Title:  Still, the Sky
Author:  Tom Pearson
Publisher: ‎ Independently published
ISBN: ‎ 979-8430895471
Pages:  180
Genre:  Poetry
Reviewed by:  David Allen

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What is the key theme and/or message in the book?
The book for me is a fragmented layering of memory, associations, and metaphors that connects the mythologies of Icarus and the Minotaur through both poetry and visual art. There isn’t anything I have come across that talks about Icarus and the Minotaur as contemporaries, though the timelines are such that they might have been in the same places and shared similar ages, certainly had relationships with some of the same characters—so I wrote what I’m calling a speculative mythology about what that could’ve been.

The work is a sort of epic poem while also a down-to-earth coming-of-age story, nuanced in the ways the characters relate to one another, with heartbreak and yearning, but also with treasure found in the recollections. It is about love and loss, the failure of fathers and mentors, flight and falling, war and peace—all big themes and mythological in scope, but I hope I bring it all into focus through the specificity of the relationships and the nuance of the stories.

What do you hope your readers take away from this book?
I am always hesitant to say because I hope that the work will offer reflection for them, that readers will take away something very personal that the words and images conjure. Mythology and poetry are both interesting because they can be super specific but also open channels into larger associations. I’ve created a lot of provocations about coming of age and relationships, especially between men, that get rather complex, and so I hope there is enough detail in these that they might create sensory or memory pathways that register on some deep level with readers whether identifying through first romantic or sexual relationships, or relationships with mentors or father-figures, or connecting with the sacred feminine forces that are also very present in these stories.

What is the significance of the title?
The title comes directly from Ovid, in a quote from the story of Icarus and Daedalus:  

Daedalus said, “still, the sky is before us,

            And that’s the way we’ll go. Minos’ dominion

            Does not include the air.” 

For me, that is like arresting an image mid-thought (or mid-flight), and it sounds as much like a statement as a question, again, leaving space for interpretation.

Tell us about the process for coming up with the cover.
I found the work of illustrator Owen Gent (from the U.K.) online and reached out to him with the book concept. We started by giving my first book, The Sandpiper’s Spell, a makeover, and I fell in love with the imagery and knew I wanted him to work with me on Still, the Sky. What I love about Owen’s art is that he can distill a work of heightened metaphors down into one succinct image, a metaphor of its own that walks the line between being succinct but offering enough space for the reader to interpret the image. I think that’s vital but difficult to accomplish, to be iconic but at the same time, be connotative— recognizable, but reflective.

What was the highlight of writing this book?
I began writing this book in spring 2019 during a fellowship residency at the Bogliasco Foundation in Italy, in a studio overlooking the Ligurian Sea while watching seagulls nest in the cliffs below. I started by gathering my writings on coming-of-age and struck on the idea of organizing it all through images of sky and sea which led me to the mythologies of Icarus, Daedalus, and the Minotaur. There was something about all that vast space that created a natural longing, for places, people, past selves. So much of what I did at that time was very much environmentally informed and a real highlight in the process of writing this story. After that period, for the next few years, I wrote and revised in my living spaces in Providence, RI and finally in Nyack, NY—all through the pandemic, but those early pre-pandemic days in Italy became even more nostalgic for me as I wrote with the sense of things slipping away. The writings fostered several other works—in site-specific theater (at La Jolla Playhouse Without Walls Festival 2019) and as an art installation, film, VR and performance activations at Ace Hotel New York and at Olin College of Engineering. Through these explorations, I sought to reclaim and queer the traditional representations of these mythological figures by recasting them alongside my own personal experiences, and out of these manifestations, the final world of the book grew.

Are you working on anything at the present you would like to share with your readers about?
I have a film that is currently out now as well, gathering some momentum and doing well in the short film festival circuit. It’s called The Night Garden and is based on a concept of shared dreams and co-creative processes with a group of five artists/friends. Plans for releasing that as a streaming option is slated for fall or winter. Meanwhile, I am writing new things. I am rehearsing new performances.

Where do you draw inspiration from?
I tune into my dreams and have techniques for recording them as well as practices for catching those random thoughts that seem like such great ideas but come at the most inopportune moments, always when doing something else. So, I have practices that help me stop to listen and record and then other structures for going back and organizing later. I also gather a lot of information and inspiration by sifting ideas through multimedia and through iterative processes. I think it is vital to the work to leave it alone sometimes, to go away in the middle of working on something and then come back. And, of course, so much comes from collaborative relationships and working on art and performance with others. Now that this new book and film are out, I am also finding myself able to go back into a more relaxed period of intake, beautiful long hours spent reading other writers, seeing films and performances, listening to music, taking long walks, visiting places, communing with others and the deep conversations that come from these hours of leisure—especially because when I am working on something, I don’t look at or read other works. I tend to isolate then. So, now I am embracing the openness of this summer, where I get to go enjoy other people’s creative work.