reviews, etc. | Catherine Strisik

As in a fine Greek love song, Catherine Strisik’s Goat, Goddess, Moon, juxtaposes grief and loss with discovery, joy, and rebirth—a reawakening of sorts and an unearthing of the past, a reconnection with ancestors and reconvergence of old paths that once led in different directions.

A river runs through it, the river Lethe, one of the five rivers of the underworld, that of forgetfulness and oblivion, born of Eris—Strife. Yet there are also streams of memory that emerge, joining past and present. Grief is tempered by a luxuriant softening, healing, reclaiming of body and soul, a communing with sea and salt and the light of the three-quarter moon.

The reawakening is not least of all one of the senses. This collection is redolent with aromas and filled with flavors—roses, almonds, orange rind, wild oregano, basil, and fennel, aromatic olives and their oil. And goat stew consumed in the throes of grief. There are sounds of laughter, the tolling of church bells, the bark of a dog, the exploration of simple Beethoven on an old piano. The sounds of Greek, round and fulsome in the mouth—from those of the north to the singular and ageless cadences of Crete—utterances heard and spoken, sometimes in solitude. Song encompassing heartache and, at the same time, transcending it. Sounds are juxtaposed with the sensation of an antiquated pen scratching on paper and the chiseling and carving of letters in stone, the sensations of cobblestones underfoot, and the body responding to touch and texture.

This poetic journey moves through the writer’s ancestors’ Northern Greece and eventually lands in Crete. Time stretches out. A month. Yet somehow that month has an affinity with everything stretching back to antiquity.

This collection reflects a deepening sense of identity, a hint of belonging. The poet relates an affirmation from a Cretan vendor: “You are one of us.” Passages describe a reappropriation of the body and sensuality, and Eros, though unnamed, takes the stage. A one-eyed cat makes an appearance, scrounging for food as other felines vocalize, just as a waiter causes them to scramble and disperse, followed by mournful musings on the pitiful creature’s demise (that of the cat, not the waiter).

The final section is an exploration of the author’s name and its Greek iterations. The author ponders, “[. . .] sometimes the unexpected occurs in Greek” (p. 56). And indeed it does. In this continuation of reflections on identity, a stylistic shift suddenly occurs, with long prosaic lines, unpunctuated, in a stream of consciousness that densely compresses so many elements of the Cretan sojourn and all the resonance and story concealed in—and evoked by—the utterance of that sonorous name in Greek.

Learning the Greek alphabet is practically a circus act for a little girl, alphabetic acrobatics to a promise of pennies, the letters full and round on the tongue, in the mouth, on the palate, like a fragrant elixir. Curious oddities and incongruities pop up, such as the Greek uncle fingering American greenbacks. And a muttering of hexes or at least sputters of disapproval in a confusing crossing of paths with a wizened, scornful gypsy in a Northern Greek bus terminal—in an almost frenetic ramble that reflects the chaos of the encounter. A used condom paints a portrait of urban grit with an evocation of deities of antiquity—either the divinity of love and beauty or the stream of oblivion re remnants of a curbside erotic collision or stolen seduction.

Occasionally, a Greek letter surreptitiously intermingles with the odd English rendering of Greekness, adding a curious and playful typographical twist that might easily go unnoticed. While the Greek cited occasionally strays slightly and distorts ever so slightly a word or phoneme, it is a valuable reflection of a Greek-American’s perceptions and recollections of details of the language—a part of the journey and how it is stored in memory.

The final poem begins, “My namesake wears my heart.” It is an apt start to an ending, as all of Goat, Goddess, Moon is a profound outpouring of the heart.

Peter Bottéas
Paris, December 2025

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Mind/Matter by Fred Marchant, Charles River Journal

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Sawnie Morris’ Review of Catherine Strisik’s, Thousand-Cricket Song

Fogged Clarity

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Writing Life in Taos by Phaedra Greenwood

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Insectum Gravitis: Christina Stock for Roswell Daily Record

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INTERVIEWS

You, Me, and Parkinson’s: The Mistress in a Marriage - PMD Alliance

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Conversation between Catherine Strisik & Vassiliki Rapti by Vassiliki Rapti, Poeticanet

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Conversation Between Catherine Strisik and Roisin McCormack/Parkinson’s Life

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Davis Phinney Foundation for Parkinson’s Interview with Catherine Strisik

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Taos News and Catherine Strisik

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Lowell Sun Interview on Thousand-Cricket Song

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RECORDING/READINGS

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Insectum Gravitis: Two Poems with Poem Readings in The Maynard, April 2020

Poem 1 Poem 2

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The Festive Backroom, Pestilence Poems

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The Mistress, 3:A Taos Press

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ANNOUNCEMENTS

Keynote Speaker, New Mexico State Poetry Society Convention, 2021

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https://libguides.nmstatelibrary.org/c.php?g=1058623&p=7693828

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet-books/2019/12/taoss-new-poet-laureate-is-catherine-strisik

https://poets.org/event/somos-poet-laureate-reading

https://www.taosnews.com/tempo/books/new-taos-poet-laureate-named/article_47892f0d-6a07-593d-ad46-5f49f999fa6a.html

https://www.taosnews.com/tempo/new-taos-poet-laureate-steps-into-the-limelight/article_9c8ef750-664c-5d9d-9f37-3b91aa8fe146.html

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‍REVIEWS

Tupelo Quarterly, Reviewed by Douglas Babington

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Ergon Scienzine, Greek/American Arts & Letters by Adrianne Kalfopoulou

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Taos Journal of Poetry, Review by Margaret Lee

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As in a fine Greek love song, Catherine Strisik’s Goat, Goddess, Moon, juxtaposes grief and loss with discovery, joy, and rebirth—a reawakening of sorts and an unearthing of the past, a reconnection with ancestors and reconvergence of old paths that once led in different directions.

A river runs through it, the river Lethe, one of the five rivers of the underworld, that of forgetfulness and oblivion, born of Eris—Strife. Yet there are also streams of memory that emerge, joining past and present. Grief is tempered by a luxuriant softening, healing, reclaiming of body and soul, a communing with sea and salt and the light of the three-quarter moon.

The reawakening is not least of all one of the senses. This collection is redolent with aromas and filled with flavors—roses, almonds, orange rind, wild oregano, basil, and fennel, aromatic olives and their oil. And goat stew consumed in the throes of grief. There are sounds of laughter, the tolling of church bells, the bark of a dog, the exploration of simple Beethoven on an old piano. The sounds of Greek, round and fulsome in the mouth—from those of the north to the singular and ageless cadences of Crete—utterances heard and spoken, sometimes in solitude. Song encompassing heartache and, at the same time, transcending it. Sounds are juxtaposed with the sensation of an antiquated pen scratching on paper and the chiseling and carving of letters in stone, the sensations of cobblestones underfoot, and the body responding to touch and texture.

This poetic journey moves through the writer’s ancestors’ Northern Greece and eventually lands in Crete. Time stretches out. A month. Yet somehow that month has an affinity with everything stretching back to antiquity.

This collection reflects a deepening sense of identity, a hint of belonging. The poet relates an affirmation from a Cretan vendor: “You are one of us.” Passages describe a reappropriation of the body and sensuality, and Eros, though unnamed, takes the stage. A one-eyed cat makes an appearance, scrounging for food as other felines vocalize, just as a waiter causes them to scramble and disperse, followed by mournful musings on the pitiful creature’s demise (that of the cat, not the waiter).

The final section is an exploration of the author’s name and its Greek iterations. The author ponders, “[. . .] sometimes the unexpected occurs in Greek” (p. 56). And indeed it does. In this continuation of reflections on identity, a stylistic shift suddenly occurs, with long prosaic lines, unpunctuated, in a stream of consciousness that densely compresses so many elements of the Cretan sojourn and all the resonance and story concealed in—and evoked by—the utterance of that sonorous name in Greek.

Learning the Greek alphabet is practically a circus act for a little girl, alphabetic acrobatics to a promise of pennies, the letters full and round on the tongue, in the mouth, on the palate, like a fragrant elixir. Curious oddities and incongruities pop up, such as the Greek uncle fingering American greenbacks. And a muttering of hexes or at least sputters of disapproval in a confusing crossing of paths with a wizened, scornful gypsy in a Northern Greek bus terminal—in an almost frenetic ramble that reflects the chaos of the encounter. A used condom paints a portrait of urban grit with an evocation of deities of antiquity—either the divinity of love and beauty or the stream of oblivion re remnants of a curbside erotic collision or stolen seduction.

Occasionally, a Greek letter surreptitiously intermingles with the odd English rendering of Greekness, adding a curious and playful typographical twist that might easily go unnoticed. While the Greek cited occasionally strays slightly and distorts ever so slightly a word or phoneme, it is a valuable reflection of a Greek-American’s perceptions and recollections of details of the language—a part of the journey and how it is stored in memory.