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Health & Fitness

Solace at the End of Summer: Donna Hilbert

A good book is an unfailing companion through trying times.

Starting with 9-11, the wars that followed, and one climate disaster after another, then as we were catching our collective breath, the financial meltdown. I know that I am not alone in feeling that in the past ten years it has been difficult to feel good about life on the planet.  And, against this backdrop: our personal dramas.  For me, there is no better balm for the beleaguered spirit than a good book offering companionship through trying times. A good book can help restore the balance of joy and sadness.

I hope that you will join me for a reading from just such a book, the wonderful anthology, SOLACE in So Many Words.  Editor Ellen Wade Beals and contributor Joan Corwin will travel from Chicago for this event to read alongside Southern California contributors Lisa Liken, Theresa Mathes, Patti Wahlberg and myself.  As a bit of serendipity, Joan Corwin has just been named the winner of PEARL Magazine’s (famous Long Beach publication) short fiction contest. PEARL fans will have the opportunity to meet and congratulate Joan in addition to enjoying the reading on Tuesday, September 6, 7 P.M., Gatsby Books, 5535 E. Spring Street, Long Beach www.GatsbyBooks.com

Other notable contributors to SOLACE whose presence I cannot promise you, include Antler, T.C. Boyle, and the just-named Poet Laureate Philip Levine.  Also, do "the Google" and check out the reviews!  Here is a small taste of SOLACE in the poem "Portuguese Sweet Bread" by Amy Dengler:

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Sweetness comes from the baker’s hands,

the  art of rising from generations

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making their way in the world.  The making

begins with breaking the egg,

releasing the small sun within, stirring

and blending, capturing in a bowl, flour and air

to imbue the bread with tenderness,

little grottos of light.

 

Let it rise in a buttered bowl.

Let it come up like crocuses from bare earth.

Let the air fill with the exuberance of yeast.

Let it rise the way the sun comes up

over Pico.  Let it shape itself like the cobbles

in the street on the tongue, as filling

to the soul, buttering the heart

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