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Peggy Shumaker is the daughter of two deserts-the Sonoran desert where she grew up and the subarctic desert of interior Alaska where she lives now. Shumaker was honored by the Rasmuson Foundation as its Distinguished Artist. She served as Alaska State Writer Laureate. She received a poetry fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. Shumaker is the author of eight books of poetry, including Cairn, her new and selected volume. Her lyrical memoir is Just Breathe Normally. Professor emerita from University of Alaska Fairbanks, Shumaker teaches in the Rainier Writing Workshop MFA at PLU. She serves on the Advisory Board for Storyknife, and on the board of the Alaska Arts and Culture Foundation. Shumaker is editor of the Boreal Books series (an imprint of Red Hen Press), editor of the Alaska Literary Series at University of Alaska Press, poetry editor of Persimmon Tree, and contributing editor for Alaska Quarterly Review. She currently lives in Fairbanks, Alaska.
“These poems are so tender and sad and at the same time exultant and full of celebration. Once again, Peggy Shumaker has written a book full of life. All of life. From mountain to ocean, from deep breath to death. I smile and I cry from page to page of Still Water Carving Light. What treasure.” — Camille Dungy, author of Soil: The Story of a Black Mother's Garden “Peggy Shumaker’s poems find the life inside the life of loss, how it works, how it feels. How loss carves furrows in us and leaves us the beauty of carved things. The poems in this collection follow the inevitable trajectory of the beloved’s life, and of the lives of friends, and the love that outlasts it. They touch softly on grief’s tender spots. What I mean by that is my own personal sadnesses feel nurtured by the care in the lines. Each poem is a love song, a lullaby, and a dance.” —Fleda Brown, author of Flying Through a Hole in the Storm “Is it possible to eulogize the living as well as the dead? To mourn with praise 'every cell of us, healthy or rogue' and every season that arrives, even the 'season of general anesthetic'? Each page of Peggy Shumaker’s Still Water Carving Light answers yes. Yes, it is possible—'for this moment.' Yes, we can count 'what we’ve made / of our dwindling lives / glorious.' Everyone and everything these poems attend to—her beloved Joe in his last months, friends and family members still alive in her memory, the named and unnamed thousands who came before her, even the Gila monster, that 'gentle venomous friend' of her desert childhood—bears the imprint of Shumaker's expansive, generous touch.” —Rebecca McClanahan, author of In the Key of New York City
