Winter Vision
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Winter Vision

Price: $15.00
  • Author: Robert M. Giannetti
  • Binding: Perfect Paperback
  • ISBN: 9780974068015
  • Item #: 3584
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A book of lyrical poems in the best traditions of nature poetry, incorporating reflections on contemporary life and culture, by an internationally recognized author who has recently been translated into Polish.


 “Giannetti digs deeply in to the essence, the core of things, as he tries to come to terms with the basic questions of our existence. Constantly seeking reconciliation with nature, he achieves amazing effects by combining in his lyricism the delight and admiration of natural beauty with primeval eschatological realizations. He is an American, but primarily a citizen of a planet orbiting in a larger universe.”

- Dariusz Lebioda, Editor of Termat (Polish periodical of arts and letters)


“The fashion in which Giannetti writes is painterly.  Light fills his poetry as light magically fills the world. Like light his poetry allows a revealing into the good parts of the human condition that might otherwise be overlooked as common. The poems are an intimate engagement of life with language. In his poetry the spiritual is made visual with words.”

- Michael Basinski, Curator, The Poetry Collection, University at Buffalo


Sample Poems


Winter Vision

Winter trees,

their leafless branches brittle as thinning hair,

open the view from the path,

exposing the bare hills beyond,

now visible in the distance.

Summer’s cover of billowing,

dense green lushness

has given way

to grey, bony shapes,

the chisel of biting air,

the sculpture of the cold.

The scant light parceled out

in the shortened day

makes precious the blush of color

on the rosy cheeks of a sunrise

beckoning across the vacant landscape,

arousing my ardor, leaving a lust

to continue the journey

through whatever

remains of the day.



In the dusk of a pale grey day

on a winter walk in the park

I came upon the trunks

of several small trees stretching

across the top of a chain link fence

around a ball field.

Where they touched the fence,

their bark seemed like lava

that had once flowed

over the rail and was now

hardened in distended flaps,

lip-like, pursed tightly

over the cold metal.

Summer’s shade had hidden

those lips, veiling their grip

as the tree tops swayed to find

some opening to the light.

How easily missed on a stroll,

were it not now

for the leafless winter branches,

the bare spaces

exposing those lips

in their determined



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