It is with great excitement that we announce our first full-length poetry publication: Avalon by Richard Jones! Scheduled for release in June, you can pre-order Avalon here. The author of sixteen previous books, including Stranger on Earth, Apropos of Nothing, and The Blessing, Jones is also the award-winning editor of Poetry East. A frequent contributor to Under a Warm Green Linden, you can read his poems in Issue 1, 2, 3, 4, and 7. In keeping with his style of lucid observation and humble self-reflection, Avalon invites readers into a world where the mundane and the spiritual intersect.
Praise for Avalon
Richard Jones’s new poems typically start out on common ground, but after only a few lines, a seemingly effortless shift occurs that transports his reader into magical realms of the spirit and imagination, some serene, others sorrowful. Jones is a poet who not only knows that the world around us is full of secret gates but has a key that fits every one he tries. Rarely in poetry has clarity served as a springboard into such stunning, sweetly rendered, and utterly believable fantasies. Avalon had me locked in; I could hardly wait to get to the next poem.
—Billy Collins
Tomas Transtromer once wrote “I am not empty, I am open,” a distinction these visionary inquiries called poems also make with luminous results. Not since Rilke have poems made me this certain that, if anything can, art will mend the world. Whether he is traveling by foot, like Basho, another pilgrim, or exploring the metaphoric landscape of the soul, Richard Jones is our guide to “the true things that last forever.”
—Connie Wanek
From Avalon
Still Life
I keep returning to the unfinished painting
dry on the easel, a still life
of yellow apples and a blue pitcher.
In the quiet of my sunny room
I’m free to walk around,
to observe the canvas from near and far
in differing aspects of light.
I close my eyes for a time,
trying to clear my vision.
I stand to the left, the “gospel side,”
as the hour passes and the room grows dim.
In the flickering light of candles,
the painting grows more mysterious than ever,
and I more shadowed and unseeing.
Many days I work like this,
never once mixing paints, never lifting a brush.
