Reviews: "Airman" and "A Book of Luminous Things"

Work is keeping me busy, so it's been a while since I've posted anything, but I can't be kept away from reading and writing for long.

Airman
Eoin Colfer

Having read Colfer's entire "Artemis Fowl" series, I expected a similar style in these books. The truth is, Airman is very different novel, but one that I still thoroughly enjoyed.

The story follows Conor Broekhart, the son of the captain of the guard in the small kingdom of the Saltee Islands. Born in a hot-air balloon, from a young age he has an interest in flying and is able to be tutored by a dear friend of the king as he spends his time in the castle, falling in love with the princess at the same time. However, a tragedy occurs when the king and his tutor are killed and Conor is framed for their murders. He is transported to the prison island of Little Saltee depressed and without hope of escape. And yet, he cannot let go of his dream of flying and, years later, escapes. But will he turn turn his back on those who abandoned him in his time of need? Or will he right his name and save the kingdom from the ones who threaten it?

Some have called this book a "swashbuckling" novel, and I would agree. There's plenty of action and excitement and the books move at a quick pace. There are many interesting characters and the plot is engaging. My only complaint is that it almost moves too quickly - a part of me would have wished for less time skips and more time to get to know all these characters in depth. Instead of being told about the changes that happen in the characters, I wouldn't liked to see it more. The book is 400 pages or so, but it could have been longer.

That being said, I like the book enough for what it is that I care about the plot, the characters, and the moments left unwritten. If you enjoy a good adventure story with some romance and revenge, give this book a try. This book is children's literature, so if that's not your style, you might not enjoy it as much.

A Book of Luminous Things
Czeslaw Milosz

I was first introduced to poetry from this book when I took poetry classes at Savannah College of Art and Design. I enjoyed the poems and commentary so much that I kept the printed copies and stashed them in a poetry folder that I keep of poems that inspire me.

This book is an international poetry compilation by the famous polish poet Czeslaw Milosz. Above each poem, provides some commentary about his own insights into the poems. The poetry here is the type that's easy to get into - readable poetry. The messages or images are usually relatively clear. If I were to ever teach a poetry class, this would probably be a book I'd pull from often.

Although it says international, it isn't equally international - it definitely leans heavier on certain groups or poets than others. But I didn't care, it's still an excellent group of poetry and a collection I am happy to own. I am still inspired often by the poetry found inside these pages. What more can I ask for as a poet?

If you love poetry, read this book. That is all.

Poetry: Japanese Inspired Poetry

Meinohama Station

The stop between changing lines,
where the train escapes the subway
and comes to rest in the twilight,

I always wait here for the train home.
To the north, boats are mooring
and the harbor becomes calm.

On the other side, the city is still alive:
few cars sliding through, bicycles, but mostly
people walking. That is how it is.

Here, tracks reflect the sinking sun:
an overripe peach, falling from a blue tree,
juice beginning to color the night.

The rails are burning. A Ferris-Wheel gyres.
Like a child finally growing up,
who didn’t realize what he would leave behind,

like a captain who has a voyage to make
and a family at home without him,
I want to stay, but I have to go.

I see the sea beside this way, so close
I could touch it. But the train comes too soon.

I am caught between precious things.

---------

A Japanese October 

A road home, this October,

this one evening, one girl trapezes

the sidewalk across the street

wandering through

the damp leftover rain,

specked with yellow leaves,

and a scent of lavender

knit into the wind.

Hearing her footsteps, I notice

the woolen tam she wears,

cranberry red,

with a pumpkin-coloured shawl

covering her shoulders.

A pretty girl even at a distance.

And closer, a girl I knew

once at camp as a child, a regret

forgotten because I couldn’t find

the words to talk with her

and I might as well be in Japan

again, for how silent I am

like cold clouds caught on a mountain

beside a road where I lived and strolled

beside a different girl while she walked

her bike home beside us.

I hadn’t yet learned how to say

the word “beautiful.”

Back then, words stuck

in the sounds of spokes

and the scuff of shoes.

There were warm words hiding

between her broken English

and her tongue. I only listened

and stepped over words like puddles.

There were wet red leaves like hearts

falling there that October as here,

noticing only afterwards

the glowing words beneath a lamp

waiting for me like an old friend,

because I was watching her colors

float past on a line of light,

my mouth tight, my feet heavy,

my hands wrapped up

in the silence of pockets.

--------

Peach Tree Sky

“I buy a peach at the fruit store.”

“I eat a peach, therefore I am happy.”

I practiced these simple sentences,

trying to learn the Japanese structure.

But some things are easier seen than spoken.

Coming home on a foreign subway train,

we emerged from the ground

like earthworms after rain

under the departing clouds.

To the south, beyond the rice fields,

webbed strands of mist clung to the mountains:

children crying to their fathers

at the end of one more day.

A stranger beside me was crying too,

though I knew neither language nor custom to comfort him.

I looked away into the west to find a sunset:

a peach tree sky I wished he could see.

How delicious it would be for us

to notice gray clouds shaped into thin branches,

and the sun descending like the day’s fruit.

Who knew? This peach cannot be bought,

but it can be found in unexpected places.

--------

My experience in Japan had a profound experience on me. It was fall of '07 when I went there, a high-school graduate, but not yet a mature adult. I definitely grew up a lot there and I would gladly go back. 

The first poem here talks about a station that I stopped at every day to and from the school I went to there. As the poem states, it was the stop between lines and so I had lots of time there to look around and wait.

The second poem shares both an experience in Japan and one from last October where I saw a girl who I had once known in Minnesota at my Japanese immersion camp. I'm convinced it was her, but, in the end, did nothing about it and never saw her again.

The final poem is another experience on the light-rail in Japan as well as an insight into the struggle to communicate.

Enjoy!