Oakland, CA; Boulder, CO; New York, NY; San Francisco, CA; Boston, MA; Cambridge, MA; Paris, France “Open and read Julie Carr’s finely wrought Equivocal. Such intimate, ambitious, impeccable, evocative writing!”―Carol Snow "Deeply concerned with her relationship with her mother, children, and god, the speaker in the poems returns again and again to the mysteries, frailties, and intensities of all three of these relationships."― American Poet "As the pages turn, the book captivates with images that make connections of their own...and its sounds...stay with us long after the book is closed."― Library Journal "The stalwart energy, risky invention, and luminous intelligence of this book make the air clearer, the world lighter, and give company to those who grieve."―Jean Valentine "It is nothing less than thrilling to see the delight, the pain, the opposition, the contradiction, the logic and the illogic of the mysterious, unlanguaged correspondences between mother and child, child and mother, and then adult and mother meet such a fierce intelligence. And there is brilliant formal invention. Like nativity itself, all seems eternally spun on end."―Gillian Conoley “Open and read Julie Carr’s finely wrought Equivocal. Such intimate, ambitious, impeccable, evocative writing!”—Carol Snow "Deeply concerned with her relationship with her mother, children, and god, the speaker in the poems returns again and again to the mysteries, frailties, and intensities of all three of these relationships."— American Poet "As the pages turn, the book captivates with images that make connections of their own...and its sounds...stay with us long after the book is closed."— Library Journal "The stalwart energy, risky invention, and luminous intelligence of this book make the air clearer, the world lighter, and give company to those who grieve."—Jean Valentine "It is nothing less than thrilling to see the delight, the pain, the opposition, the contradiction, the logic and the illogic of the mysterious, unlanguaged correspondences between mother and child, child and mother, and then adult and mother meet such a fierce intelligence. And there is brilliant formal invention. Like nativity itself, all seems eternally spun on end."—Gillian Conoley Julie Carr ’s first book, Mead: An Epithalamion, won the University of Georgia Press’ contemporary poetry prize for 2004. Her poems have appeared in such journals as Volt, American Letters & Commentary, Pool, Verse, The Iowa Review, Boston Review, and TriQuarterly. She received an MFA in poetry from New York University and a PhD from UC Berkeley. She lives in Denver and teaches at the University of Colorado at Boulder. From “House/Boat” : . . . The night soon lost its head. I said, I’m here. Pulling up now, parking, as it were, looking for something to eat, to redeem. The wind shook the seedpod but the seedpod wasn’t moved. And though I thought I’d done the damage I was born for, there was still so much to step through, so much to mar. Used Book in Good Condition