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Moon on the Meadow: Collected Poems
Gallaudet University Press, 2008 eISBN: 978-1-56368-404-3 | Paper: 978-1-56368-364-0 Library of Congress Classification PS3620.A23M66 2008 Dewey Decimal Classification 811.6
ABOUT THIS BOOK | AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY | TOC
ABOUT THIS BOOK
As a child of deaf adults (CODA), Pia Taavila first learned to communicate when her deaf father fingerspelled the names of toys in her crib and her mother showed her the signs for objects in picture books. From this primary visual orientation, in combination with her own innate sense of imagery, Taavila crafted the lush verse featured in Moon on the Meadow: Collected Poems. See other books on: Collected Poems | Deaf parents | Meadow | Moon | Taavila-Borsheim, Pia See other titles from Gallaudet University Press |
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Nearby on shelf for American literature / Individual authors / 2001-:
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Moon on the Meadow: Collected Poems
ABOUT THIS BOOK | AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY | TOC
Gallaudet University Press, 2008
eISBN: 978-1-56368-404-3
Paper: 978-1-56368-364-0
eISBN: 978-1-56368-404-3
Paper: 978-1-56368-364-0
As a child of deaf adults (CODA), Pia Taavila first learned to communicate when her deaf father fingerspelled the names of toys in her crib and her mother showed her the signs for objects in picture books. From this primary visual orientation, in combination with her own innate sense of imagery, Taavila crafted the lush verse featured in Moon on the Meadow: Collected Poems.
Taavila uses the graphic power of her poetry to evoke emotions about all aspects of existence — love, loss of love, family, death, and desire — feelings elicited through a lens attuned to the simple beauty of the natural. Most of the poems in Moon on the Meadow have been published at least once in established journals, testimony to the broad appeal of her passionate outlook on life. Yet, Taavila believes that her experiences as a CODA are essential to her ability to write at all. She never strays far from her home, her family, and the comforts they bring her through her art:
At a wedding, a flautist’s
languid notes lilt on the air.
My mother, who cannot hear,
leans forward, attentive
to the dip and sway of his body.
She signs to me:
It sounds like butterflies
ABOUT THIS BOOK | AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY | TOC
