Black Moss Press

New work from Eva Kolacz for Poetry Month 2021

Eva Kolacz

Thank you on behalf of our poets for spending Poetry Month with us. The fun isn’t over yet, as we have a special treat this week: each day we will post poems from our upcoming fall 2021 catalogue! Today begins with three poems from Eva Kolacz’s newest collection Solace. In a time when we are all struggling to make sense of the events of the past year, Eva’s clear voice offers consolation. Weaving imagery of nature and everyday life with themes of love and peace, her poetry offers comfort in a time of intense confusion. This is a collection that will speak to the experiences of many during this pandemic and will be like a soothing balm.

You’ll be able to purchase this fine book on our website and through your local bookstore on September 21, 2021!

 

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Click, click—the lights are on.

This is the route to popularity,

to earn the eminent status

satisfaction guaranteed.

“O Captain, my Captain,” Whitman cries.

(Please give him my best regards.)

 

Thanks to your hard work and self-indulgence

Cover art for Solace

mine too (I’m not born to listen,)

this stage has no sliding scale, if you are loyal.

 

Consider the alternative:

every step

outside this game

is worth a golden shoe.

 

Condition of Being

 

I spent the night walking the darkness along the sea,

to touch something real, alive, and I found

the refuge in the rain.

With astonishing precision

heavy drops pinned me to the warm, swollen landscape,

and I became many things —in green, blue and grey—

rising.

 

Without hope we are broken pieces,

tree stumps piled up against the wall.

 

A new reason to wonder:

trees bloom with hummingbirds,

 

and a perfect shape

of turquoise—a robin’s egg—is enough to send

the morning into a springtime song.

 

The Air Feels Colder, Even When It Shines

 

I listen to your voice coming across the water,

reaching the shore of Lake Ontario.

In my reply I should say that the sunrise is enough

to make me breathe.

Female life relies on things

of unusual shapes and colours,

treasures from childhood dreams

with pockets full of collected stones,

of broken pieces of glass shining like the sun’s eyes.

 

I try to sing to myself.

 

From my place I can see the city outline—

its intimacy I don’t share

afraid that it will swing me again on the rope,

stretched between narrow streets

and from there, it will let me go.

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