Beginning in , her poetic concerns became more social, weaving into the personal a political vision. Pinegar has received a grant from the Surdna Foundation for a residency at Footpaths to Creativity in the Azores, and a residency fellowship from the Helene V. Wurlitzer Foundation in Taos, NM.
In the early s, she lived in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia with her then-husband and children. She writes of those years,. Surprise me! Individual poems were, at their cores, finely crafted. They were emotional, historical, social, politicalβmore than occasionally, all four.
The winning poems crossed cultures Poe in Athens; a grieving sister in Halifax dreaming of the solace of whole-family grieving in Morocco.
They piqued my curiosity you bet, I now know who Otto Dix was, and his painting, Old Lovers , will haunt me for a long time. These poems coursed through me: I could smell fear and smoke and sweat; I flinched at gunfire; loneliness and vulnerability, resolve and hard-won triumph resonated to the marrow of my bones. I thank all poets who submitted work for consideration in this issue; I am richer for the experience of spending time with your poems.
Translated by Anna Reckin The great tree falls, and the act of its felling is at one and the same time an act of creation: seeds, leaves, a house, the boat which one morning glides out over the shallows. A sigh goes through the world when the tree tumbles down, combined with a crack like the breaking of bones when it hits the ground. And just then, when this reserved, unyielding being snaps, one door slams shut and another is pushed open, stands ajar to the future. In that narrow gap, a fire flickers, visible from a long way off: a beacon in the dark night of time.
