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"Eleanor McQuilkin well understands poetry's power to compact large meanings into small spaces and to provide a place where emotion and wit can happily coexist. Her concise and circumspect poems are clever, heartfelt, and brimming with canny observations. It is a joy to hear her clear voice come off the page." - Billy Collins " "Every poem in Eleanor McQuilkin's Every Sky is a moving celebration of the powers of eye, ear, wit, and memory. It is a wonderful book, out of a long, full life, a gathering of evergreen wonders." - Jarold Ramsey Read some poems from this book. Eleanor Atterbury McQuilkin was born in Wyckoff, New Jersey, and in 1908 moved to Rochester, New York. She died at the age of 95 in 2004. A graduate of the Ethel Walker School in Simsbury, Connecticut, and of Smith College, Class of 1930, she later studied at Oxford University.
She was a former President of the Rochester Poetry Society and an active member of several literary organizations, including Wednesday Club and The Book Club. She was an energetic supporter of the Memorial Art Gallery, the Rush Rees Library at the University of Rochester, and Writers & Books, where she read her work on several occasions. During World War II, she served as a Nurse's Aid and for many years was a volunteer at the Friendly Home. She was the mother of four sons and had ten grandchildren as well as eight great-grandchildren. Eleanor McQuilkin’s poetry is informed by the death of her husband from Alzheimer's some years ago, but despite its moments of terrible grief, its most distinctive qualities are enormous joie de vivre and generosity of spirit. |
BOOK STATISTICS ISBN:
0-9662783-2-1 $13.00US per book
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KITE "But
will it handle easily?" How would she know, ankles thick above spike heels – "It's
what I fly myself," she murmured. And how could I not know |
SUKEBIND In summer dusk the groping green untidy hair of sukebind seems to find you – the quivering liver-color blossoms smell you – it crawls into the groin tangles with the blood this vine this nearly animal secreting the moist sweet scent of musk |
CHAUTAUQUA Sabbath summer there, Peace, Peace, the preacher speaks. But in the evening, magic sweeps the air: the hunting time of bats, deft and elfin bats harvesting the darkness – ancient grimace on a noble face. |
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