Poem Blossoms at My Place

So it’s Thursday, but not just any Thursday. Time for a poem, but not just any poem. Please welcome guest-post-poet Sarah Hina, who has just published her debut novel, Plum Blossoms in Paris. You probably already knew that, but on the off chance you didn’t – well – now you do. You’re welcome.

Happily, Sarah agreed to make L&M a stop on her (rather incredible) blog tour. I feel kind of like Bootsy Collins and Macy Gray just showed up to play my house party – I mean yeah, the place is kind of a dump, but nevermind that.

Listen.

We’re about to be transported.

But first - it might seem odd to promote a novel by posting a poem - but it isn’t. At least not for this novel. Part of what sets Sarah’s writing apart is how it moves like prose but informs like poetry. Or maybe it’s the other way around. What am I, the New York Times Book Review? Point is, her prose is full of poetry – the way it lifts, falls and turns, the way it breathes, the way it ripples through the senses like a sleepy finger trailing through a quiet pool. If you’re familiar with her work, you know what I’m talking about. If not, bounce over to her blog for a bit or check out this excerpt from Plum Blossoms.

OK, I’ll shut up now. Here you go.

***

The Accordion Player
by Sarah Hina

He squeezed a song
from bellowed veins
growing blue half notes
into red, sustained
as couples passed
like shaken bouquets
some tossing their coin
some fading away

Down silver quays
slickered with dreams
cobblestone rivers
to catacomb drains

And still he played
as the Seine did flow
April in Paris
to La Vie en Rose
fingers pumping
his reluctant friend,
Non . . . je ne
regrette rien

But regrets he kept
between two stones:
Sacré Cœur summits,
gargoyle bones

Until one night
in late November
when tourists were weak
and the sky was thunder
a single soul strolled
a burgundy flower
bracing violin
against one shoulder

Her back was turned
his eyes did close
they exchanged no words
as notes struck swords

And lightning flashed
over Notre Dame
and bridges swayed
with maelstrom song
as the stained glass shards
of two musicians
bubbled and dripped
into one rose fusion

And when she turned
a chord of eyes
their surrender à l'amour
Under Paris Skies

***

Follow Sarah around on her Meet Me In Paris blog tour (sort of like being a Deadhead, but without all the hippies, microbuses, contact highs and perilously errant Frisbees):

Sarah hangs with Travis Erwin
Plum Blossoms in Paris virtual launch party
Plum Blossoms flash fiction contest (winners announced!)
Sarah answers 25 Questions posed by Richard Levangie
7SS with Aerin Bender-Stone
Sarah visits Jaye Wells
Sarah’s poem at The Walking Man

An excellent review by Stephen Parrish
Listen to Sarah reading Sarah

And of course – don’t forget to pick up your copy of Plum Blossoms in Paris at: Amazon • Barnes & Noble • Chapters • Borders • Your Local Independent Bookstore • Powell's Books • Books-A-Million (or, you know, walk into a bookstore. If you’re old school.)

Oh, and this. Just so I can keep my poem-a-week streak alive. (I know. Total narcissist.)

Hina-ku

I can not wait to
read Plum Blossoms In Paris -
I hear it kicks ass.