Books

This is a novel I spent many years mulling over. It's light and frivolous, not at all like my poetry. 

What happens when Eugene Revell, a middle-aged finance journalist whose one and only novel was a spectacular flop, loses his job and hits a mid-life crisis? And what happens when he attempts to hide his failures from his high-flying daughter? 

The Big E is a hilarious comedy of errors that befall the unfortunate Revell at every turn as his past catches up with him and his future threatens to derail his life. So much is at stake, not least his dubious relationship with a much younger woman and his clandestine involvement with his daughter's fiancé. There's also the small matter of reviving his novel, and that Great Work's serendipitous role in a major art heist and a minor murder. 

Quirky, at times philosophical, you will laugh out loud as you roller-coaster with the protagonist from humility to extravagance.

 

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An heroic tale, the core of that old telling of Eve and Adam, with all the elements of a great story: desire, conflict, retribution. How far have we fallen when the apple of your eye is now the eye of your Apple? In this “memory of the garden,” Anamaría Crowe Serrano takes a bite out of life with Crunch, a taunting sequence of poems that are intelligent and visceral, “the fruit / in her smile / saying it all.” -- Keith Payne

 

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Shrewd and effervescent, KALEIDOgraph is a collaboration consistently alert to verbal possibilities and power, creating (in the words of the poem 'sneachta') 'a language constantly correlating tongues'. -- Kit Fryatt

 

This book is beautiful [...] The poems are both within and without themselves; style succumbs to stylus and the two voices become so many that authorship seems to collapse. But there is order, startlingly so, connections that are delightful to trace--arising accidentally but expertly managed by the obvious inherent and learned skills of the poets. [...] The beautiful semantic graphics are wise, witty and, to quote Sylvia Plath, 'irrefutable'. -- Máighréad Medbh

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"In these poems, words are a scalpel that probes the shifting sands of meaning. Themes of identity, communication, love, loss and isolation are peeled pack to reveal, with devastating precision, both the deficiencies and the power of language: words that can heal or save; words that paralyse and attack. The poet uses her instrument – language – both to celebrate and to question whether words can ever be a true medium to define, express identity, communicate. With an unflinching gaze and an originality we have already come to know in Anamaría Crowe Serrano’s work, she both exalts and undermines patterns and form in a way that surprises, provokes and exhilarates." —Elizabeth McSkeane

 

To purchase, click here.

 

This is an anthology of early twenty-first century Irish poetry which includes work by Michael McAloran, Amos Greig, Dylan Brennan, Christine Murray, Arthur Broomfield, Peter O’ Neill, Rosita Sweetman, Michael J. Whelan, Anamaría Crowe Serrano, Peadar O’ Donoghue, Strider Marcus Jones, Colm Kearns, John Saunders, Kevin Higgins, Paul Casey, Sarah Brown Weitzman, Eithne Lannon, Máighréad Medbh, Jack Grady and Bob Shakeshaft. 

 

The anthology gives a flavour of what is radical in Irish poetry today, work that exists "in a parallel universe alongside the more familiar voices that appear in the mainstream", as editor Peter O'Neill says in his preface.

 

To purchase, click here.

 

Cover art by Jordi Forniés.

 

 

"Anamaría Crowe Serrano’s one columbus leap is a poetic tour de force on the gestation of Columbus’ 1492 step from the harbour town of Palos de la Frontera to the New World. Her poetry stimulates with linguistic inventiveness and a precise and exhilarating vocabulary that carries the reader far beyond the brooding narrative. It ignites and sparkles on every page with the full range of an energetic and exciting poet on display. This is contemporary poetry at its best."

David Caddy, editor of Tears in the Fence.

"Words in Anamaría Crowe Serrano’s one columbus leap have texture that travels under the skin and in between worlds. Their leap is elliptical and their eyes are restless in collecting experience. There is an insatiable hunger for natural phenomena and a calling for the accuracy of words."

Nina Karacosta, author of Previous Vertigos.

 

To hear Anamaría reading this poem at the Cork Winter Warmer festival, November 2013, click here.

 

To purchase one columbus leap, please click here.

Mirabile Dictu is an art catalogue of work by Dublin-based Catalan artist Jordi Forniés.

 

Anamaría was invited to write poems for some of the paintings in the catalogue. The exhibition, curated by Olivier Cornet, was held at Filmbase, Temple Bar, Dublin, November 2011.

 

To purchase Mirabile Dictu, please click here.

 

 

 

 

 

Femispheres is Anamaría's first full-length collection of poetry, published by Shearsman (UK) in 2008.

 

To purchase Femispheres, please click here.

Cover art by Paola Perugini.

 

 

"I thoroughly enjoyed these poems, drifting between two languages as one does in a conversation with people who all speak two languages with more or less equal ease."

Juliet Wilson, New Hope International Review.

 

Published by Empiría in 2006, Paso Doble is an experimental poetic dialogue with Italian poet Annamaria Ferramosca. Each poet writes in her own language, and each poem contains lines in both English and Italian (with facing translation by Riccardo Duranti).

 

To purchase Paso Doble, please click here.

Dall'altra parte is a collection of short stories originally written in English but only published in Italian translation (tr. Riccardo Duranti) by Leconte, in 2002

 

To purchase Dall'altra parte, please click here.

Poems

I was neither Eve

nor Adam

in the garden of Eden

nor the arguments between them

over who

and why

 

I was the apple

bitten

tossed aside

her teeth marks

still on my flesh

her fingerprints

warm

on my skin

 

Go on,

bite me

it’s already been done

I’m crunchy, sweet

ripe

and ready for retribution

 

 

From Crunch

ακούρδιστο ρολόι

 

 

I am the clock that ticks              ying-yang

myxolidian          phrygian

 

an innocence that allows

all shades of syllables     

 

even monochrome           just about

the way you tolerate salamanders

living behind your bed

 

when I was a child time would come off

in your hand        if you tried

                to catch hold of it

 

i still have the seconds dangling

from my fingers                their tenderness

rolling down my face  

 

 

From KALEIDOgraph

clay

you've been out again          running

through the ooblek that makes veg

orgasmic        what the american woman

called shit with such disgust

her face imploded to half its size

                                                         you've

kicked off your sandals so I can feel

the weakness on your foot       this is

                                                  sabotage

grit and grass         the taste

of come and get me

                          biting fresh into my meat

I'll have to sacrifice myself again

to the nakedness           the fish

and fuck smell of a mortal

and for what?        so you can burn me

over and over and over

 

from onWords and upWords

sounds of the autumn wind

 

 

every day this week

you’ve been shedding a leaf

                               from the unpruned

tangle of your heart

innocently growing stronger

from root to bark to curious

                 -such is the language of light

 

 

nests resonate in your chambers

changing key with the northerly wind                 you said was unlikely

and I know your fear           it storms

                  every one of us

 

 

                I’ll scrounge in the dawn

for your lips        your voice

recreate the memory of resin      acorns everything you’ve seen and heard

 

 

remember you can turn

                                    away

                          invent another season

mellow in the scutch and madder

of an intermittent sky    

                               the world breezes

           bends over the wilderness

           whistling your name

 

 

from Mirabile Dictu

In Sabina

 

 

...cast adrift

by a faint rippling

of wings, the sudden birth

of bird-speak flutters

across dips and hills

 

I know a language lost to me

lies out there

clitoral as the orange

pomegranate flower

open

 

to the thrill of thunder

clattering

and the lightning

in my soul.

 

 

 

from Femispheres