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Advance Praise
Suzanne Frischkorn writes with the grit and tenderness it takes for a woman to live and raise children in violent America. Peril is close at hand, but so too is the solace of forests and seasons. She gathers crystalline images, as after an ice storm, “the branches/sounded like the parting of bead curtains.” But the cut of helicopter blades follows close by. Hers is a terrible and beautiful balancing act. She takes inspiration from Alice Notley, Keith Richards, the Bard—and most profoundly Gaston Bachelard who leads her into “the great law of forest revery.” I treasure this book so rich in thought and feeling.
—Alison Hawthorne Deming, author of A Woven World
Suzanne Frischkorn’s Whipsaw is an astonishing run through verdant and shattered forests, transcended one temporal dimension at a time. Everything we come to know, by breath and apparition, gives way to what we pull through it, make of it. Whether harp or clasp, song or quietude, dark horse or deer’s leap, social burdens attend condolences and we sure ourselves with understory every entry a new bound. A sensational and deeply intense read, a scatter of sunrays cut through bird song great. This one cuts to the core, delivering stunning reveal. Must read!
—Allison Adelle Hedge Coke, author of Look at This Blue
Reviews
“The beautiful scope of this book makes every poem belong to the whole … Suzanne Frischkorn uses myth and metaphor and the movement of seasons to give us this deeply satisfying volume of poetry. Fixed Star was a hard act to follow, but Whipsaw may be Frischkorn’s best work yet.”
South Florida Poetry Journal
“…Motherhood is a delicate balance, not being frozen by fear despite dangers, our current trajectory with global warming, protecting while modeling living fully, leaping. Sexual desire, one rabbit jumping over another during mating, fertility, and seasonal changes are tied to continuation, images of enduring the reader is relieved to find scattered throughout the collection. Part of that enduring includes no second guessing about severing oneself from deadwood relationships and dysfunctional patterns, cutting what we can of those to sawdust for some other use.
Enter a forest of poems when you open Suzanne Frischkorn’s Whipsaw, the poems given time and space to be themselves, take the shapes they need to take, something requiring incredible patience along with letting go. Distinct, tonally shifted by changes in light and season, the poems you’ll hear and gaze upon are spare, nothing excessive, appear effortless, comprising a space where we find ourselves…”
Suzanne Frischkorn 