No One We Know

Poetry

Publisher Aya/Mercury Press (1986)

ISBN 0920544444

Sample poem:

Grosney’s Delicatessen

The sherbet glasses in this Chinese restaurant
are authentic, you know. Exactly like the ones
in the delicatessen, the facets blunt, cloudy,
durable. I have something. I have a real coleslaw
dish, thick white oval with a green stripe. My
grandfather, you don’t know him, isn’t thinking
of anything as he steps inside. Nothing to match
that cool and dim, the floor swept clean, familiar.
He smoothes his apron and rests a hand on the meek surface of wood. All along the long counter the customers turn, nod. The grey cat touches the hem of his trouser with the white tip of her nose. I was never there, the only place on earth I exist.

 

“Rhea Tregebov’s poetry is brilliant in that it makes ordinary things shine brilliantly, thereby revealing the connnections between them.”

Sharon Goodier, Canadian Book Review Annual

2019-07-17T03:45:50-07:00

Sharon Goodier, Canadian Book Review Annual

“Rhea Tregebov’s poetry is brilliant in that it makes ordinary things shine brilliantly, thereby revealing the connnections between them.”
“Rhea Tregebov’s poetry cuts to the quick, exposing us, through cracks in the ordinary and familiar, to the raw, wounded flesh.”

Di Brandt, Prairie Fire.

2019-07-17T03:46:10-07:00

Di Brandt, Prairie Fire.

“Rhea Tregebov’s poetry cuts to the quick, exposing us, through cracks in the ordinary and familiar, to the raw, wounded flesh.”
“Most people, swept along on the flood of their lives, clutch at something to steady them — a house that floats by, a tree trunk, another human being. A life preserver. Some of Tregebov’s most moving poems are those in which the things that preserve her life float out of the unreality of nowhere: “flowers, bowls of fruit/ rabbits. They’re to help us/ remember and forget."

Mary Meigs, Room of One’s Own.

2019-07-17T03:46:36-07:00

Mary Meigs, Room of One’s Own.

“Most people, swept along on the flood of their lives, clutch at something to steady them — a house that floats by, a tree trunk, another human being. A life preserver. Some of Tregebov’s most moving poems are those in which the things that preserve her life float out of the unreality of nowhere: “flowers, bowls of fruit/ rabbits. They’re to help us/ remember and forget."