Edna Meudt Poetry Book Award winner Marilyn Annucci worked on her book The Arrows That Choose Us for years. It went through various incarnations until she thought it was prize worthy. Here are her remarks followed by the two poems she read from her winning book at this year’s CWW Awards Banquet, held May 11 at The Wisconsin Club.
Thank you to the Council for Wisconsin Writers for the work involved in sponsoring these awards and for organizing this wonderful ceremony, and to Sean Thomas Dougherty for selecting my book for the Edna Meudt Poetry Book Award. I’m also grateful to Edna Meudt for her long life as a writer, storyteller and promoter of the arts. My book The Arrows That Choose Us was a long time coming—a great exercise in perseverance—before it won the 2018 Press 53 Poetry Award, selected by Tom Lombardo. It went through many incarnations over about 20 years. I cut a lot of poems, added others, and kept fiddling with the order. I have other manuscripts, but I just really wanted to get this one right. It’s an honor to be recognized for my work by the Council for Wisconsin Writers.
For more information on the book, including reviews of it and interviews/podcasts with Marilyn, go to www.marilynannucci.com
The Women of the Kazan Cathedral
St. Petersburg, Russia
Quick ancients in kerchiefs
move quietly as breath
among carousels of candles,
snuffing the slender tapers
like stumps of cigarillos,
tossing them into the tin pail.
If the inch of wax still holds prayer,
still possesses the pilgrim’s desire
to burn all the way down,
it doesn’t matter
these Mothers of Christ
say with their silence,
say with their refusal
to meet your eyes.
Another stub, another prayer
has burned long enough.
Whole Foods
are so much better than little bits, little chewed off
pieces of foods one might leave for a bird or a woman
without a home. Not whole, as in lacking parts: broccoli
without heads, potatoes missing eyes. Maimed foods.
Pork chops on their last legs. Tomatoes with their skins
blown off. Bread crumbs. The whole crumby world out
there, not in here. Whole, as in what more could you ask
for: bright organic peppers in the jet of the spritzer. Crisp
stalks of celery, fennel, white asparagus. Complete, as in
all of us together, smiling, restored, fully realized as we reach
for that tiramisu. Rich, as in not poor, not stuck with radiated
beef, milk, mutated chickens, as in not free, not free-range at all.