{"id":2205,"date":"2012-07-19T23:59:11","date_gmt":"2012-07-20T03:59:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/?p=2205"},"modified":"2017-03-21T13:31:58","modified_gmt":"2017-03-21T17:31:58","slug":"paula-bohince-pinot-noir","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/2012\/07\/19\/paula-bohince-pinot-noir\/","title":{"rendered":"Paula Bohince, “Pinot Noir”"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Paula
\nphoto: Patrick Mullen<\/font><\/p>\n

\n

Drinking deeply on the globe, waiting for blackness
\nto overtake romance completely,<\/p>\n

eyes roaming the faded amphitheater of woods, I breathe in
\npine pitch, admire columns of pines everlasting<\/p>\n

against the crumbling columns of the burned-down smokehouse,
\nits three steps leading up to nothingness<\/p>\n

but where grass still holds the essence of pig fat
\nand summer’s adrenaline. Now it’s a stage<\/p>\n

for the imagination: my father, seven, feeding his beagle
\nbeer, laughter of the uncles resounding through air<\/p>\n

as his pet topples over, lifting its leg to piss, exposing
\nits pink and hairless stomach, the child,<\/p>\n

at last, approved of, taken in their circle, laughter caught
\nin the ch-ch-ch-waah<\/i> of locusts.<\/font><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

The Children<\/i><\/a> is the second collection of Paula Bohince’s poems. “Milkweed<\/a>” and “Lenox Aubade<\/a>” appeared in Agni<\/i>; “Mother’s Quail<\/a>” was published in The New Yorker<\/i>. “Gypsy Moths, or Beloved<\/a>” appeared in Orion<\/i>, and “Entering the Ouse<\/a>” in Poetry<\/i>. You can hear her reading “Clothesline<\/a>” at Slate<\/i>.<\/p>\n

In the Pittsburgh City Paper<\/i>, which is where I found this conveniently already laid-out cover and headshot, Mike Schneider writes<\/a>, “This is not… Billy Collins, or many other contemporary poets, who generally keep the tone on the light side and the situations familiar. With Bohince, we are drawn into an interior network that at its best sets off Plath-like, compressed-energy depth charges of imagery, but that also can produce the uncomfortable feeling that the poem is a puzzle to solve.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

photo: Patrick Mullen Drinking deeply on the globe, waiting for blackness to overtake romance completely, eyes roaming the faded amphitheater of woods, I breathe in pine pitch, admire columns of pines everlasting against the crumbling columns of the burned-down smokehouse, its three steps leading up to nothingness but where grass still holds the essence of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2205"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2205"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2205\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4193,"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2205\/revisions\/4193"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2205"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2205"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2205"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}