Eastern Mountain TimeWhat endures the encroachments of time, history nature and mortality? Peseroff speculates with a clear-headed, wry look at the world’s catalogues and almanacs of largesse—lilies, Jerry Garcia, men in fog, animal joy—as well as its sorrow. In startling original poems full of leaps and digressions that reveal the mind in action, readers will encounter life through a person made raw by observation, a mind
processing loss and mortality in a petal, a poet alert to how syntax and language can reconfigure the experience of grief.


“Musical, contemplative, often wry, Joyce Peseroff’s rueful quietude can be fractured by a bravura wit that adventures with the layers of history, propelling the reader from the pastoral to the tragic world by detonations of language (see her adolescent self in a bikini: “Skin blistered pink,/you might as well have picnicked in the desert/under 3 or 4 nuclear tests”).”
—Gail Mazur

“Joyce Peseroff makes a playful yet literally ominous poem called “Farmer’s Almanac” out of a list of words and phrases from that venerable volume. Words are something she cherishes, and poem after poem has its tasty surprises: aleatory, cinquefoil, crimped, monicker, Selectric, waggle, woofing, zonked. Words, themselves, of course, are not the whole story, and in this eagerly anticipated volume, much of it piercingly elegiac, Peseroff’s poems do what we wish all poetry would: make even sadness a source of pleasure, because her words always come alive, even (maybe even especially) in the process of lamenting what’s been—or is about to be—lost.”
—Lloyd Schwartz