by Laurie Blauner

ISBN 9781934999264

Available from:
WordTech Communications LLC
(Cherry Grove Editions)






Praise for Wrong

“While many poets have chronicled devastating loss, Laurie Blauner’s newest collection may risk more in confronting grief’s most ubiquitous form—a sudden awakening to the decay of love. Too often, love is throwing “an impossible kite into the perfect sky”; it’s “trying to pass these plates off as real china.” After the crash of the breakage we’re all left wondering what went wrong. Honest and emotive, Blauner draws on a deft sense of image and juxtaposition to examine each jagged shard, to trace each crack back to its unsettling source. This familiar experience brings with it new lessons in human fragility and perseverance. Wrong is a collection with heart—being put back together.” —Timothy Green, Editor, RATTLE


”With two novels and five books of poetry under her belt, there's no denying that Laurie Blauner knows how to write. Wrong is yet another anthology of poetry, channeling her experiences in day to day life and analyzing the little things in life. Wrong is the work of a master of prose and verse, recommended reading. All Talk: My apology is a ghostly accident.//Words slipping out remind me of a moon on an unlikely sea.//See what you want,/but what's heard is a wet confession.//I didn't do what you think I did.//Your body a pale, perforated landscape/that expects so little.//I did something different. I//slid past bad weather, collided,// trees with their sad rustling was one example.//I don't know what else to do.//Intention is a lonely leaf/that happens and happens.”
Midwest Book Review, December 7th 2008

Sample poem from Wrong

Another Conversion in These Times of Extreme Emptiness

Nothing came out of my body succinctly.
The bird reminded me of something else,
a wedding dress gone wild, flying in air.

For they continued to bring me back. My family,
that is. To the site of the injury, that kept the accident
quiet. Leaves have grown over, split into two or

more, rising toward sky. I toasted stars,
offered to marry glass. Two lights snapped on,
and their metal moved right through me.

Soon I'll be weightless, having discarded my major
organs, donated blood and skin. A makeshift body
leaned against a yellow chair in my kitchen,

refusing all the latest propositions. For I have sown
my wild oats. I lied, told him that I would
keep in touch. But too much is frenzied,

doesn't stay put. My family believed that they
did the right thing. My wingspan is enormous. Moon
is restless, stars spewing out helter-skelter.

I can't ignore its terrible pull. There's too much
space between calamity and trees. I don't miss
my minor body parts, an ear, or that

silly part of the brain that says yes or no.
My husband didn't mean it. Death recollected our vows.
My thoughts fly around now, try harder.

Copyright © 2008 Laurie Blauner, all rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction by any means strictly prohibited.