Ravens, Nights
Peter Shaindlin

Ravens, Nights is Peter Shaindlin’s third published book of poetry, a collection of varied works. From tranquil pastorales to coarsely hewn cityscapes, erotic ruminations and grandiose reveries, reimagined haiku to pictographic poesy, this unique collection represents an informed homage to the modern canon while staking new territory within the noumenon of twenty-first-century culture.

ISBN: 978-1-944521-07-3, 146 pages, 6.69" x 9.61".

Coming in August 2020


We were in the car that night
driving up the rise
when oh so gently,
in square silence,
in milk-sweet bands of hushed, fine light
we looked upon the comet’s death


After you come down from the mountain and cross the great river, come up over the soft hills and visit me in my Palace of Rubies. Stand naked for me as sweet gentle light paints you the color of cherries. I will gaze at you as we awaken, sleeping still all the time in the realm of Uji.

A Review by Frank Stewart

Here is lyric poetry that testifies to the beauty of the material world, to the bewildering turns entangled in emotions fully experienced, and to the gratitude we must ultimately feel for being alive. Gratitude for forests, seas, stars, gardens, houses, cathedrals, bus stops, and trains—in spite of—and perhaps because of—the world’s brevity and ours.

In their care for the sensuous world, many of the poems create the effects of still life paintings, the music of Bach, retellings of classic myth, pastoral art, and song. And they evoke many places, from Japan to Eastern Europe. But most importantly there are people: strangers in a courtyard or café, friends, aging parents, and lovers, who, like the poet himself, seem to be always passing away, turning into dust, but also into light.

As much as he adores the world, Shaindlin also attends to the beauty possible in language. His lines are always musical in the best sense, poised, thoughtful, carefully arranged. If the language sometimes seem to recall dreams, they are the dreams of Proust, Baudelaire, and Ovid. And there are many dreamers and many voices in this poetry. As he asks, almost directly of the reader, “I hear many voices there / Are you listening?”