PM Books & PM Library Literary and Intellectual Publishing Partnership
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LIKE FALLEN SNOW
Memoir with Poetry
RUTH ROSENTHAL
147 pages
ISBN: 978-0-9827343-3-9
Price $16.00
About the author
Ruth put aside a scholarship to Newark State College, in New Jersey, before making
California her home.
Twenty years later, after taking all the available non-credited writing classes she could
find, Ruth went back to college, selecting literature, poetry, short story writing,
psychology, sociology, art history, and art.
Ruth was staff writer for Kaleidoscope, the publication of the Peninsula Poets Guild in
Northern California, and poetry judge for The Write Place.
She taught creative writing, and established a poetry group for psychiatric patients at
Marin General Hospital, merging with the art director’s class. Amazing changes came
about as patients, some who had never written before, expressed their deepest feelings
and discovered their own hidden joy.
The book
Once again Ruth Rosenthal has given us her bright, jewel-
like poems, this time matched to moving, often funny
memories. Memoire speaks to poem, poem to memoire,
sometimes as contrast, sometimes as echo. As readers we
gain access to meaning and rich intriguing characters. Then
the forms like sonatas and etudes in music connect our
thoughts and feelings to enrich our reading pleasure.
—Jeanette Bryon, Professor Emerita, California State
University, Fresno
Reviews
The Temple Where Little Girls
Worshipped
As far back as I can remember, I was enchanted by the precocious,
talented, smiling personality of Shirley Temple. I had a blue cup
made of glass which had her picture on it. I wouldn’t drink my milk
unless it was in my Shirley Temple cup. Her picture was barely
visible after the many times my mother had washed my special cup
for me. But that didn’t matter to me. It had to be that cup.
A generation and a half later, it was with a mixture of feelings that I
heard Shirley Temple Black would be visiting the auditorium of a
company I worked for. After her talk I went to meet her. Her right
hand was bandaged. As I began to briefly mention my childhood
devotion to her, I became more concerned about her in the present
and asked what happened to her hand. She laughed and told me
how a huge Texan had told her what a fan of hers he was, as he
crunched her small hand in his massive one. In his zeal it must have
taken very little to give her a sprain. As she offered her left hand to
me it seemed very small and vulnerable to me in my not so large
hand.
I left the auditorium thinking about what someone had done to her.
It was innocent. It was out of enthusiasm for her as a personality. I
doubt she would remember our brief meeting. But I’m sure she
remembers him.
From Like Fallen Snow
When Bobby and Bobbie
Made Music Together
He touched the strings.
His bass fiddle responded
to his touch like I do.
The notes were gentle
waves of his own
sense of humor.
She said fitting sounds
back to him
on the keys.
Their music pleased
and teased everyone
the way it played itself
through their fingers.
They communicated
in unwritten jazz riffs
feeling the moment
filling the room
with creative delight,
none of it taped
just into the air
like a loving prayer.
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