Open Wide, the Eye; Poems

By Susan Dworski Nusbaum

Moments of attentiveness illuminate our world, interrupting the rush of time to make each flash a revelation. Stopping to see what we may not have noticed, to listen, to feel, to remember past sensations, deepens our insights. This collection of poems examines the art of seeing with all the senses, unveiling the essential realities hidden in common objects and experiences. The attraction of rabbit to ripening pear, the crunch of shells on the beach, connections with strangers, with our families and places from the past, with a fresco, a wood engraving, a Bach oratorio... these small epiphanies are “the lingering strands of light...that bind each morning to the next.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coffeetown Press
• Release date: May 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781603819886

Susan Dworski Nusbaum

Born in Rochester, NY, Susan Dworski Nusbaum received her BA from Smith College and her law degree from the University of Buffalo Law School. She lives in Buffalo, N.Y., where she has worked as a teacher, arts administrator, and most recently as a criminal prosecutor. She has been a frequent participant in the Chautauqua Institution Writers’ Festival and Chautauqua Writers’ Center poetry workshops, and has served on the Board of the Chautauqua Literary Arts Friends. Her work has appeared in numerous publications, including The Connecticut Review, Poetry East, Nimrod International Journal, Chautauqua Literary Journal, Chautauqua, Harpur Palate, Wisconsin Review, The Sow’s Ear, Earth’s Daughters, Artvoice, and The Buffalo News. Her manuscript, What We Take With Us was a finalist in the 2014 Brittingham/Pollack Prize Competition, University of Wisconsin Press.

Book preview

Open Wide, the Eye

Poems

Susan Dworski Nusbaum

Smashwords Edition

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Coffeetown Press

PO Box 70515

Seattle, WA 98127

For more information go to: www.coffeetownpress.com

www.susandworskinusbaum.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

The Rilke quote in the epigraph of Shifter of Shapes is used by permission from

The Man Watching, Rainer Maria Rilke/Robert Bly, 1981, HarperCollins Publishers

Under the title of the poem Fragments:

Arthur Sze, excerpt from Comet Hayakutake from Compass Rose, Copyright © 2014 by Arthur Sze. Reprinted with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc., on behalf of Copper Canyon Press, www.coppercanyonpress.org.

Cover Image: …a painted sky, mixed media collage on Arches, by Terri Katz Kasimov

Cover Design: Sabrina Sun

Open Wide, the Eye

Copyright © 2016 by Susan Dworski Nusbaum

978-1-60381-987-9 (Trade Paper)

978-1-60381-988-6 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016934324

Produced in the United States of America

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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The following poems have also appeared in the publications listed below:

Earth’s Daughters:

Multitudes

Cell Phone

A Celebration of Western New York Poets:

Star Music

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For Patty Chadwick, my sister.

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I am grateful for the guidance, encouragement and friendship of Patricia Averbach, Ansie Baird, Ann Goldsmith, Phyllis Hatfield, my mentors at the Chautauqua Writers’ Center, and, as always, for the inspiration of my children and grandchildren.

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1.

…light struck.

Aperture

As the slit on the horizon clicks open,

morning pours in to fill the space,

sweeps into the impatient day

swelling it with sunlight diffused

across the broad angles

of red rooftops on Chapin Parkway,

images rising on silvery paper

slowly burning-in at the edges,

every view awash with shiny

particles spilling into corners,

even in dark places,

like the neighbors’ littered porch,

or the shadowy shrubbery on Gates Circle,

greening into the foreground.

As the world opens, the air

begins to tremble, hovering

over the man picking a half-eaten burger

from the Dumpster, the woman

crossing to the other side of the street

to avoid his eyes. It clings

to the blurred contours of children’s faces,

apparitions immersed