CavanKerryPress.org

BUY THE BOOK

$14.00

$11.20

Add to Cart

View Cart
Shopping Cart by
E-junkie

Email our Managing Editor, Starr Troup,
for special requests, such as:
- orders of more than 20 books
- expedited shipping
- shipping outside the US
Thank you for your support of CavanKerry Press.

BOOK DETAILS

Poetry
49 pp
6 x 9.25
Paperback
0-9723045-5-X
978-0-9723045-5-9
July 2005


Emerging Voices

Misery Islands,
by January Gill O’Neil

Spooky Action at a Distance,
by Howard Levy

My Painted Warriors,
by Peggy Penn

Red Canoe: Love In Its Making, by Joan Cusack Handler

door of thin skins,
by Shira Dentz

The One Fifteen to Penn Station, by Kevin Carey

Where the Dead Are,
by Wanda S. Praisner

Darkening the Grass, by Michael Miller

Neighborhood Register,
by Marcus Jackson

Night Sessions,
by David S. Cho

Underlife,
by January Gill O'Neil

The Second Night of the Spirit, by Bhisham Bherwani

Imago,
by Joseph O. Legaspi

WE AREN'T WHO WE ARE and this world isn't either,
by Christine Korfhage

Through a Gate of Trees,
by Susan Jackson

Against Which,
by Ross Gay

The Silence of Men,
by Richard Jeffrey Newman

The Dishelved Bed,
by Andrea Carter Brown

The Singers I Prefer,
by Christian Barter

The Fork Without Hunger,
by Laurie Lamon

An Imperfect Lover,
Poems and watercolors by Georgianna Orsini

Soft Box,
by Celia Bland

Rattle,
by Eloise Bruce

Momentum,
by Catherine Doty

Silk Elegy,
by Sondra Gash

The Palace of Ashes,
by Sherry Fairchok

Eyelevel: Fifty Histories,
by Christopher Matthews

GLOrious,
by Joan Cusack Handler

So Close, by Peggy Penn

Snakeskin Stilettos,
by Moyra Donaldson

Grub, by Martin Mooney

Kazimierz Square,
by Karen Chase

A Day This Lit,
by Howard Levy

CavanKerry Press LTD.
CavanKerry Press

The Fork Without Hunger

by Laurie Lamon

Foreword by Donald Hall

The Fork Without HungerThe Fork Without Hunger is a book that takes continual joy in the natural world. Yet throughout these luxuriant lyrics physical pain runs like an underground river. Pain is unpunctuated; a constant presence, a motion under the earth’s surface—but that surface is cherished. As ever, poetry happens, or reaches its uttermost, in the human collisions of contrary feeling. Torment twists in an oscillation of opposing currents—celebrations of flowers and dogs, of love and loss . . . Page after page, line after line, Lamon’s language retains its purity, its chastity, its precisions . . . Her poems are rare in their perfection of epithet, their delicacy of design, their cadence of attack . . . —Donald Hall

Life teaches us that regret is born along with love, that disappointment is hope's twin, that death starts with birth, and pain with pleasure. In The Fork Without Hunger, Laurie Lamon makes a music that persuades not only my mind but my senses to accept this duality from both sides at once, but still to believe that “the world could end in light.” Here is an enormously mature and expressive book, which I don't recommend for unfeeling readers. —Peter Davison, The Atlantic Monthly

With rare precision and intelligence—and, rarer still, with genuine imagination—Laurie Lamon navigates the subtly terrifying, elegiac waters of the poems in The Fork Without Hunger. In this very impressive debut, Lamon’s poems, with their quirky grace, seems near some mysterious and beautiful eruption . . .
—David Daniel, Ploughshares

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Laurie LamonLAURIE LAMON is professor of English at Whitworth University in Spokane, Washington. She is the recipient of a Pushcart Prize, and she was the recipient of a Witter Bynner Fellowship in 2007. Her collection, The Fork Without Hunger (CavanKerry), was published in 2005. Her poems have appeared in many journals and magazines, including The Atlantic Monthly, The New Republic, The New Criterion, Arts & Letters Journal of Contemporary Culture, Ploughshares, Colorado Review, Primavera and Poetry Northwest.
www.laurielamon.com

EXCERPT

Praise

I heard the dogs before
I opened the door late, after work—
first Maude who was dancing
in praise of my arrival for all she knew
it was: presence without end,
the end of waiting, the end
of boredom—
and then Li Po,
who, in the middle of his life,
learning to make his feelings known
as one who has carried breath
and heart close to the earth seven
times seven years, in praise
of silence and loneliness, climbed
howling, howling from his bed.