Have been up in mountains as of late, and offline as can be (only method of communication was to pass messages on through crows circling overhead). Back down once again in valleys and alleys, to paraphrase turnpike troubadour Johnny Flynn, and with the following to report:
Cedar is on its way to the printing house next week. Way back in the bonny springtime I had anticipated finishing the book in late summer, and printing it at the end of September. Well, Cedar is a bit longer now than it was then (96 pages in the end), and I’ve been working on a handful of new poems up until this past week. Now we are ready to bicycle over to the Zabłocie printing house (a bridge and a river away), and to see this edition, at last, into paper-cut existence.
Which is to say, Cedar will be on its way to you in late October. Truth be told, this makes me glad. Cedar is seasonally ambiguous at times; in one diorama, for example, summer (foreground, Tomboy in the outdoor shower) and winter (background, and there goes a cross-country skier) overlap. But Cedar is essentially autumnal. It is the creak of cold floorboard beneath a rocker’s hooves, or else the backlit mandibular arch of a carved pumpkin.
Cedar will be published here in Europe on November 15; signed backer-bound copies will be in the post before the end of October. And this all makes sense to me. The cracking of Cedar’s spine was, I think, always meant to coincide with last corn, first shiver, the lighting of cemetery candles, and the rallying cry of the crows.
Below, from top to bottom: summer string Tomboy bracelet, Wolf Eats Plum bracelet, winter string bracelet, sandy Tomboy prairie mitts, and stone prairie mitts.