Brown

<BODY BGCOLOR="#808080" TEXT="#080000" LINK="#FFFFFF" ALINK="#000400" VLINK="#FFFFFF"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#CC3300" FACE="Arial" ><B>FootHills Publishing</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#FFCC99" FACE="Arial" >   </FONT>  |   <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="FootHills Publishing"><U><B>home</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id22.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Gelineau"><U>Gelineau</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id24.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Darling, Morton"><U>Darling, Morton</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Czarnecki"><U>Czarnecki</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id29.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Ruggieri, Pruitt, Memmer"><U>Ruggieri, Pruitt, Memmer</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id34.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Huff"><U>Huff</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id36.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Desire Vail"><U>Desire Vail</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id38.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Bruce Bennett"><U>Bruce Bennett</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id39.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Czury"><U>Czury</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id41.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Conners"><U>Conners</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id45.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Gilman"><U>Gilman</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id46.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="M J Iuppa"><U>M J Iuppa</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id48.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Sweet"><U>Sweet</U></A>   |   <B>Brown</B>   |   <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Arsenault"><U>Arsenault</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id53.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Leuzzi"><U>Leuzzi</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id54.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Saling"><U>Saling</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id55.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="MacPherson"><U>MacPherson</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id57.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Good"><U>Good</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id67.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Harrier"><U>Harrier</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id68.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Coffman"><U>Coffman</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Donaghy"><U>Donaghy</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id71.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Coon"><U>Coon</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id72.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="OBrien"><U>O'Brien</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Merrifield"><U>Merrifield</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Allardt"><U>Allardt</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id76.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Battelle, Loiselle"><U>Battelle, Loiselle</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id77.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Gell Center Anthology"><U>Gell Center Anthology</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id78.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Ouzoonian"><U>Ouzoonian</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id79.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Myers"><U>Myers</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id81.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Courington"><U>Courington</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id84.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Betten"><U>Betten</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id86.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="HillKaucher"><U>Hill-Kaucher</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id19.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact FHP"><U>Contact FHP</U></A></div> <bR> <div> <I>My First Real Tree</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>FootHills Publishing, Wheeler Hill, New York, is pleased to announce the release of "My First Real Tree" by Jayne Relaford Brown. </I></div> <bR> <div> <I><IMG SRC="0fc26d80.jpg" border=0 width="294" height="472" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <I>Jayne Relaford Brown received an MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego</I></div> <div> <I>State University and teaches writing at Penn State Berks-Lehigh Valley</I></div> <div> <I>College.  She lives near Kutztown, Pennsylvania with her partner of fifteen</I></div> <div> <I>years.</I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <I>"My First Real Tree is a daring expedition into the treacherous realm of open-heartedness. By delving into intimacy's varied forms--and the many forms of courage that true intimacy requires--Jayne Relaford Brown directs our attention to where it is most needed and reminds us of things we need to remember. I relish these thoughtful, tender, clear-eyed poems."</I></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <I>Gerry Gomez Pearlberg, author of "Mr. Bluebird" and "Marianne Faithfull's Cigarette"</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <I>"After many, many readings of Jayne Relaford Brown's stunning poem "Finding Her Here," I still cannot speak her words aloud without weeping. Her images touch me in ways I can't explain. Is it the sensousness of her "full moons" and "deep weathered baskets," or the way she acknowledges those years when life was hard, the survivorship? Maybe it is simply that I sense that she used to look in those mirrors as I did as a child, searching for something I could not possibly find: perfection. Like many women, I spent years searching elsewhere for self-worth. But what Brown finds now finds in those mirrors informs and transforms our ideas of perfection, casting an affirming light on our paths toward self-love."</I></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <I>Sandra Haldeman Martz, editor of "When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple," </I></div> <div> <I>"If I had my life to live over I would pick more daisies" and "I Am Becoming the Woman I've Wanted"</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <I>From the book:</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>MY FIRST REAL TREE</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>Proud in my father’s former shirt, my smock,</I></div> <div> <I>I measure white and black in every primary pint, </I></div> <div> <I>make the butcher paper thick</I></div> <div> <I>with tinted blond and gold-rust bark,</I></div> <div> <I>to catch a eucalyptus’ branchy sweep,</I></div> <div> <I>its dusty green and silver leaves.</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>Third grade comes, a field trip </I></div> <div> <I>to the room that will be theirs next year.</I></div> <div> <I>“Gosh,” one whispers. “Look what she can do!”</I></div> <div> <I>And this is not a lollipop I’ve drawn,</I></div> <div> <I>not the stick and circle of my youth.</I></div> <div> <I>It is my first real tree.</I></div> <div> <I>Because I’ve been given art to see. </I></div> <bR> <div> <I>“Look,” Miss Desmond told us.  “Not a line</I></div> <div> <I>across the top.  The blue of sky</I></div> <div> <I>goes the whole way down.”</I></div> <div> <I>     How could that be?</I></div> <div> <I>The air around me’s clear,</I></div> <div> <I>just blue when I look up. </I></div> <div> <I>“Look farther out,” she pointed. “See the hills?”</I></div> <div> <I>And then I saw it—sky reached </I></div> <div> <I>all the way to earth.  I lived in sky!</I></div> <div> <I>All day long I’d spun around, tried to see</I></div> <div> <I>the blue I must be walking through.</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>I smile at those children, sight beyond</I></div> <div> <I>my out-held brush toward my tree.</I></div> <div> <I>Soon enough they’ll see.  This year they think</I></div> <div> <I>the sky is like a ceiling, still feel satisfied</I></div> <div> <I>with eight or sixteen crayons, have no idea</I></div> <div> <I>that light hits everything along one side,</I></div> <div> <I>that shadows huddle under fruit and basketballs,</I></div> <div> <I>that everything converges, disappears</I></div> <div> <I>in one small dot at the world’s edge.</I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <I>FINDING HER HERE</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>I am becoming the woman I’ve wanted,</I></div> <div> <I>grey at the temples,</I></div> <div> <I>soft body, delighted,</I></div> <div> <I>cracked up by life</I></div> <div> <I>with a laugh that’s known bitter,</I></div> <div> <I>but, past it, got better,</I></div> <div> <I>knows she’s a survivor—</I></div> <div> <I>that whatever comes,</I></div> <div> <I>she can outlast it.</I></div> <div> <I>I am becoming a deep</I></div> <div> <I>         weathered basket.</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>I am becoming the woman I’ve longed for,</I></div> <div> <I>the motherly lover</I></div> <div> <I>with arms strong and tender,</I></div> <div> <I>the growing-up daughter</I></div> <div> <I>who blushes surprises.</I></div> <div> <I>I am becoming full moons</I></div> <div> <I>        and sunrises.</I></div> <bR> <div> <I>I find her becoming,</I></div> <div> <I>this woman I’ve wanted,</I></div> <div> <I>who knows she’ll encompass,</I></div> <div> <I>who knows she’s sufficient,</I></div> <div> <I>knows where she’s going</I></div> <div> <I>and travels with passion.</I></div> <div> <I>Who remembers she’s precious,</I></div> <div> <I>yet not at all scarce—</I></div> <div> <I>who knows she is plenty,</I></div> <div> <I>        plenty to share.</I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#111111" FACE="Comic Sans MS" ><B>My First Real Tree</B></FONT><I> </I>is a 68 page paperback, hand-sewn, with flat spine - <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#111111" FACE="Comic Sans MS" > </FONT>$14.00</div> <bR> <div> ISBN:  0-941053-22-9</div> <bR> <div> (Wholesale orders - standard discount rate applies. 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