Parking Lot Poems
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"Even before I read the first poem, the title of Carolyn's new collection had me thinking about Joni Mitchell's Big Yellow Taxi, paving paradise for a parking lot. Like in the song, we often don't know what we have 'til it's gone; she speaks to that loss, inviting you to ditch your car altogether and spend the evening in reflection. I read these poems as expressions of both grief and gratitude with line breaks serving as both stabs and salves. From Traces (we have all lived in hell awhile) to Pigeons (If someone anywhere somewhere/believes in you/makes all the difference) to Everywhere (we can...
"Even before I read the first poem, the title of Carolyn's new collection had me thinking about Joni Mitchell's Big Yellow Taxi, paving paradise for a parking lot. Like in the song, we often don't know what we have 'til it's gone; she speaks to that loss, inviting you to ditch your car altogether and spend the evening in reflection. I read these poems as expressions of both grief and gratitude with line breaks serving as both stabs and salves. From Traces (we have all lived in hell awhile) to Pigeons (If someone anywhere somewhere/believes in you/makes all the difference) to Everywhere (we can be kind/we can be good), you will recognize your humanity here." -Julie Miller, MLS Of course it's a cliche to say "never judge a book by its cover". Less of a cliche is to judge a poetry book by its titles - in C. Leigh Srygley's case, brittle letters come together to fuse as reified statements of intent, reflecting someone who understands that life is more than "just" for living. Delving into her work, we see exactly what makes her such a powerful and fascinating writer; statements like "simple smoke signals/erupt from sidewalks" bring Frank O'Hara and early 60s hard-bop jazz to mind, while Srygley's musing on that skinny kid from Minnesota - "Dylan's Harmonica", (which happens to be my favourite piece on this collection) captures the early dustbowl hunger of Zimmy, but equally and perhaps subconsciously, aligning with his mysterious dusk-walking 1997 persona. When Ms. Srygley tells us on "Whispers in the Whiskey" that "I'm only the fragile edge/of what a being is/watching snowflakes thud", we come to realise that the thin line between desire and experience is something a good poet should always stretch to snapping point; C. Leigh Srygley is capable of doing this with her eyes closed and her soul wide open - or, in short, she's a magnificent poet. Read "Parking Lot Poems" and see the invisible alphabets of the world come alive. -John Doyle, author of "A Word in Your Fear"
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