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What Do You Mean When You Say Green?
And Other Poems of Color
by Lori Levy
36Poems ~ 50 pages
Price: $20.00.
Publisher: Kelsay Books
ISBN #: 978-1-63980-423-8
To Order: kelsaybooks.com
ABOUT THE BOOK:
Lori Levy’s poems appeal to the senses. She is especially drawn to color. Whether it’s the fuchsia blazing in her yard in Los Angeles or the red and orange autumn leaves she longs for in Vermont, where she grew up, or the red anemones and white-pink asphodels in a forest in Israel where her family celebrates her mother’s birthday, it’s color that calls to her, sparks a flame in her–or calms her. She contemplates all colors, not just the bright ones, but also white, beige, gray, as well as the black of her mother-in-law’s rotting toes when she’s dying of sepsis in the hospital. Color is an important part of life for her, and that is what stands out in this collection of color-themed poems.
ADVANCE PRAISE:
The poems in Lori Levy’s chapbook burst with color, a world filled with the “scent of the eucalyptus,” “under skies pregnant with treetops/and the flapping wings of birds” Poems travel from a kibbutz in Israel, to Panama and Vermont, places ripe with pumpkins and yams and “the rattle of Mexican maracas.” When a guest slices and plates a papaya for breakfast it is transformed into an unforgettable experience. Even the sadness of a relative sick in the hospital or a parent aging is gracefully accepted. These poems demand the reader pay attention to even “a whisper in the woods,” all the sounds, tastes and especially the colors that make life meaningful. This collection dazzles with color and taste and vibrancy.
–Carol V. Davis, author of Below Zero
Full of wisdom and experience, the colors in Lori Levy’s poems explore a range of subjects in terms of hue, lightness and saturation. They surprise and delight like refraction and dispersion of light through a prism. Whether she is writing about “the scarlet of crepe myrtles in LA,” “a brown bird hopping on a garbage can lid,” or “vines sprouting from the sand in the Negev desert,” Levy offers us a kaleidoscope of successive reflections on the things that matter to us most in life. They speak to us of the importance of family and, from a wider perspective, of the need for tolerance and understanding in an increasingly fragmented world.
–Neil Leadbeater, author of The Gloucester Fragments
I’ve been in love with Lori Levy’s poems for years, and What Do You Mean When You Say Green? And Other Poems of Color contains some of her best. The memories in a blue/brown/pink mug painted by grandchildren, the allure of a red--orange sliver of mango, the majesty of gold in the afternoon sun … these poems paint portrait after portrait of love, pain, understanding, and absolution. Lori takes us from a kiosk in the LAX airport to a kibbutz sunroom in the Negev desert to a hammock in Panama. This poetic rainbow will make you smile, make you think, and make you grateful for this colorful world we live in.
–Jayne Jaudon Ferrer, author of Dancing with My Daughter and editor of Your Daily Poem
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Lori Levy’s poems have appeared in Rattle, Nimrod International Journal, Poet Lore, Paterson Literary Review, The MacGuffin, and numerous other print and online literary journals and anthologies in the U.S., the U.K., and Israel. Her poems have also been published in medical humanities journals, including a hybrid piece (poetry/prose) she co-authored with her father, a physician. Her chapbook, “Feet in L.A., But My Womb Lives in Jerusalem, My Breath in Vermont,” was published by Ben Yehuda Press in November 2023. Levy lives with her extended family in Los Angeles, but “home” for her has also been Vermont and Israel and, for several months, Panama while visiting her son and granddaughters.
FROM THE BOOK:
When Our Guest Makes Breakfast
by Lori Levy
It’s not that I’m bored with toast and jam;
just that our guest has sliced a papaya
for breakfast this morning, and those red-orange slivers,
flushed and wet, lie curled on a plate
in the center of our table, offering themselves.
Just that I’m drawn to his hand on the knife,
the grace of his wrist as he peels and carves;
drawn to this blaze of mango, papaya–
and the speckled green kiwi
he tosses on top like a handful of coins.
Not that I yearned for a taste of the tropics
or favor pulp over toasted rye;
just that–this moment–I cannot resist
the cactus pear on the edge of the plate
that he’s pared and opened
and placed within reach of my fingers.
Previously published in Nimrod International Journal, 2013.
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