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Something Like a River
by Roberta Feins
Publisher: MoonPath Press (May 25,2013)
46 Pages/ 18 Multi-part Poems
ISBN-10: 1936657112
ISBN-13: 978-1936657117
To Order: http://moonpathpress.com/publications.htm
MoonPath Press
c/o Concrete Wolf
PO Box 1808
Kingston, WA 98346
About the Book
"The poems in Something Like a River surprise the senses. In this collection,
Roberta revisits the rivers of her youth in New York, contrasting them with the
landscapes of her adult life in the West. Roberta's similes jump off the page:
'[ice]bergs melt like candles'; her lists. 'forget our crass bosses, investment
failures, / losing scratch ticket...' are short stories in themselves, and her
details, 'the sickle tongues of hummingbirds', almost revelations. But most
remarkable are some of her endings, which astonished me."
~ Jana Harris, author of We Never Speak of It
About the Author:
Roberta Feins was born in New York, and has lived in North Carolina and Seattle.
She has degrees in Social Science (BA) and Marine Ecology (MS), and received her
MFA in poetry in 2007 from New England College where she studied with Judith Hall,
Carol Frost, DA Powell and Alicia Ostriker.
Roberta’s poems have been published in Five AM, Antioch Review, The Cortland
Review and The Gettysburg Review among others. Prizes include First Prize in
Poetry, Women in Judaism’s 2010 Writing Competition, and Second Place in
the 2007 Society for Humanistic Anthropology Ethnographic Poetry Competition.
Roberta edits the e-zine Switched-On Gutenberg and has selected poetry for
Drash: Northwest Mosaic and the Naugatuck River Review.
Listen to Roberta read Self Portrait as Romantic Literature from Cortland Review.
From the Book:
After Li-Po’s Song on Bringing in the Wine
by Roberta Feins
See how the Columbia River
pours from the Canadian Cascades,
races wildly to the Pacific, never returns.
Fix your hair in the hall mirror, dear.
Just yesterday, we were natural brunettes;
this evening’s color pours from a bottle.
Never mind. An empty smile makes the moon cry.
Forget our crass bosses, investment failures,
losing Scratch Ticket. Let’s just wave
our plastic at the clerk, grab
the Pale Ale, nachos, Ballard Bitter.
Remember the time we dragged Jeff
down Mission Street by his coat collar?
We’ll be telling that story long after
the ping of acoustic sensors finds
no salmon left to count. Turn up the music,
let’s dance to that song Ralph played
on his tinny tape deck at Rocky Reach.
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