Reviews of Squam Fever

Remembrance trumps departure, Page Coulter writes in her new book, alluding to the proverbial end of summer. In these gorgeous, heartfelt poems and photographs, Squam Lake becomes not simply a spiritual inheritance but also a living, breathing being in its own right -- one capable of offering solace:It's all right to die: see the cowslips/and violets nodding by the stream? They come back every year. Read this book for its lyrical wonder. The lives it remembers are as happy as poppy seeds.

--Ralph James Savarese, Professor of English, Grinnell College

Squam Fever is a paean of praise for the justifiably famous New Hampshire Squam Lake, where "Docks Made of Wood," redpolls and loons occupy coves and islands and memories. These quiet and always beautifully phrased poems of place and even ticks and a hairy woodpecker bring us once more to summer camps and morning swims. We jump in: A splash has no shape / making it hard to assemble. / It's therefore important / to catch it mid-air. There is joy here (Our lives were happy as poppy seeds) and whimsy (When asked to draw a picture of God / my brother, at five drew a fisherman / fishing from his rowboat) and quiet (through bogs, the marsh, / the open lake / now here / now there) and always love, as in These words we hear in the breaking waves. Page Coulter's new and wise poems are for all of us who love lakes and mountains and will listen, now, for how Nature can guide us through these present times we so often long to escape.

--Dick Allen, Connecticut State Poet Laureate and author of This Shadowy Place among other poetry books.

Whether you know and love Squam Lake specifically, or a place like it, this collection of poems and photographs embraces a collective experience. Each tells of a specific place and incident, yet is universal in form, feeling, and celebrating time and life past. Page writes with all her senses and the result is exquisite - her words, and the images they bring to mind, spring off the page like thos frogs and thoughts that lie in ambushe (see page 38), and sing.

--Susan Lirakis, Photographic Artist

Reviews of A River Called Bearcamp

"You, River, once read Anna Karenina, / while cooling my toes in yoru water," Page Coulter writes in her poem "River, I've Come Here to Talk." In these poems the Bearcamp is at once a fellow inter-locutor and a strange amnesiac presiding over human affairs. "Why do the rest of us think tragedies / while you wind, like unmanned / kayak, through centuries, oblivious?" Coulter asks. "It's just that the wind is / always discovering things. / How like death that must feel," she writes in another poem. A dynamic mortality pervades this book, a mortality both amplified and consoled by nature. "I like to hear my shoes play ./ sonatas in the snow, " she declares musically. A poet with many books to her credit, Coulter is a the top of her form in this meditation on river chatter. -Ralph James Savarese.

The Bearcamp River is a source of inspiration and tranquility. It has renewed my spirit on many occasions. Page Coulter and Dale Lary have captured the spirit of this unique locale. As a professional landscape photographer, I appreciate the beauty and balance of Dale's photographs, which capture both the serenity and turbulence of the Bearcamp. Page's poems convey profound imagery of the meandering river and rich adventures along the river banks. This beautiful book is a wonderful collaboration of two talented artists. " - Eric Morse