Bücher von Jessica Harman

Music, silence, friendship, romance: what do all these things have to do with each other? As a woman explores her connection in an existential way to a close friend who is a drummer, though nothing much happens except coffee and a walk over a bridge, read what she thinks about what she gets from her cherished friend.It is said that "The only true journey is into the heart of another," but also it that, "The only true journey is within." In "Ten Words for Love in a Silent Language," we see how both journeys actually often happen at once: the more we know another person, the more we learn about ourselves, and vice versa.This is a tale of coffee, long walks, and an unsuccessful romance saved by the fact that two people actually like each other, though "not in that way."

The phone rang at the right hand side of the counter, the side behind which everyone left their winter coats. It was October, and already cold. It was even cold for Montreal. Jane skipped past Big Toenails, nearly pushing him aside, and answered the phone, in French, of course, "Bonjour. Movieland." "Moki moki." Someone said to Jane. Jane said, "What?" "We want to know how to spell Jimminy Cricket, please." Jane said, "I don't know." The voice asked, "Could you find out?" Jane, instead of looking it up in the computer, went to get the box in the kid's section. She knew where the box was, even though she had only rented it to people twice, because she had a photographic memory for things that mattered. When she got back on the phone, no one was there. Dead air. She hung up.

This is a full-length poetry collection, 129 pages. These are metaphysical love poems by Jessica Harman, who has published in journals such as "Arion," "Bellevue Literary Review," "Nimrod," "Orbis," "Spillway," "Stand," "Rosebud," and "Tears in the Fence."Walking On Clouds1.Fairy tales are for the futureParts of us who will need to be loved.The world's version of loveIs better than heaven's, but don't tellAnyone this. It's no fun being dead.We must keep our brilliance, sharing it.Yet we must keep up illusions.If we thought this world was it,That would be too banal,Or maybe it would be heaven.Do you understand?2.In my dreams I fly flags of imaginaryCountries ruled by imaginary philosopher kingsWho have been put together by other thinkersAs puzzle pieces. Whatever. If the pieces fit too well,I don't fly the flag.3.Dream me a rainbow, love,And tie my hands with it,And never let me go.copyright 2013by Jessica Harman

Enter the world of a schizophrenic woman who has a nervous breakdown in Penn Station, New York City. Things could be going better for her on her trip to Baltimore. To top it off, she has polka-dot luggage, which makes her stand out even more. She tries to get a grip on whatever there is to get a grip on, but her mind is good at absorbing chaos. Can she find help? Why does this happen to her? Join her on her journey as she reaches out to others to steady herself, and gain back her balance, while having a bit of fun along the way. She meets people and she writes poetry. She is bitter but passi