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Genica
by Neth Hass
Poetry ~ Stories ~ Essays ~ Descriptions
154 pages
Price: $12.99
Publisher: Nethanderal Books
ISBN:9798352215401
To Order: Amazon.com
ABOUT THE BOOK:
Neth Hass prefaces his latest collection, Genica with these words:
For all the slow starters and late bloomers,
black sheep and not-so-innocent bystanders,
outliers, outsiders, outcasts and castaways
who think thoughts there are yet no words to express,
that the mad world may not be ready for …
You know who are and this book is for you.
Indeed, these words encapsulate the life and work of Neth Hass. He awaits the dawn of each new day and works within its offerings to reveal the heart of a poet who has something to say and knows how to say it. Winner of the Illinois State Poetry Society’s 2022 Book of the Year Award, Genica is scholarly and winsome–a rare and welcome combination.
ADVANCE PRAISE:
Genica is as unique as its deep-thinking, story-telling, rural poet, Neth Hass. Begin with the title–a new word Hass plucked from a dream–then ponder everything from the one-of-a-kind copyright page to the back cover. Nothing about the volume is ordinary. Crafted with a friendly font and format, Genica’s iambic rhythms carry you across 35 years of poetic insights. The effortless originality of this Illinois State Poetry Society 2022 Book of the Year introduces you to a writer worth following.
–Kathy Lohrum Cotton, author, Common Ground
I was tackled by a line, a rather mundane line, in Neth Haas’s poem “The Present Age.” The line: Time goes faster and faster the older you get. Who doesn’t already know this? As I thought about that line and read Haas’s poetic wisdom in Genica, I began to realize something immensely important: This is a volume that bids me hit the “slowdown” button of life. For optimal enjoyment, I poured myself a cup of tea and began to enjoy anew, the rich banquet of poetry flowing from the pen of a mature poet.
–Michael Escoubas &Vandana Bajikar, authors, Ripples Into the Light–PhotoPoetry
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Neth Hass is a retired carpenter living in rural southern Illinois with his wife, Cynthia Dudek, who, in the poet’s words, “has been loving and longsuffering.” The poems contained in Genica represent some 35 years of work. In addition to Cynthia’s support, Hass is indebted to his parents, family, colleagues and friends for their unfailing forbearance and encouragement. He lives in only one place and doesn’t own any cats or dogs. He can be reached at nethpoetry@gmail.com.
FROM THE BOOK:
Waiting for Dawn
by Neth Hass
The stars are especially beautiful tonight;
the moonless sky so clear, the air so clean
that brighter stars seem nearer than before
and fainter ones, so seldom visible,
appear now as a cloudlike multitude
of individuated tiny embers.
This is the darkest of all possible nights,
in two subtly different shades of darkness:
one shade of inky blackness in the sky
and one of utter blackness on the earth–
now one inscrutable, monolithic blot
in silhouette against the universe.
The air is still and cold with the sudden chill
of calm clear nights that sometimes follow rain,
and the rain which follows rain drips leaf to leaf
so faintly as to emphasize the silence,
a silence which accentuates the darkness,
as darkness exacerbates the sapping cold.
My vantage is a shallow shelter bluff,
windbreak from the insignificant breeze,
not more than one ledge dripping on another;
too low for standing, too wet for sitting down,
so I must kneel and force myself awake
and shiver constantly to stay alive.
I was marooned here as the moon went down;
a sliver of silver, peering through the clouds,
which broke too late to allow a vivid sunset,
and fading through yellow and orange until it slipped
the boundary of sight while granting illumination
sufficient only for getting hopelessly lost.
Now I can plainly see the paths of heaven,
the constellations showing time and direction
through unrestricted sky above my shelf,
where I’ve been driven by the rain and hail
to find myself trapped in a dark wood,
hemmed in by storm wrack and oblivion.
What’s needed is an ample wash of moonlight
to pick my way or better my perch for the night
(I could pray for it–I’m on my knees already)
but the fickle moon, being elsewhere on her rounds
has left me behind to navigate by starlight,
which, to actually see by, is no light at all.
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