Jack Coulehan's latest collection of poems arises from the
uncertainties, pain, and limitations of medical practice where
moments of insight and joy are bursting with danger and music.
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In pitch-perfect poems that see clearly the humanity behind a
patient's illness and actions, Coulehan investigates life's
essential minutiae--the observed moment, the healing gesture, the
internal response. In poems such as "Forbidden Perfume" and
"Referral from Dolores," he is not afraid to examine the often
unspoken-about reality of care giving--the human odors of illness
and neglect. And yet his poems are elegantly humane; they look
beyond the difficult surface to see the worth, the holiness, of the
individual person. My favorite poem in this new collection is the
lovely, "Darkness is Gathering Me." There is darkness in this
collection--the "Danger" of the title--but most of all there is
"Music." The music in these poems is the sweet melody of
compassion, of the way, when we are at our best, we care for and
cherish one another.
--Cortney Davis, author of I Knew a Woman: The Experience of the
Female Body (winner of the Center for the Book Non-fiction Award)
and The Heart's Truth: Essays on the Art of Nursing.
With courage, conviction, and an eye for the singular, Jack
Coulehan brings us to the intersection of body and soul. His poems
are thoughtful, inviting, and transporting.
--Danielle Ofri, MD, PhD, author of Medicine in Translation and
editor of Bellevue Literary Review
Jack Coulehan's poems ache with understatement and quiet
beauty--like the work of any true healer, through them we are
touched at the very core of our beings, and thus we rediscover the
redemptive power of our own empathetic engagement with one another.
The plainest of mysteries abound here: a smoked ham packed in dry
ice sent each Christmas by a grateful patient becomes a ghostly
reminder of mortality when one year it never arrives; the five
moons of Venus, confused with Jupiter's through a backyard
telescope, are humbling reminders of the limitations of what we
think we know. In the end, Coulehan's bemused "prescriptions" of
music and magic, of the miraculous in the mundane, are all that we
require for what ails us.
--Rafael Campo
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