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Praise for Blue Himalayan Poppies

Jay Ruzesky creates and re-creates Eden — its passions, its beauties, its losses. So, that's what he writes about. But how does he write it? With passion, with beauty, with loss.
—P.K. Page

Herein is a poem which spends most of its time and lines showing us a hotel maid standing before the sign on a bedroom door and imagining, behind that door, “Two whose mouths are so full of each other,/ they cannot speak, or be disturbed,” and another one, “Glass Eye,” which offers “He looks at me with his good eye,/ dark socket also aiming.” You feel that Jay Ruzesky can do these Eros-driven and clear-as-glass things all night and half the next day, so apparently effortlessly do they line up on his pages. This is a fine sequel to Painting the Yellow House Blue.
—Don Coles

Ruzesky’s poems convince me that the last, most difficult revolution is in the head. After all the other struggles to arrive here — this North American safety: its comforts, its sustenance — it is precisely this place of driveways, mortgages, monogamy, children, strip malls, all the longing and restlessness in this place [“the mess we’re making of our lives”] — that is Ruzesky’s territory, and he’s making a great map of it.
—John Lent