Authored by Thea Halo
Referring to an odd couple, or to silence fears of never finding one’s soulmate, countless mothers around the world, would comfort with, "There’s a lid for every pot." The title poem speaks to finding that soulmate. (p. 57) "Over time, however, I’ve come to believe that the ‘lid’ may also refers to finding one’s calling…one’s hat, so to speak."
For almost her entire life, Halo thought of herself as a painter. This collection of Thea Halo‘s poetry is a welcomed edition to her acclaimed Memoir, Not Even My Name.
I found myself in a very odd and melancholy mood. … if I try to pinpoint the source of the melancholy, I believe it had to do with the perfection of the whole collection of Thea Halo’s work, and the melancholy, the kind of profound sense that Poe says we feel in the face of something approaching perfection. … It all feels and is of a single spirit, and the words seem to flow so effortlessly, each and every one the right word in the right place and in the best possible combination. Much of what Halo writes reminds me of something within myself and my life.
—Anna T. Challenger, author of Philosophy and Art in Gurdjieff’s "Beelzebub":A Modern Sufi Odyssey
Mystical, ecstatic, Dionysian et al come to mind. These poems dramatize how efficient the form is in that a universe of feeling and emotion can be conveyed in so few words—astounding really.
—— Eleni Phufas