donna bruna, as intense
as the day the artist leaned
you against the studio wall,
your shadow cast upon the floor.

He should let you go.
Already, fog crosses the lake,
rising toward the veiled sky,
toward a woman running
over luminous hills
where the wind passes over
like a crazed bird, calling
no need, no need to turn back now.


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