A chapbook of poems.
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More About the Author
John Estes directs the Creative Writing Program at Malone University in Canton, Ohio, where he lives with his wife and sons. His poems and prose have appeared in Tin House, New Orleans Review, Southern Review, Iron Horse, AGNI and other journals. In addition to the poetry collection Kingdom Come (C&R Press, 2011), he is author of two chapbooks: Breakfast with Blake at the Laocoön (Finishing Line Press, 2007) and Swerve (Poetry Society of America, 2009), which was chosen by C. K. Williams for a National Chapbook Fellowship. For more about his work, see: www.johnestes.org.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
The Image Becomes a Likeness,
This review is from: Breakfast with Blake at the Laocoon (Paperback)
The second poem in John Estes' fine collection "Breakfast with Blake at the Lacoon," entitled "Prayer in the Study of Art," includes these lines:
In your writing of icons, Where you in theory No longer exist; in the face, The image becomes a likeness And color and shape graft Us to forms worth following. I bought the collection because of those lines and that poem alone. But there was much more to come. Estes' poems evoke a sense of the literary and a sense of everyday reality. He ranges from Virgil to a one-armed, drunken grandfather, from the art of Brueghel to a divorced man at a family barbeque. My favorite in this collection is the poem entitled "The last rites of Pavel Florensky," a narrative of the death of the Russian theologian, inventor, philosopher and engineer in the Soviet Gulag in 1937. From that poem: Maybe while developing some intercepted samizdat, hovered around as purple vapors betrayed him - self-evident to his enemies even in ink, ink cloaked by an invisible hand - the troika damned him for those relatively obscure sentences on the physics of the kingdom of God, or for positing an icon recalls eternity where a poem recalls times or worse - for proving it with numbers. Legend says that Florensky was condemned for refusing to disclose the hiding place of the head of St. Sergii Radonezhsky. No proof for that, of course, but it makes a good story, and a truly fine poem, one of many in "Breakfast with Blake at the Lacoon."
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