April News

FORTHCOMING

Cover art by Beth Barnett

Reviews are coming in for my latest poetry collection, Ain’t These Sorrows Sweet, which is available for preorder. I am ever so grateful to these reviewers, all poets themselves, who I respect and admire.
 
“Once again, Lauren Scharhag demonstrates accomplished skill and innate talent for sorting skeins of traditional homespun yarns into contemporary designs. Within the framework of each poem, upon a warp of sorrow grounded in absence and denial, Scharhag threads the grist of immigrant and first-generation relatives sharing and not sharing hard memories. A legacy of uncles serving out lives in prison, darkness and loss surrounding births, the dull drag of loved ones aging toward death, the vibrant energy of childhood in an urban landscape all intertwine to anchor the backbone of a brilliant life tapestry. Through a weft of sweetness where the ground beneath warms and softens, those shining threads of witness and hope a poet shuttles into creative patterns, Scharhag distills memories of light and joy contained in everyday tasks like sorting beans with a grandmother and treasuring objects such as an heirloom swan-shaped soap dish. The complex tangled bonds of history and family weave expertly through this collection casting a rustic mosaic to pass down through generations.”

—Shelly Norris, author of Hyperbola (Impspired Press)
 

“This is a book of pain and life and tiny joys: Aztec warriors, divorce and plastic flamingos, broom guitars, dementia and familial sacrifices, the loss of pets and people to terrible diseases, and family serving long prison sentences 'growing old before their time, fashioning objects that they intend to set loose, like doves at a funeral.' Masterfully written with such a vibrant descriptive language, Lauren Scharhag's Ain't These Sorrows Sweet is everything I love about great writing. When there is pain, you feel it; when there are moments of sweet joy, it is the same. You know the author has truly lived these experiences and is able to transport you to wherever she pleases with both a sincere clarity and levelling eye rooted in such a wonderful wash of language and feeling. Whether it be a failed clock-drawing test for dementia or recovered treasures from a ceramics graveyard, the inevitable cloud of our own mortality hangs over everything. Our lives speckled with sorrow and time like those speckled seed bodies and an old enamel soaker pot in “Sorting the Beans.” Lauren Scharhag's Ain't These Sorrows Sweet is a sincerely unflinching and beautifully courageous reminder of human perseverance and of 'how time cuts us all down to size.'”

—Ryan Quinn Flanagan, author of Kiss the Heathens (Roadside Press)

 

Lori's review can also be read here.

 

Linnet's review can also be read here.
 
 
NOMINATIONS

I am simply thrilled to share that my poetry collection, Moonlight and Monsters, has been nominated for an Elgin Award. BIG THANKS to the Gnashing Teeth Publishing folks for this honor!

Moonlight and Monsters is available for purchase from Gnashing Teeth and Amazon. I also have some copies, so if you’d like yours autographed, please let me know. From me, they’re $15. I can accept PayPal or Venmo.
 
 
PUBLICATIONS

“Father” and “Sorting the Beans” are in the spring issue of New Feathers. Thank you to editor Wade Fox and the rest of the NF team!

 
"Father" was also the magazine’s featured poem on April 26.
 
 
 
 

 
 
 

Ain't These Sorrows Sweet Cover Reveal and Preorder Link

I am thrilled to share the beautiful cover for my forthcoming poetry collection, Ain't These Sorrows Sweet from Roadside Press. The art was done by the talented Beth Barnett - many thanks to her! 

The book is now available for preorder for $15 (USD). Reserve your copy now!


SAMPLE POEM 

Things My Uncles Made in Prison

Two out of three sons spent most of their lives in prison. 

Both former altar boys, they were more devout 

when they were inside; they talked to their mother more, 

making collect calls, and quoting scripture in their letters, 

which she kept in a drawer along with a green plastic rosary, 

yet another carceral memento, and Polaroid portraits of them 

in their prison blues, taken by inmate photographers. 

I think of their hands, holding the pen, fingering the beads, 

growing old before their time, fashioning objects 

that they intended to set loose, like doves at a funeral. 

The gifts arrived, packed carefully in newspaper and cardboard, 

metal folk art made with old horseshoes, bolts, and washers; 

drawings of Christ, ballpoint on yellow wide-rule; 

wooden picture frames carved with hearts; 

pendants on leather cords; a lighter case because 

she still smoked Kools; and a music box shaped like a piano, 

its interior lined in mauve velvet. She kept the latter 

on top of her dresser. Its steel and brass movement 

played a tune I can’t remember.