Faye George
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Faye George has published poetry in some of the most highly regarded national and international literary journals, including The Paris Review and Poetry, and Poetry’s commemorative collection The Poetry Anthology 1912-2002, selected from 90 years of that distinguished magazine.  Her poems have appeared in numerous periodicals: Amicus, The Journal, The Midwest Quarterly, Poet Lore, Sanctuary, and Yankee among them; and in such anthologies as Pomegranate Seeds: An Anthology of Greek-American Poetry; Poetry To Make You Smile, 100 poems selected from over 250 years of British and American verse; The Four Way Reader #2; Orpheus and Company: Contemporary Poems on Greek Mythology; Poetry Comes Up Where It Can; Anthology of Magazine Verse & Yearbook of American Poetry, 1980.  Her work has been profiled in The Boston Globe, The Providence Journal’s “Laureate’s Choice,” and by Poetry Daily, the online magazine, and included in their print anthology; also online by the Endicott Journal for Mythic Arts, and The Cultural Society

She has published three poetry collections: the latest is Marchenhaft, like a fairy tale (Earthwinds Editons, 2008), Back Roads (Rock Village Publishing, 2003), and A Wound On Stone (2001 winner of the Perugia Press Prize).  Her chapbooks Naming the Place: The Weymouth Poems and Only The Words appeared in 1996 and 1995.  George is a recipient of the Arizona Poetry Society’s Memorial Award, the New England Poetry Club’s Gretchen Warren Award and Erika Mumford Prize.  She lives in Bridgewater, Massachusetts. 


Said of her work:

“The images are so clear and fresh that they electrify you.”
—F.D. Reeve, Poetry

“She uses the personal and sometimes ephemeral experience to explore the eternal, often with delightful flashes of wit. . . . The effect is luminous.”
—Jean Burden, Poetry editor at Yankee, 1955-2002

“These are the poems of a true New Englander; everything inessential has been pared away to reveal the underlying structure of hope and despair that holds the world together.”
—Phil Tabakow, Bridgewater Review


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ONLY THE WORDS

No one cares:

not the professor
of rhetoric
bored by all
but his own experience;

not the editor
who, in at least
two languages,
has heard it all;

not even
your good friend
who does her best
to listen;

only the words--
the words that rise
from their accustomed tasks
to lead you

deliberately
through ferns
and phonemes
into the woods,

where you must dig
for roots,
fish from the deepest part
of the stream.

MERMAIDS DO NOT SING

    
Mermaids do not sing,
they are voiceless;

neither speak nor cry.
Mute as the moon

trailing its oiled hair
over the waters,

they regard you at a distance,
love with tearless eyes,

their long bodies
sheathed in a question.


DRAGONS

Dragons?
   I'll tell you about dragons--
the great worm
   that curls in the heart
devouring love;
   beautiful and terrible,
helpless as a kiss.

Sheathed
   in the layers of your imaginings
they take on life:
   the sulfurous breath
of the burked wish.

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