Fallow Field cover

This fall, the Aldrich Press is publishing my long-awaited new collection of poetry, FALLOW FIELD.

The book consists of 45 poems, representing my best work from the past quarter century.

You can order your signed copy of FALLOW FIELD here:

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My poetry has received the Nebraska Review Award and the Aldrich Emerging Poets Award, and I have been a Concordia Fellow at the Millay Colony for the Arts.

My poems have appeared in magazines, literary journals, and anthologies or online, including the American Poetry ReviewAlaska Quarterly ReviewAnonLa Petite ZineMany Mountains Moving, and Terrain, among other publications.

I am also the author of a book of natural history, Walks in Nature’s Empire, published by The Countryman Press in 1995.

The paperback book is 96 pages, including front and back matter, with a gorgeous cover photograph by my good friend Joshua Sheldon (see picture), which was taken at the same time and has the same origin of inspiration as the title poem. (You can read the poem and its story here: “Fallow Field.”)

Here is what others have said about this collection, FALLOW FIELD:

“Scott Edward Anderson’s poems honor the reality that the things of the world – rye grass, fall warblers, ravens, owls, ‘Sargassum drifting/ in a pelagic wave,’ lovers and sourdough bread – speak to and for our innerness. Here the sense of place is not simply a matter of geography, but of feeling one’s way into that sense of becoming that makes one’s path clear. The book’s fourth section is comprised of poems that beautifully embrace the very human need to join the inner and outer, a territory defined, as the poem titles suggest, by ‘Becoming,’ ‘Shapeshifting,’ ‘Cultivating,’ ‘Mapping,’ and ‘Healing.’ Guided since childhood, as the book’s closing long poem relates, by nature’s teaching, Anderson is devoted to finding the words for what it means to dwell mindfully among others on the wounded earth.”

–Alison Hawthorne Deming, author of Rope: Poems

“I was impressed by Anderson’s engagement with nature — especially the way in which his lyrical lines sketch the profound relationship between humans and their environment.”

– Jonathan Galassi, author of Left-handed: Poems

“Wow, Pop, I had no idea you wrote so many poems!”

– Walker Anderson, the author’s 10-year-old son

My poetry is rooted in nature and grounded in what Robert Hass called the “strong central tradition of free verse made out of both romanticism and modernism, split between the impulses of an inward and psychological writing and an outward and realist one, at its best fusing the two.”  (Hass, Introduction to Best American Poetry 2001)

I studied with Hass and with Gary Snyder, along with the late Walter Pavlich, and received some great mentoring and advice from poets Alison Hawthorne Deming, Donald Hall, Colette Inez, and Karen Swenson, as well as wonderful friends and readers.

My poetry is informed by a deep engagement with the natural world, attuned to the smallest details and complexities of nature and our experience of place. Attentiveness and mindfulness are critical to my method of working, both as the poem first evolves and later, through the often rigorous process of revision.

I believe poetry is the most direct language with which to approach our place in the world and reconnect us to nature. By nature, I mean not only the natural world, but also the built environment; not only the processes and causal powers of the physical world, but our immediate experience of the spiritual and the non-human.

For the past twenty five years, I have been building a body of poetry that tries to achieve my goal of writing that is open, approachable, and eminently readable, at the same time that it is intellectual and revels in the joy of language. FALLOW FIELD represents the best of my poetry over that time.

Order your signed copy of FALLOW FIELD below:

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This has been an experiment. Although I try to write every day, I have never posted my daily scribblings for the world to see.

This year, in addition to my weekly emails and post for National Poetry Month, I took up the challenge of writing a poem each day to see what I could do.

When you are your own harshest critic, it’s hard to post what you know isn’t ready. Unvarnished, at times raw emotionally and in terms of craft, the poems are here to speak for themselves.

I must thank you, my readers, for your indulgence and your loyalty. Some of you have offered comments and feedback for which I am grateful; others have simply “liked” an individual poem or post, which is also encouragement.

Through it all, I must thank my partner Samantha, for both inspiring me and being patient with my almost poetry diary, which put our life and love on public display.

I’m looking forward to printing out these poems so I can look at them on the page — as a group and individually — and see what comes of them. Let the real work begin!

Here is my poem for Day 30:

And so it ends, this Month of Poetry,
Not with a band, but with a whisper.
Although I wanted to kill that mockingbird
This morning, with his incessant trilling,
Which would have caused excitement,
And made our morning a tad more thrilling.
My love held close to me in the kitchen,
As we were making breakfast,
Her curves beautifully accentuated
In her tight-fitting nightgown.
The kettle whistled, as did I,
When she looked at me so longingly,
And curved her body up to mine.
Ah, if only we had the time
This morning, but the month has come
To an end. Tomorrow we begin again,
Perhaps with fewer daily posts,
But no less poetry in our lives.

–Scott Edward Anderson

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Here is my poem for Day 29:

The penultimate day of Poetry Month,
My challenge nearly over.
I’d no idea how much poetry
Would cascade out this month,
Or with so much love therein
Or how easy it would flow–
Of course, time will tell
How much survives,
Revision has always been
The real work to me.
Yet, if one or two live
To tell the tale I have here told,
It was a grand experiment
And one that achieved its goal.

–Scott Edward Anderson

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Here is my poem for Day 28:

Breakfast on the deck in the morning sun.
Spinach-feta-egg-white omelette,
The last of the rosemary bread toasted,
French-pressed coffee, the Times.
Proving to ourselves at least,
Civilized life can continue,
Even with the hoard of kids
(The smallest perfect number)
Looming in their beds.

–Scott Edward Anderson

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Here is my poem for Day 27:

That’s an unattached male
Mockingbird who sings
At 3AM, hidden somewhere
In the magnolia behind our
Building. He wants a mate.
I’ve got a mate, lying next to me,
And she rolls over and remarks
About the bird, asks why
He is singing now, before dawn.
It’s a strategy mockers have developed,
Taking advantage of silence,
As if in competition with the night.
Waiting will not do for the mocker,
Who has already stolen other birds’
Songs, he now wants to win
A heart of his own–
What he doesn’t realize is
It’s as annoying to the females
As it is to us trying to sleep.

–Scott Edward Anderson

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Here is my poem for Day 26:

Last night’s full moon
Appeared further away
Than usual, reminding me
That it is moving away
From us an inch and a half
Every year. Its pull
Stretches us thin
And complicates
Our emotions.
The “pink” moon angles
Through our window
And across our white
Sheets. Your tangle
Of red hair on the pillow
Reflects tiny lights
Neither high nor low,
As if your dreams
Escape into the night.

–Scott Edward Anderson

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Here is what passes for my Day 25 poem:

Not feeling very poetic today,
The tank approaching empty.
I’ll jot some lines here anyway,
In hopes to replenish the plenty.

–Scott Edward Anderson

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Here is my poem for Day 24:

Doubt is a privilege
Of the faithful,
I always say.
I have doubts
About almost everything
–except you.
You are the one
Person to whom
I could give my whole
Heart and never want
It back. Or, rather,
Always know where
To find it.

–Scott Edward Anderson

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Here is my poem for Day 23:

We never met a reality
We couldn’t lick.
We’ve turned dreams
Into reality, turned
Reality inside-out,
And found poetry
In places both usual
And extraordinary.

Scott Edward Anderson

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Here is my poem for Day 22, Earth Day:

Monday morning
After a glorious
weekend in Brooklyn.
The magnolia waves,
Birds sing, greet the day,
And the bed sways
With our embrace.
Time to celebrate
Our Mother Earth.

–Scott Edward Anderson

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