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LIFE
REVISITED New and Selected Poems
Author:
Mario Susko Binding: Paperback
(pp: 91) ISBN: 81-8253-067-9 Availability: In Stock
(Ships within 1 to 2
days) Publisher: Cyberwit.net Pub. Date:
2006
Condition: New
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Description:
A native of Sarajevo, Mario Susko is a witness and survivor of
the war in Bosnia. He left the city in 1993 and, in a sense, came back to the US, where he received his M.A. and Ph.D. from SUNY
at Stony Brook in the 1970s. He taught at the University of
Sarajevo and Nassau Com. College where he is currently an
Associate Professor in the English Department. He is the recipient
of several awards, including the 1997 Nassau Review Poetry Award, the 1998 Premio Internazionale di Poesia e Letteratura
"Nuove Lettere" (Naples, Italy) for his collection "Mothers, Shoes and
Other Mortal Songs," the 2000 Tin Ujevic Award for "Versus
Exsul" as the best book of poetry published in Croatia in 1999, and the
2003 State University of New York Chancellor's Award for Excellence
in Scholarship and Creative Activities. Several of his poems were
nominated for awards both in the US and the UK, his poem published
by "Dream Catcher" (No. 13) having been the finalist for the 2004
Forward Poetry Prize in the best single poem category. Mario Susko
is also known as a prolific editor and translator, having translated
work by Saul Bellow, Bernard Malamud, William Styron, James Baldwin,
Theodore Roethke, and e. e. cummings, among others.
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RECONSTRUCTION
Mother will sit at the table
in the cold white kitchen,
waiting for me to bring her
my book in which I write
how I dug up her bones
to take them back home.
She'll be there, reconstructed,
like the faces of the houses,
with me wondering which tree
in the park that will never sprout
twigs again was her coffin.
My hand will smell of dirt
and rotten leaves as I turn
the pages looking for some proof
which is not a painted-over truth.
Knowing where she truly is perhaps
I'd forget where I must be.
She'll say, I've never understood
any of your poems, and I'll see myself
closing the book gently in her lap,
pretending I have the wrong page,
the wrong house, and the wrong city.
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