Why I Never Finished My Dissertation

 ~ I received no compensation and opinions are 100% my own or my family. ~

Synopsis:  Foley’s writing may appear sparse and reserved but it harbors a subtle power. The poet’s greatest strength is her acute sense of observation. She possesses the ability to thread sensuousness into the fabric of everyday life. . .This is a dazzling volume of poetry that delights in crisp imagery and tender recollections.
—Kirkus Reviews

Eric Hoffer/Montaigne Medal Finalist
Eric Hoffer/da Vinci Eye Finalist
Eric Hoffer Book Award Honorable Mention

The quest to discover why this poet does not complete a dissertation, leads to an astonishing read. This collection reveals a wide range of life-changing experiences beginning with a marriage to a hunchback Moroccan, almost twice the writer's age. Other poems express revelations and observations that arise out of travels, such as a trip to Tehran, where the poet stands on a bullet-riddled balcony watching a hurried crowd "spill Khomeini from his coffin." The signature poem unveils a suddenly busy domestic life in a second marriage with three young children and puppies. Toward the end readers experience love which results in marriage with a same-sex partner. No matter one's personal story, what makes a story great is how it is told.
—The US Review of Books

Purchase Links

Headmistress Press | Amazon

Excerpt:  Two Poems - Why I Never Finished my Dissertation and The Wrangler.  

Why I Never Finished my Dissertation

 

Arriving home late to a ringing phone,

after a packed family car trip south;

panting from lugging a basket

of puppies up three flights of stairs,

as I press the door open with one foot;

toddler following as I place the load

on the floor, as I juggle my thesis

advisor’s questions with my hungry son’s;

straining my brain to remember

what strategies Stevens’ late odes employed,

his elusive turns of phrase,

ignoring the waking canines,

who escape and spread yipping

across the living room floor,

doing what puppies do best,

while my toddler sits,

squealing in the mess.

The Wrangler

 

Does the Wyoming sun shine hot enough to make me sweat,

in my red-checked cowgirl shirt and dungarees?

 

As he holds the rope controlling Thunder, does he patiently explain 

my pony’s name in his sonorous voice, Born in the midst of a storm?

 

Do we stop at an icy stream to dismount,

shucking our boots, as we prepare to wade,

 

a new word I repeat with sudden feeling,

as my feet freeze, as I see my first word at three?

 

Does he lead me gently as he did the pony, to sit shivering 

while he gathers wood to build a fire to warm my feet?

 

Does he intuit what I like, or do we share the same taste

for fire-roasted hot dogs without mustard, ketchup?

 

Does he help me pull my boots back on,

teach me to mount the pony on my own?

 

Does he teach me how warm a father can be—

unlike mine, in his chilly city penthouse?

 

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Laura Foley is the author of six poetry collections, including Joy Street, Syringa and Night Ringing. Her poem “Gratitude List” won the Common Good Books poetry contest and was read by Garrison Keillor on The Writer’s Almanac. Her poem “Nine Ways of Looking at Light” won the Joe Gouveia Outermost Poetry Contest, judged by Marge Piercy. For more information on Laura’s work, please visit her website.