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Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson

Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson

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Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson

Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson



Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson

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“Flutes and Tomatoes” by Wade Stevenson is a compelling story of survival, love and resilience in the face of loss. Filled with a crackling energy these poems describe self-discovery, worldly discovery, and the discovery of the mutability of time that shapes the world through the ever-distancing, ever expanding waves of disorder and randomness that are left behind after the death of a loved one. The howling emptiness of hunger runs through these poems like a river washing through a chasm. Stevenson invites us to look deeply into hunger, to take the empty spaces back so that we may find a gift of sorts in the beauty formed from music made upon the places where distress has made the foundations of grief into walls. Walls that are enclosing as equally as they are too feeble to hold out the noise of rain undisguised as tears. “How long would this state last? That was a question that had no answer and therefore it was never asked.” The writing is meticulous; each and every word is a celebration. Its sentiments are genuine using the tomato as a humble object to demonstrate the other as a personal story that wanders into an inspired song of longing. Drawing ideas and metaphors around the tomato that circulate as a way to free one’s mind of the ego and find the self within its red skin, within the redness of blood. Moving from the surreal to the very real tensions of love, sex and desire these poems are written with a sense of unfolding mystery, with voice that is sure in its tone. Both strong and vibrant these words play a crimson sound that seeks both release and containment. By the end of the book, there is peace that develops between the flute and the tomatoes, we see them all flowering – the tomato becomes a rose.

Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson

  • Amazon Sales Rank: #3789526 in Books
  • Published on: 2015-05-22
  • Original language: English
  • Number of items: 1
  • Dimensions: 7.87" h x .26" w x 5.12" l, .0 pounds
  • Binding: Paperback
  • 102 pages
Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson

Review "This book, a combination of engaging memoir and unusual poetry, proves that quirkiness doesn't preclude depth.The twin pole-stars of the work are simple objects - flutes and tomatoes - but its still life also includes a knife, a bottle of wine, and the interior of a small atelier in Paris.A paean to the tomato and a song of natural devotion. Readers should take a chance on this work."KIRKUS REVIEWS

About the Author Wade Stevenson was born in New York City in 1945. He is the author of several books of poetry, a memoir “One Time in Paris”, and a novel “The Electric Affinities”.


Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson

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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. A funny thing happened in an atelier in Paris... By p.j. lazos Flutes and Tomatoes, A Memoir With Poems by Wade Stevenson is not at all what I imagined it would be. Let me start with a confession: poetry confounds me. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the cadence, the sentiment, the succinct nature of the writing; it’s just that I don’t always understand it. Without a context, it could be a metaphor for anything which is exactly the commonality of human emotion the poet intentionally taps into, but for a reader like me who wants certainty, assuredness, a good clean ending, the myriad possibilities that poetry presents can be downright frightening. That’s why I love this hybrid memoir/poem combo platter by Wade Stevenson. There was no guessing as to what had happened to make the poet lock himself in a basement studio in Paris with a bunch of tomatoes and a flute because he tells us, straight off, that he’s in mourning, that his lover has quite unexpectedly died, that he’s not coming out of the basement until he discovers the meaning of it all, or alternatively, learns to live with it. Having been apprised of the situation from the offset, I could relax, free to roam the pages of Stevenson’s poems, spending as much or more time on each as I felt necessary to understand because I’d been released from the chore of deciphering the code. I already had the rudimentary understanding; the rest was pure — wait for it — poetry, and it was illuminating and lovely.I think poets, more than novelists, are the epitome of private people. Full disclosure is near impossible which is why they cloak everything in layers of metaphor. As with all good poetry, Flutes and Tomatoes is no exception. Stevenson keeps the details, crushing as they were, in the safety of his private zone. We have no idea, despite the broad brush of events, as to what actually happened in the atelier in Paris: how the lovers met, whether they were young or old, how long they were together, whether they spoke the same language or were perhaps the same sex, whether the trip to the countryside would have been the first or the last. All we know is that the flute and more than a dozen tomatoes remained, the flute maybe because Stevenson and his lover shared a flat. The tomatoes because, as he discloses, they were gathered/stolen from a farmer’s field on a trip that should have been but was/not.Judge for yourself what could possibly happen to you that would cause you to spend a day, a week, a month, perhaps an entire summer living a solitary existence, just you and an external object(s) of your choice. How devastating the shock? How debilitating the news? It’s unclear from the text how long Stevenson remained underground. Long enough for the tomatoes to rot, for grief to move in with its own baggage and take up excess floor space in his sparsely furnished apartment, for questions of the existential nature of reality — living as he was, at the time, in Europe, the birthplace of existentialism — to be answered, or go unanswered, for him to turn on a tomato or two, to watch them rot and fester and disintegrate into nothingness, to violently throw one against a wall, to embrace his own darkness and ultimately his own light. It’s not an existence for a cowardly heart, perhaps not even a tomato heart. In the end, only the experience remained, and the words, resonating with an emotion the color of tomato.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. and the cover beautifully rendered. I will say By Sandra FLuck Flutes and Tomatoes is a lovely book, and the cover beautifully rendered. I will say, without hyperbole, that I was captivated by the prologue: A man, living in a Parisian atelier, steals tomatoes from a farm in the Loire Valley, places them on a wooden table, and watches them over a period of days, weeks, as if in a still life. Thus begins an existential inquiry into the thingness of tomatoes to find the Real Real—the meaning of life and death after the tragic loss of his flute-playing loved one. I was following his journey closely, remembering some things about my own. I never inquired after tomatoes, but there were other inquiries along the way.

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. Life By Rosebud Book Reviews Wade says that he has reduced the need for material things to the strictest minimum. What is left? "Life!" And that is what we get here."No ideas but in things," William Carlos Williams wrote. Here they are in Flutes and Tomatoes.

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Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson
Flutes and Tomatoes: A Memoir with Poems, by Wade Stevenson

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