Kerry Dancers (e-book) (used book) | Curt G Curtin | bookbook.eu

Description

You don't need to be Irish to enjoy Kerry Dancers, a new collection of poems by Curt Curtin. While he goes full Old World Hibernian in some of these pieces, most are closer to the poet's Boston origins and upbringing: poems about Ma and Da as well as his brothers and sisters. There is also the irrepressible Katie, subject of a poem about her own wake and a wry but respectful critic of the poet's work: "what does he mean? / and does he expect an answer?" Probably not. Like other first-rate poets, Curtin seeks less to solve than to stimulate, which he does with an engaging lilt that contributes to the general accessibility of these pieces. At the same time, he can go deeper and get more challenging when the topic requires. These Dancers can both stand up and move gracefully to different tunes.

Barry Adams, Professor Emeritus, Department of English, Cornell University

Curtin's Kerry Dancers steps into and out of family memory, "picking at scabs / so the blood comes through, shared" ("Family"). Through internal rhyme, similes, and his masterly control of language, Curtin balances lyric with everyday speech and "bends remembrance to love" ("Da"). Love is a heartbeat keeping time throughout the book. We, as readers, feel that bond, want to be caught in the ballad, the hornpipe, the reel-want to be pulled into the dance.

Susan Roney-O'Brien, educator and poet; author of Thira, Bone Circle, and several other poetry collections

With poems exquisitely-crafted and a bit of an Irish lilt, Curt Curtin's Kerry Dancers transports us back to his childhood in South Boston during the early part of the last century. Like a necromancer in verse, he resurrects Ma, Da, Aunt Nora McGonagle, Katie, and other members and friends of the family (characters as fully-fleshed as in any novel), with such affection and loving detail, we feel this family is our very own. And we can't help but experience a twinge of genuine homesickness for this place, and its people, by the time we turn the last page.

Paul Szlosek, poet; author of The Farmer's Son