Upon reading Without a Claim I found myself being swept away by the captivating words of the poet. A light, breezy read that is perfect for a mid-summers day or a starry night. Without a Claim will have readers spellbound into the magical use of romantic words as they feel the salty air of the sea breeze within their souls.
I was overly joyed when I received this book for a review. I've been on the hunt for a book of poems that could compete with the likes of Emily Dickinson and thankfully my search has since ended. Grace Schulman has been called “a vital and permanent poet,” and it is easy to see why. Schulman masterfully blends encompasses music, art, faith and history into beautiful works of the written word in which she truly masters!
When I was reading Without a Claim I found myself along the sandy shorelines of the sea weeping over the loss of a sailor that was said to have drowned within the forbidden depths. From there I was transported to Paris as I watched forbidden lovers surrender their love so that society would accept their lives apart.
This book of poems has quickly become one of my favorite reads! I recommend this book with the highest of praise even for those of you who might not be fans of poetry, attempt to read this book. The magic is far too great to be ignored!
“Without a Claim is a modern Book of Psalms. Indeed, the glory in these radiant sacred songs meld an art of high music with a nuanced love of the world unlike any we’ve heard before. No matter your mood upon entering this world you’ll soon be grateful, and enchanted. In any such house of praise, God herself must be grateful.” — Philip Schultz, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of Failure and The God of Loneliness
Grace Schulman, who has been called “a vital and permanent poet” (Harold Bloom), makes new the life she finds in other cultures and in the distant past. In Without a Claim, she masterfully encompasses music, faith, art, and history. The title poem alludes to the Montauk sachem who sold land without any concept of rights to property, and meditates on our own notion of ownership: “No more than geese in flight, shadowing the lawn, / cries piercing wind, do we possess these fields, / given the title, never the dominion.” She traces the illusion of rights, from land to objects, from our loves to our very selves. Alternatively, she finds permanence in art, whether in galleries or on cave walls, and in music, whether in the concert hall, on the streets of New York, or in the waves at sea.