Description

Book Synopsis
A compelling collection of poems, Late Self-Portraits conveys an intimate description of lives through a collage of portraits and affliction. Weaving history and the sacred, both intimate and worldly, one encounters a blind Jorge Luis Borges with his mother, a glass confessional in the of Notre Dame Cathedral, Frida Kahlo in Mexico, ghosts, a neurosurgeon’s prognosis, and Marie Laveau in New Orleans. Whether in a field with Joan of Arc, encountering the artist Jean-Michel Basquiat, or having dinner with Hades, these are haunting poems of loss and unearthing, equally bold, personal, and tender.

From “Dinner with Hades”:

He shows me a birthday cake, candled. My name is written in pomegranate seeds. It’s like vertigo. Just before he seeks to devour, he halts to birdsong—sound of goldfinch, bluebird, hawk, lilting of sparrows. Of whippoorwill and dove. Wings flap, so many wings, a cool breeze as leaves unfurl into a once forgotten green and I am back on earth, held in my mother’s arms.

Late Self-Portraits

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    £18.65

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    Order before 4pm today for delivery by Fri 19 Jun 2026.

    A Paperback by Mary Morris

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      View other formats and editions of Late Self-Portraits by Mary Morris

      Publisher: Michigan State University Press
      Publication Date: 28/02/2022
      ISBN13: 9781611864229, 978-1611864229
      ISBN10: 1611864224

      Description

      Book Synopsis
      A compelling collection of poems, Late Self-Portraits conveys an intimate description of lives through a collage of portraits and affliction. Weaving history and the sacred, both intimate and worldly, one encounters a blind Jorge Luis Borges with his mother, a glass confessional in the of Notre Dame Cathedral, Frida Kahlo in Mexico, ghosts, a neurosurgeon’s prognosis, and Marie Laveau in New Orleans. Whether in a field with Joan of Arc, encountering the artist Jean-Michel Basquiat, or having dinner with Hades, these are haunting poems of loss and unearthing, equally bold, personal, and tender.

      From “Dinner with Hades”:

      He shows me a birthday cake, candled. My name is written in pomegranate seeds. It’s like vertigo. Just before he seeks to devour, he halts to birdsong—sound of goldfinch, bluebird, hawk, lilting of sparrows. Of whippoorwill and dove. Wings flap, so many wings, a cool breeze as leaves unfurl into a once forgotten green and I am back on earth, held in my mother’s arms.

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