Location of publisher obtained from publisher website. Poems.
Contents:
Machine generated contents note: My Daughter Gathers Rocks Wherever She Goes. Landscape with Primary Colors -- The Morning Air Is All Awash with Angels -- Late Night, Walking Home -- Morning Begins with Dark -- Skies Clearing -- Like Dreams, Seasons Passing -- On the Twelfth Day of Christmas -- Ice on a Dirt Road -- In the Months after His Death You Move through Moments Like a Mountain -- Of the Pine-trees Crusted with Snow -- And Mourners To and Fro Kept Treading -- I Grieve That Grief Can Teach Me Nothing -- In April -- Record Flooding as Metaphor for Grief -- Almanac -- Spring Cleanup -- April Fools -- Sonnet about Trees, Sort Of -- Lines Written in Early Spring -- Complaint in Springtime -- April: Beside Lucy Brook -- The Insomniac at the Full Moon -- It Doesn't Show Signs of Stopping -- Everything Comes, It Seems, Like This -- To My Child Before She Arrives -- Winter's Come and Gone -- After Hearing Cinderella's 1988 Hit "Don't Know What You Got (Till It's Gone)" I Wait by the Window -- To My Daughter Who Struggles to Sleep through the Night -- One to Another -- Blue Hills, Early December -- Watson and the Shark -- Solstice -- In Summer the Song Sings Itself -- Three-Year-Old Makes the Visiting Poet's Portrait -- Watch the River Flow -- April: Beside Pawtucket Gatehouse -- The City I Come From Responds -- Prayer for Something Like a Home -- A Note to the Neighbor on the Corner -- No Small Comfort -- For My Love -- Thorndike Street -- Neighborhood Ode -- Raven to a Traveler Lost in the Woods -- My Daughter Gathers Rocks Wherever She Goes.
Summary:
"In No Small Comfort we find America's interiors and exteriors, the homes and landscapes messy, chaotic in a way that any of us might recognize. And yet these scenes are imbued with a kind of peaceful acceptance, as well, even as the ground drops out from beneath our feet in these lines and "fog / becomes an essay / on gravity and fate / whose claims won't hold up." Some poems we go to for comfort, others to be shaken awake. In Simoneau's new book of quiet lyrics, we find the kind that mark the minutes we hold our breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Semblance, similitude, synchronicity: / everything comes together until what / happens is nothing special, nothing new." That's certainly not true here, where Simoneau does what every good poet knows in their bones--he's made us see it new. --Keetje Kuipers" --cover page [4].
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