(Plain View Press, 2009)
There is starry verse between these covers. In Beth Paulson’s Immensity there is wonder for all that is luminous and solace and wisdom in certainty. Time and space are the territory of this poet who is trailed by wide sky. She is a seasoned traveler, a calculator of the universe’s math in lyric sums, a maker of poems edged in the quiet spirit of mystery. Paulson leans into the energy of painters, stargazers and poets. Spiritual guides of the East become companions. Paulson knows the “om of a snowplow,” and can brew tea for the Buddha while he waits, wordlessly, to finish a quilt.
Kierstin Bridger, author of Demimonde
(Ponderosa Press, 2004)
In Immensity Beth Paulson constructs a sonorous, sensuous, and serious verse that won't let you go. Metaphor? Music? Imagination? Craft? Narrative? Lyric? That's all here, and danger, too. "Two slim lanes and no guardrail, only/road to take me south from the Colorado/mountain town I call home," Immensity opens. "Here on Earth soft soughs of spring winds/ round corners of cottonwood trees/ trucks moan and thrum on the highway/ the river murmurs from across the road./ I can still hear her say my name," it ends. Immensity is a book neither to be missed nor forgotten.
Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum,
author of Ghost Gear
(Kelsay Books 2016)