And Yet

Secrets and treasures abound in Rita Coleman’s poetry book, And Yet. A seamless interweaving of nature–creeks that talk, birds that bestow feathers of hope--and humanness–children who don’t listen, a married couple that becomes the sea–offers a world of imagining. If paintings can step outside their frames, then trees can issue invitations to a party. If a Tarot card can come to life, a condor can guide you to an ancient, holy city. As readers meander through locations not of this world as well as places found on this earth, they will find their imaginations loosened from the stricture of logic and reality. Coleman’s poetry invites the discovery of pathways once hidden in shadows. And Yet is both a single journey and a series of epiphanies. Light-filled “aha’s” percolate on its pages. Coleman offers a new way of thinking that dips into ancient mysteries and soars beyond sight, that travels in theory and lives in the unseen, that wafts on a river and joins the spirit of the mountains. In this, as in her first book of poetry, Mystic Connections, Coleman creates free verse poems. She crafts them with the eye of a visual artist, conscious of how they will look on the page. (She is a photographer and a former graphic artist.) A signature technique in most of her poetry is the punch or question or revelation in the last few lines. This surprise is never anticipated. In the title poem, And Yet, Coleman writes of a possibility, of a beginning, maybe ours, maybe a long-lost civilization, maybe one to come. From the darkness emerge beings that have never existed before. While drums beat, they join together in villages. As thinking evolves, these people look to the sky, the earth, and the water to teach them virtues. Mothers and frightened children, the most vulnerable, find feathers of hope–scarlet, azure, iridescent. With renewed spirits, all find that “when forgiveness is served” it releases “knots of fury.” In a cave in which paintings are highlighted by a flickering fire, everyone sits in a circle, the air fragrant and soothing. The question arises: “What does “and yet” mean?” Might it mean that despite pain, there is healing, and even thriving? Or could it be that no matter what one experiences, there is always the next moment? Granted, these are possibilities and speculations. Both may be correct. Or both may be incorrect. There is always the chance that only the heart of the poem knows the meaning and that anything else is only a subjective premise. Despite this unanswerable question, And Yet, leads the reader across a terrain that is new and unexpected. Coleman’s poetry provokes thought as well as compassion. In “Where Air Grows,” the reader is led past “tiny prisons of the mind” to the key of freedom. “This Fabric Called Grandmother” reveals the Ancient One who weaves grandmothers’ spirits into being. “Ending, Beginning” speaks of the sweet release of death while “Just Shifted” addresses those left behind. The collection And Yet offers the best in free-verse poetry today. Rita Coleman’s poems are evocative and fresh, insightful and light-filled. Read them as a guide. Read them as a journey. Explore a wide range of thought that unspools beyond speculation into wonder. Readers, prepare to be dazzled, moved, and soothed by And Yet.