Ana C.H. Silva
Lines in the woods
Poems can gather up our expenences: of world politics, of local history, of our own personal loves, offering us a startling refraction that casts back to us our unexpected inner wisdoms and realities. These poems are my response to world worry; to what I read of the history of the Snyder Estate: the cement, nuclear shelters and mushrooms produced on this spot; they are a response to my love of my husband Josh; and also to the sounds of words that emerged or were supplied. Like so much in life, these different knowledges intermix, become something untrodden and unseasoned, until at some point, it feels old or ancient again. My materials, reflecting thoughts of the eotechnic, are located somewhere between the hand-wrought and the more automated, rushed, engulfing technologies; the muslin and stamps, associated with the hand-made but themselves manufactured, the hand-formed "Rosendale" natural cement, which now ships from Connecucut, the weather-resistant (but not completely weather proof) ink.