A Book of Cinquains

By Andrew Mangravite and Carolee Karpell

The cinquain is a five-line twenty-two syllable verse form created by Adelaide Crapsey in response to the tanka and haiku forms which were then coming into vogue among English-language poets. Because it is a western form, the cinquain is more expansive and rhetorical. It lends itself to a variety of uses. A Book of Cinquains contains poems that are descriptive, humorous, meditative and dramatic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493187997

Andrew Mangravite

Andrew Mangravite has published translations from Saint-Pol-Roux and other French Symbolist writers. He has also written extensively on film and fine art. A Book of Cinquains is a collection of his original poems. He currently resides in suburban Philadelphia and works as an archivist.

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Copyright © 2014 by Andrew Mangravite.

Illustrations copyright 2014 by Carolee Karpell

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014905424

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4931-8798-0

                 Softcover        978-1-4931-8797-3

                eBook              978-1-4931-8799-7

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 by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 05/08/2014

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615624

Curtain

rung down; flutter

of a lady fanning,

that quickly in the empty streets

it’s night.

A sea,

her unbound hair

will wash the iris so

tenderly, sailors might cherish

that shore.

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The breeze

in gentle waves

harmonized these things:

the odors of the soil, the cries

of birds.

04/18/76.

Sometimes

a passing breeze

will outline the body

to make one’s brain become aware:

I am.

07/31/76.

Cut roses,

petals and leaves,

delicate tissue all,

but in their color and shape, exact,

gem-like.

08/22/76.

Raining;

I recall her

jumping over puddles;

she was barefooted, I always

wore shoes.

08/26/76.

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To die,

must be a leaf

falling into blackness

of stream, or swirling in a wind

so high… .

10/22/76.

Summer

comes to meadows

all the green things groan in

pained erection; insects shriek

colors.

10/30/76.

Sure foot

autumn winds stalk

through streets and empty parks

even lovers have fled these places—

fair game.

12/28/76.

Palm tree

fronds rustle breezes,

women with long fingers

lost in admiration, reaching

to touch.

(eye)%20pg%207%20bottom%20poem%20(sunset)%20pg%2012%20top%20poem.jpeg

Sunset

incarnadines

barren winter forests;

O let the coldness in my heart

now melt.

Snapping,

the brittle ice

of the cicada’s cry

gone, now this summer night begins

to thaw.

Hungry

November’s winds

cry out to eat the earth,

a poor fare: dusty fields, bare trees,

and stones.

She is

of the river,

and