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Perhaps You Could Breathe For Me - Price: $15.99
by Martina Reisz Newberry, ISBN: 978-1-4415-1615-2
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The poems in Perhaps You Could Breathe For Me are rare insights into relationships--the cruel, the complicated, the simple, the joyful, the sexy, the fearful, the painful, the intense. Newberry writes about what can go wrong, what does go wrong, about growing up, about the terrors and wonder of aging. She writes about sexuality, where it begins, and whether or not it ends. These poems are extraordinary as they journey through compassion, anger, and strength. Cadences of ordinary speech make this work accessible, and suggest that something rare and exciting is about to happen. Throughout and finally, Newberry’s poems resonate with a search for spirituality,“for a God,” she says “we pray to, but do not know how to love.
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Biography :
Martina Reisz Newberry is a Southern California poet who lives in Hollywood with her husband, Brian, a Videographer, and their cat, Gato. She is the author of five volumes of poetry:
HUNGER
AFTER THE EARTHQUAKE
NOT UNTRUE AND NOT UNKIND
RUNNING LIKE A WOMAN WITH HER HAIR ON FIRE: COLLECTED POEMS.
Martina Newberry is also the author of LIMA BEANS AND CITY CHICKEN: MEMORIES OF THE OPEN HEARTH—a memoir of her father—published by E.P. Dutton and Co.
Ms. Newberry has been published in literary magazines such as: Amelia, Arabesque Review, Ascent Aspirations, Connecticut Poetry Review, Context South, Current Accounts, Iowa Woman, New Laurel Review, Pedestal Magazine, Piedmont Literary Review, Southern Review of Poetry, Trivia, Women's Work, and others.
Her work has been described by Saul Landau as “…a compelling story telling style reminiscent of Robert Frost, the enigmatic brilliance of Emily Dickinson and the working class insights of the great singer-poet John Prine…”
Book Review :
[Newberry's poetry]is like watching and listening to an attractive young woman walking on a crowded street talking to herself. An old woman, a bag lady perhaps, you would grant leave to behave this way, but the fact that a well groomed young woman is publicly having a conversation with herself unmindful of what others think haunts and disturbs you. Something is excitingly, profanely out of order here.
It has nothing to do with the poet’s actual age but rather with the nature of the poetry, which is at once youthful and wise. But not too wise. Newberry doesn’t suggest that she knows more than she’s
saying. On the contrary, she tells you exactly what she doesn’t know.
Accordingly, we trust her. A good poet knows exactly how her inmost dialogue is conducted, how it sounds, and so she is very like the young woman walking down the street fully engaged in the life of her own mind. We may choose to put her down as crazy, but in our hearts we know she’s into herself, exactly where you have to be to mean what you say and say what you mean.
This is Newberry’s accomplishment, and it’s all the more considerable because we’re not aware of the feat. We simply find ourselves
unaccountably able to hear every word and every nuance of that
“mad” young woman’s most revealing dialogue, and as we trail along, trying to be unobtrusive, we find ourselves falling in love with the dialogue, if not the woman.
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