All The Stars Are Snowflakes is an inspirational, thought-provoking poetry book with poems featuring such topics as the total stillness and quiet of a snowfall, the impish antics of a busy squirrel, and always, the glory of God.<br><br>Fr. Ralph Wright, who is a poet of great distinction, pens works that reflect his knowledge of and respect for the masters. His images are both beautiful and startling; his metaphors perceptive, his use of rhyme natural.<br><br>His expertise lies in the unity of word and idea that is the essence of poetry. All the Stars are Snowflakes is one of eight books of verse. The poetry of All the Stars is never obscure but nevertheless demands that we return, again and again, to delight in and savor both words and subtle meanings.<br><br>All the Stars are Snowflakes offers a soothing escape from the pressures and turmoil of every day life.
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Father Ralph Wright. All The Stars Are Snowflakes
ALL THE STARS ARE SNOWFLAKES
POEMS
MEANING
YOU DIDN’T NEED TO
WHITEOUT
THE WHALE
SNOWBECALMED
IN MEMORY OF GEORGE
PARIS MOOD AUGUST '87
WAY BEYOND OUR VISION
LET THE CLOUDS RAIN DOWN THE JUST ONE
DOC — a memory
IF WE LOOK
I DISBELIEVE
THE WAY
MICHAELANGELO’S LAST JUDGEMENT
IMPISH AND GREY
FANCY
COMA
ST LOUIS. FREEZING RAIN. POSTLUDE
I CANNOT PAINT
STEPHEN
VOWED
PARTING
THERE IS A SADNESS DEAR TO GOD
‘AS YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER’
A NEW TERROR
SCOTTIE’S WAKE
PANPIPES
IF
THE LORD IS MY SOCIAL SECRETARY
IT’S SNOWING SLOWLY
DESERT STORM — EPILOGUE
O DEUS ABSCONDITUS
MY ELUSIVE WHO
YOU ARE SO EVERYWHERE
DOGMA
THE FINAL HINT
IT’S DANGEROUS TO BE ME
THE KING
EYE HAS NOT SEEN
APHATIC
COPYRIGHTING
A QUIET MAGIC
“I HAVE COME TO SPREAD FIRE ON THE EARTH AND HOW I WISH IT WERE BLAZING ALREADY.”
IN PLAIN CLOTHES
MAYBE GOD SAVORS TIME
IN MEMORY OF GRAHAM
THE ARTIST
UNTITLED
Отрывок из книги
In an interview of Joseph Brodsky by Jim Forest (“Commonweal,” 22 May 1992:7), the Russian poet stated “A poet is like a bird. He chirps no matter what twig he lands on— and mistakes the rustle of leaves for applause.”
The Benedictine poet Ralph Wright has landed on a number of twigs and his chirping deserves our listening and applause. He sings of snowflakes that populate our galaxies, of a neurotic squirrel whose claim to innocence is never successful, of Desert Storm and the wind’s ritual of reburial, of God as a social secretary who delights in surprises, of a flu bug’s encroachment on one’s ego, of icicles carrying one from St Louis to Palestine, of a coma patient held mercilessly from a compassionate God. ‘Tis a many branched tree with many fine songs.
