- Nancy Simpson
- Nancy Simpson's LIVING ABOVE THE FROST LINE, New and Selected Poems was published by Carolina Wren Press (N.C. Laureate Series, 2010.) She is the author of ACROSS WATER and NIGHT STUDENT, State Street Press, still available on WWW at Alibris and Books Again. Her poems have been published in Southern Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, The Georgia Review and other literary magazines. "Carolina Bluebirds" was published in THE POETS GUIDE TO THE BIRDS, Anhinga Press). "Grass" was reprinted in the 50th Anniversary Issue of Southern Poetry Review: DON'T LEAVE HUNGRY ( U.of Arkansas Press.) Seven poems were reprinted in the textbook, SOUTHERN APPALACHIAN POETRY,(McFarland.) Two poems were published in SOLO CAFE, Two more poems were published in SOLO NOVO."In the Nantahala Gorge" was published in Pisgah Review. "Studying Winter" was reprinted in Pirene's Fountain Anthology and "The Collection" in Collecting Life Anthology. Most recently, Southern Poetry Review Edited by James Smith, published "Our Great Depression," and The Southern Poetry Anthology Vol. VII: NORTH CAROLINA,Edited by William Wright, reprinted "Leaving in the Dead of Winter."
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Nancy! What a beautiful cover! What a momentous occasion! I am looking forward to your signing, and to reading the book!
LIVING ABOVE THE FROST LINE NEW AND SELECTED POEMS by Nancy Simpson
Please come to Phillips and Lloyd Book Store on the square
in Hayesville on Saturday August 7th, 2010 for
my book signing 11:00 am to 1:00 pm.
Refreshments will be served. http://www.nancysimpson.blogspot.com
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Philip Sampson of
Katja Holmes of
Steven Harvey, professor of English at
Thomas Rain Crowe of the Tuckasegee community in western
Gary Carden, renowned playwright and story teller from Sylva, NC donated the proceeds from a special production of his play, "Birdell," to NCWN West to help with costs involved in publishing Echoes Across the Blue Ridge. Two of Carden’s stories appear in the book.
The anthology is dedicated to the memory of our Appalachian ballad poet Byron Herbert Reece. Two of his poems are included.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Do you write short fiction, personal essays, or poetry? The important question is - What's In Your Writing Folder?
Come spend one week writing at the John C. Campbell Folk School during the specific week of August 22, 2010.
WRITING: WHAT’S IN YOUR WRITING FOLDER? Nancy Simpson, Writing Instructor.
CLASS DESCRIPTION: Pull out your writing folder, whether filled with stories, poems, essays or almost empty, and come write what you want. This class will trigger new writing and will keep you on track and moving toward the finish. Get encouraging feedback from your instructor and classmates. How and where to publish will also be discussed. All levels welcome.
Each student will have time to work on an individual writing project, such as to assemble a collection of poems, essays or stories for publication. A list of magazines and chapbook and book presses will be given.
If you live in the Appalachian mountain area, ask for 1/2 discount.
Preregister at 1 800 FOLK-SCH
You will be asked to bring a sample of your writing to read to the class as a way of introducing yourself. The class begins on Sunday and ends at noon on Friday.
Each student will have a writing station with computer and printer access. The focus of the class will be on short story, personal essay and poetry. There will be class time and private time for you to write. There will be time to share your writing with others. The class will give a reading for the school at the end of the week.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Ode to Rock and Roll
On a cool morning I helped my friend Bob collect rocks for his garden. We drove his pick-up to a rain-rutted road off the highway and rode a quarter mile, sheer wall on one side, sheer drop on the other, to the top of a mountain.
First we huffed and hefted, stumbled and cursed the two-man rocks. Then we hugged the one-man rocks to our chests like teddy bears. Finally, we filled the gaps with one-hand rocks until the bed sagged as if the truck would tip up on its tailgate.
No room to turn around, Bob, eyes flitting side-mirror to side-mirror, backed the truck down that rutted road. The radio blared rock-and-roll, blared the Rolling Stones. Oh, children. It’s just a kiss away, kiss away, kiss away.
I knew what the song said. The precipice is a kiss away. Death is a kiss away. It’s always just a kiss away. In the seat, eyes closed, dust and sweat coated my arms and chest, seatbelt flapped against my shoulder, I smiled. Oh, children. I was not afraid.