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In The Lake of Your Bones Poet, Peggy Dobreer writes with a visceral alphabet that celebrates pedestrian activity, the natural world and the nature of love. Her language is at once mysterious and common, playful and pointed. She wades between the bones of her characters, exposing the gristle. She will ask these poems to get under your skin. You will want them there. They will show you something you may never have thought of before. Wherever she takes us, from the blasted deserts of the American west to the swollen banks of the Ganges, we go willingly, reassured over and again by her precision and grace. –Brendan Constantine, poet These poems come out of a life of art, dance, love, political involvement, travel, and the cauldron of Los Angeles. In their music you will hear the urban landscape, Spanish, and even ancient Sanskrit. Come dance with Peggy Dobreer's poems. You'll be thankful that you did. –Richard Garcia, poet These poems flicker between the realms of the corporeal and the ethereal, like a dancer moving through a room of lit candles. –Douglas Richardson, poet About the Poet: Peggy Dobreer came to poetry by way of dance and experimental theatre. Her work has appeared in Malpais Review and LA Yoga among other journals and she is widely anthologized. She lives in LA with her daughter and loves the tango. Visit her at www.peggydobreer.com From the Book: Technique by Peggy Dobreer A dancer walks down Mission Street with a Marlboro in one hand and a latte from La Boheme in the other. She is a rainbow muffler around thorax, warming calves, pumping smoke, dragging deep into the celery snap of another San Francisco morning, and itching to pull on the day’s first leotard. This is Mariposa, heart of the dance. A cable car up Polk, bus across town, stop at the café and half a mile hoofing it into the warehouse district. Industrial doors open to cement hallways, open to studio spaces softened by sprung wood floors. The smell of kiln and oils, and the long push of a cotton broom across caramel floors. Always care of the floor comes first, as breath falls to lower chakras, dissolves all dissonance, light streams in through southern exposure. Today, the spirit of Erick Hawkins wields the broom. Footsteps are a barely audible imprint on the ear, so quiet you can hear your breath.
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2001- 2013, Quill & Parchment
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