About Gail Gauldin Moore’s book, Nancy of the Silences, Marjorie Power has written, “[It] is one of the most centering books I have read in a long time. These poems evoke paradox at its best: they are written with a harrowing awareness of pain, betrayal, and abandonment, yet their truthfulness, combined with the absence of self pity, brings comfort and peace. They leave this reader feeling very quiet, which makes it difficult to review the book. Moore experiences the world through her five senses, moment by moment, so that the reader is pulled - gently, precisely, and absolutely - into her space. The pain she expresses somehow works in the service of nurturing the reader.”
And I can attest to the nurturing qualities of Gail’s poems as well as Gail as a person. It is a joy to be in workshops with her, to hear her heartfelt and honest poems and her heartfelt and honest critiquing. She left us for a long time, but luckily she is back for the time being, maybe even to stay. She writes and reads with passionate and dreamy conviction. Listening to her, we know we’re in a world as far away from banks and boardrooms and brokerage firms as it is possible on this earth to be. Gail’s poems are a respite from all that: they’re like a dream tour through the gardens of a French chateau, an ethereal journey that hovers just above the tawdry emptiness, or maybe the intensity, of the trailer park, the transient hotel or the “correctional facility.” And in this journey, the reader/listener always remains in good hands.
Daughter
Of The Rain # Two
I visit her in spring
with its dolled-up haughty look.
I visit her in her open house with it open seams.
Once the light was low
and a trespasser prowled about the sanctuary
where birth and death both lived.
Afterward, she would open then close.
Summer spiked dark leaves in her golden hair.
I visit her in spring
where a random eye watches and waits.
I visit her in spring
with its dolled-up haughty look.
I visit her in her open house with it open seams.
Once the light was low
and a trespasser prowled about the sanctuary
where birth and death both lived.
Afterward, she would open then close.
Summer spiked dark leaves in her golden hair.
I visit her in spring
where a random eye watches and waits.
© 2016 Gail
Gauldin Moore
Gail Gauldin Moore was a Featured Poet at the May 2016 Second Sunday Poetry Series
Gail Gauldin Moore was a Featured Poet at the May 2016 Second Sunday Poetry Series