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Bone Flute and Other Poems hits a high note
By Laura-Claire Corson
Library Communications
Posted 4/23/2007
MADISON, Wis. – R. Virgil Ellis paints images of serenity in his new Parallel Press chapbook Bone Flute and Other Poems, which focuses primarily on family and the great outdoors.
Ellis scripts poems that range from his daughter (“Daughter Flying”) to raccoons and campfires.
The 31 poems are an eclectic array of styles and topics. For instance, in “Front Door Open,” Ellis writes, “sunlight untouched by glass / air we’ll take raw / step out/talk about / picking up the yard.” The words in the poem, featured on the left, are sporadically placed on the page, and there are up to 15 spaces between words.
However, the following poem is “Sun High, Sun Low,” and it follows the standard stanza style. He writes, “On the way to buy plywood / I saw a vapor trail / throw a wide shadow / on clouds spread out / below the shining jet / the plotting crew.”
The signature poem “Bone Flute” is the final installation in the chapbook. In the poem, Ellis asks his bones be made into a flute as a way of remembrance after he passes away. “You tongue the wind / the water the fire / through my clay. / If when you pick me up / you think of death / just play,” writes Ellis, emphasizing the importance of thinking in a positive light.
Ellis is a Wisconsin native and ever since his retirement from university teaching in 1997, he has concentrated on writing, editing, publishing and performance, as well as working with his wife to restore land they own to its natural habitat.
He holds advanced degrees from Cornell University in Ithaca, N.Y. and the Union Institute.
The Parallel Press is an imprint of the University of Wisconsin-Madison Libraries. Bone Flute and Other Poems is its 49th chapbook. For more information, visit http://parallelpress.library.wisc.edu/chapbooks/poetry.
Orders may be sent to:
The Parallel Press
372 Memorial Library
728 State Street
Madison, WI 53706
Phone: (608) 262-2600
A selection from "The Fire":
Sulking in the tree-house I wondered
why I had done so little. A chipmunk
presented monotonous chits. I picked at
leaves. A hairy woodpecker squawked.
Tonight we're tired, sit by the fire
and state at embers, age-rings
pulsing colors beneath furry ash.
Our son fidgets and pokes
at the hissing fire until you
touch him, your other hand in mine.
He'd like to be small enough to walk right in--
We joke with him about fireproof suits,
"We'd be in a big room, the walls all glowing colors--"
how we'd hasp under great flaring beams.
I'll settle for all this.
