Peal, Bruce Bond

About the Author

Bruce Bond

Bruce Bond’s two collections of poetry released by Etruscan Press are Peal (2009) and Cinder (2004). Other collections include Blind Rain (LSU Press, 2008), The Throats of Narcissus (University of Arkansas Press, 2001), Radiography (Natalie Ornish Award, BOA Editions, 1997), The Anteroom of Paradise (Colladay Award, QRL, 1991), Independence Days (R. Gross Award, Woodley Press, 1990), and four chapbooks.

Presently, Bond is Regents Professor of English at the University of North Texas and poetry editor for American Literary Review.

Find out more about Bruce and how to interact with him on his author page.

List Price: $17.95 
Price:$ 14.35

“The poems in Bruce Bond’s new collection Peal probe music’s deepest sources. These beautifully crafted lyrics lead us down into intricate and sonoruous paths where we meet out own uncertain songs, at once ghostly, elegiac, and ecstatic. This is a work of exquisite complexity by one of our best poets writing today.”—Molly Bendall

“The speculative drive of these poems pushes the reader to the very limits of reflection.”—Daniel Tiffany

“Poets have ever sought a seamless integration of art and life: think of Keats’s ‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty’ or Yeats’s ‘How can we know the dancer from the dance?’ In Bruce Bond’s Peal, as in the work of this best predecessors, ‘it is impossible to know/where music ends, the world begins.’”—H.L. Hix, Etruscan author

In Bruce Bond’s seventh book, we see a sustained exploration of mortality and its embodiment in the consolations of beauty, most notably in music.

Publication date: October 2009

Read an excerpt from Peal


As they loaded the dead onto the gurneys

to wheel them from the university halls,

who could have predicted the startled chirping

in those pockets, the invisible bells

and tiny metal music of the phones,

in each the cheer of a voiceless song.

Pop mostly, Timberlake, Shakira, tunes

never more various now, more young,

shibboleths of what a student hears,

what chimes the dark doorway to the parent

on the line.  Who could have answered there

in proxy for the dead, received the panic

with grace, however artless, a live bird

gone still at the meeting of the strangers.