Renata McCormish is the author of Rimbaud's Echo (The Bulldog Publishing Co., 2006), published under her pseudonym Renata Emther. Her work has also appeared in Shakespeare’s Monkey Revue, A Surreal Good Time, and on the Writers’ Alliance website raising awareness about the genocide in Darfur. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where she is enrolled in the MFA Program in Creative Writing/Poetry at Carlow University. She has worked as an interpreter, and currently translates Czech poetry into English. Her native language is Czech. Rimbaud’s Echo, (ISBN 0-9787247-0-4) Renata McCormish’s first collection of poetry, is published under her pseudonym Renata Emther. Part I (Uxor Verborum) reflects her Czech roots and love for nature, history, art, and literature. Many of her poems pay homage to great historical figures as well as little known men and women around the world. Part II (White Fire) focuses on the constant presence of (inner and outer) war in our lives, and unconditional love for her children and all forms of innocence. With calm ferocity, Emther explores the best and the worst in human nature, and aims to transmute pain and despair into a visionary sun. In Part III (Dawn), her voice mellows into a plea for selfless friendship and love. Her metaphors take readers from darkness into a symbolic dawn. The entire collection of 111 poems, written in her pre-MFA voice, addresses the world both the way it is and should be. Readers can purchase Rimbaud's Echo from Amazon.com or directly through the publisher, Bulldog Publishing Company, Inc., NYC. .....................Click here for the Exclusive Up the Staircase Interview with Renata McCormish!

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Up the Staircase Spotlights: The Poetry of Renata McCormish Chung Tea Ceremony The glazed cup rests between us - armless, undressed alabaster. You lean forward, touch its wide mouth. There is a vast, green sea inside the man. He rests between the heaven and the earth. A landscape print behind your back sheds leaves. There is no wind. I see a crack in the heaven - smooth, clay lid veiled in whiteness. I know I must lift the man with one hand. I am a woman. The tea leaves unfurl, you sip their green liquor. My knees boast the sober imprint of a tatami mat. Bamboo braided into blossom. I stroke the saucer. How long can the earth withstand the heaven? My lips meet the man. I take small sips of the jade sea inside him. I breathe his scent when he is empty. The tea leaves whisper. The Stained Glass News (St. Vitus Cathedral, Prague) The sun is rising above Prague like a monstrance. My back is pressed against a stained glass window. The latest news ignites in rosette splashes of blue, red and gold on the opposite wall. I read it eagerly. My whole life is written there. So much desire in this vast space of silver, stone, and pointed arches! Every tomb familiar, every statue alive with light. When I move, colors climb up my bare arms – I read myself. What difference is there between my bones and the cathedral arches? Only the colors know the answer. The sun streams in, transfigured. In such presence, I remain. Speechless. Too transfixed to leave. You Have Left Something Beautiful... You have left something beautiful ............on the edge of my kitchen counter. ........................A plate of fresh figs and prosciutto sliced by the morning sun. Streams ............of gold flooding the marble tiles where ........................last night, I leaned into your embrace. You have left something beautiful ............in the tousled fall of my graying hair: ........................The promise of a revived pierot lunaire tossing laughter with a vinagrette. ............Seasoning time with flamenco words. ........................A meal of fresh figs and new hope. The Package There is little you can do when a woman washes her life and spreads it across the lawn, ...........numb and bleached in the receding sunlight. Sitting on the porch steps, she sips wine with crackers while waiting for it to dry. There is nothing you can say when her work is done. She folds her life, ...........clean and emotionless, and packs it into a tight, cardboard box, ready to ship. The destination unknown, but always the same. The enclosed note says: Life has too many threads I can no longer handle.