Forgotten Notes from Nights of Ill Gotten Grandeur

From the palms and swamps, on the East coast, to the hemlocks and volcanos out West, Florida Keys Conchzo writer, William Williamson brings to light, a hundred, shaved, naked poems to the clean white page. Snapshots of life written on scraps of paper defining moments of inspirational interlocution, eye and mind weaving a canvass where each poem, just a mere ripple in water, a lone streaking comet in the night or an ominous clap of thunder, yet, auspicating the beginning or ending of what will be, what was, what is, a term Williamson has come to baptize, big woman emotion, that elicits a palpable menagerie of human sensations.

The chilly puckering of flesh, a fearful gripping of a throat, the love skip of a heartbeat, a warm tear squeezing from an eye, a closed door before it is opened, tempting the reader to feel the breach of coming winter, taste the sounds of summer humidity and sympathize with the men and women in his latest work trying to hold their love and lives together in between the seasons.

Gardens, relationships, words that make novels and poems, all strive to become something grown from the heart and nourished, before being ravaged by an unseen, unstoppable fait accompli in William Williamson's, fifteenth book of prose poems.

FORGOTTEN NOTES FROM NIGHTS OF ILL-GOTTEN GRANDEUR is as timeless as his first break through work, TONIGHT WE'RE SERVING INSANITY FOR SUPPER, published twenty-two years ago.