By Jewel Kilcher
I have realized that no longer all poetry lends itself to track -- a few options have to be sung basically opposed to the silence. There are softer and no more tangible part[s] of our selves which are so necessary to peace, to openheartedness, to unfolding the imaginative and prescient and the religious realm of our lives, to exposing our souls. - Jewel, From the Preface Writing poems and protecting journals considering the fact that youth, Jewel has been trying to find fact and which means, turning to her phrases to list, to find, and to mirror. In an evening with out Armor, her first selection of poetry, Jewel explores the fireplace of old flame, the fading of ardour, the giving of belief, the teachings of betrayal, and the therapeutic of intimacy.She delves into concerns of the house, the relief of kin, the wonderful thing about Alaska, and the dislocation of divorce. after which there are the photographs of the line, the folks, the bars, the planes, areas unique and mundane, loneliness and friendship. Frank and sincere, critical and without warning playful, an evening with out Armor is a skilled artist's intimate portrait of what makes us uniquely human.
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Additional resources for A Night Without Armor: Poems
He reads people's palms. " 36 1966 I turned off the TV. Looked out of my window to the streets below. Dry sidewalks. A line had straightened up stiff as uncut ribbon beneath a sign that read Army Headquarters. I stared at the boys' faces. They looked itchy and awkward like my brother's. I don't know what kept them in that line, the sun was hot and unrelenting. I wondered if my brother would stand in line, too. I wondered if it would take him somewhere. I wondered if all the brothers in all the world were leaving, and if there would only be us sisters left to occupy the empty rooms with doll clothing and postcards.
Somewhere out there, an overhead is spinning, ticking, rattling. A young girl sweats, her armpits like tidy rosebuds. The businessman from Hong Kong pretends to have fallen asleep while she washes herself in the sink, the night sticking to her insides in a way she can't wash off. Iai lei 3 A warm rain swept across the streets. Filling spaces with humid quiet. White noise. Moist gauze dulling the edge of the vendors' pleas. Woman selling incense outside the temple. Huge bronze bowls bellowing smoke, the room thick with choking fragrance.
I find myself avoiding sleep busying myself with m e n i a l chores so I pick u p my guitar stare at books with bleary eyes get restless t h e n shave my armpits with y o u r razor a n d cheap hotel soap. 15 So J u s t Kiss AAe So just kiss me and let my hair messy itself in your fingers tell me nothing needs to be done— no clocks need winding There is no bell without a voice needing to borrow my own instead, let me steady myself in the arms of a man who won't ask me to be what he needs, but lets me exist as I am a blonde flame a hurricane wrapped up in a tiny body that will come to his arms like the safest harbor for mending 16 Second I noughts in Columbus, Ohio I find it strange that we search our whole lives for love as though it were the final treasure the solemn purpose of people in movies and magazines.