Andrew has over 9 books to his credit and some of his poems have originally appeared in few journals and publications.

Andrew has over 9 books to his credit and some of his poems have originally appeared in few journals and publications.  That’s a good news, isn’t it?

Some of his poems are too simplistic and yet beautiful like On This Sunday Morning, “Overtop the trembling aspen raindrops fall before striking the pain”, in Winds, “Wail louder, your might, I am well, I have a book, I have a fire, I have my pen”

“Leaving a torrent of tears screaming, life doesn’t understand the years until I drowned, in this other life”.  His experience of death is so well expressed.

Little Stone House gave me a glimpse of Andrew’s gratefulness as he wishes to thank the man who worked for years who built the stone house to leave it behind as an offering.  I too felt the need to go and visit that stone house and would have loved that adventure.

“Growing down is growing the wrong way, a branch turned in on itself goes too and be sure to let alone a few shoots, they are next years’ apples, but don’t worry, these trees are forgiving, they have been around here a while”.  Wow; I am left mesmerized as I read his Healing the Orchard.  His mindfulness towards an orchard that it too needs healing has left me surprised.

I really enjoyed the minutest details he expressed in his poems All Souls Night, Beside Grandma’s Rocker and Spring at Wander Hill.  I am leaving it to the Readers to go through.

His poem From Self to Self This Offering is his longest poem which is broken in parts.  I have written many book reviews and so far have not come across this long a poetry.  He is basically talking about his life where he questions his own self as he wrote, “Remembering that I must die realizing I have yet lived-horror!”  I am left wondering as to why he feels it so horrific to live?  His own words “from self to self this offering, myself to myself” say it all.  Readers, I am sure will wonder at the jugglery of his words and his artistic way of penning!

His pain of his memories is felt and relatable from his lines in Piano Played in Minor Keys, “Yes, things are not going too well at the moment; and yes, may be things won’t ever be well again”, and in Shell of a Home Dusted, “Where the broom could not reach or where we didn’t sweep behind the space the refrigerator once stood, involute receipts faded on the counter serve remnants of promises left behind, cupboards ajar same as closet doors, hallways framed in shadows where yesterday memories hung”.

Readers will get to read his striking words in Eyes Wide (Title of his book) as he describes Toronto in his lines, “I have seen you all, your women, your streets, your bars and offices and acclaim and I Candidan am shamed I have seen nothing all of these sojourned days”

Well, this book is a compilation of his memoirs, of his thoughts, of the way he thinks and pens them down so beautifully.  I must say, it’s a bouquet full of flowers called memories.  This is a must read and that is all I can say.  So relatable, straight to the point and expressed in all simplicity.

Here’s wishing you all the very best Andrew and pray that you get to add many more books to your collection, and that this book too makes its mark in many more publications as your earlier ones.

Regards,

Shubhaangi Kundalkar

Author, Justaju-in search of life

Insta handle: window-to-my-heart