Ceremony for the Choking Ghost: Poems by Karen Finneyfrock by Karen FinneyfrockCeremony for the Choking Ghost: Poems by Karen Finneyfrock by Karen Finneyfrock

Ceremony for the Choking Ghost: Poems by Karen Finneyfrock

byKaren Finneyfrock

Paperback | March 1, 2010

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After losing her sister to heart failure, Karen Finneyfrock was unable to write poems for three years. Her voice came back, whispering at first, then screaming. Ceremony for the Choking Ghost contains the sound of that voice returning, bringing poems about grief and its effect on the body, the body politic, memory and, of course, poems about love. From the intensely personal, "How My Family Grieved,” to the political, "What Lot's Wife Would Have Said (If She Wasn't a Pillar of Salt),” Finneyfrock engages the reader with the chiseled images of a precise storyteller.
Title:Ceremony for the Choking Ghost: Poems by Karen FinneyfrockFormat:PaperbackDimensions:82 pages, 8.5 × 5.5 × 0.25 inPublished:March 1, 2010Publisher:Write Bloody PublishingLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0984251545

ISBN - 13:9780984251544

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Read from the Book

WHAT LOT'S WIFE WOULD HAVE SAID(IF SHE WASN'T A PILLAR OF SALT)Do you remember when we metin Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeingyou, when we were young, and blushed with youthlike bruised fruit. Did we care thenwhat our neighbors didin the dark?When our first daughter was bornon the River Jordan, when our secondcracked her pink head from my bodylike a promise, did we worrywhat our friends might bedoing with their tongues?What new crevices they foundto lick love into or strange fleshto push pleasure from, when wecalled them Sodomites then,all we meant by itwas neighbor.When the angels told us to runfrom the city, I went with you,but even the angels knewthat women always look back.Let me describe for you, Lot,what your city looked like burningsince you never turned around to see it.Sulfur ran its sticky fingers over the skinof our countrymen. It smelled like burning hairand rancid eggs. I watched as our friends pulledchunks of brimstone from their faces. Is any formof loving this indecent?Cover your eyes tight,husband, until you see stars, convinceyourself you are looking at Heaven.Because any man weak enough to hide his eyes while his neighborsare punished for the way they love deserves a vengeful god.I would say these things to you now, Lot, but an ocean has dried itself on my tongue.So instead I will stand here, while my body blows itselfgrain by grain back over the Land of Canaan.I will stand hereand I will watch yourun.

Editorial Reviews

...Finneyfrock's poems, then, are Shields's perfect novels: a shelf full of long, elaborate, heartfelt books that have been whittled down to their bare, sharp skeletons. -Paul Constant, editor "The Stranger”