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A Night Without Armor: Poems by Jewel

A Night Without Armor: Poems (original 1998; edition 1998)

by Jewel

MembersReviewsPopularityAverage ratingMentions
9281715,986 (3.35)2
I've learned that not allpoetry lends itself to music -- some thoughts needto be sung only against the silence. There are softer and less tangible part[s] of our selves that are so essential to peace, to openheartedness, to unfolding the vision and the spiritual realm of our lives, to exposing our souls. - Jewel, From the Preface Writing poems and keeping journals since childhood, Jewel has been searching for truth and meaning, turning to her words to record, to discover, and to reflect. In A Night Without Armor, her first collection of poetry, Jewel explores the fire of first love, the fading of passion, the giving of trust, the lessons of betrayal, and the healing of intimacy. She delves into matters of the home, the comfort of family, the beauty of Alaska, and the dislocation of divorce. And then there are the images of the road, the people, the bars, the planes, places exotic and mundane, loneliness and friendship. Frank and honest, serious and suddenly playful, A Night Without Armor is a talented artist's intimate portrait of what makes us uniquely human.… (more)
Title:A Night Without Armor: Poems
Info:HarperCollins (1998), Edition: 1, Hardcover, 160 pages
Collections:Your library

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A Night without Armor: Poems by Jewel (1998)



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» See also 2 mentions

Showing 1-5 of 16 (next | show all)
This collection is a little much. ( )
  Shahnareads | Oct 22, 2019 |
Hmmm poetry.
  nicoleolea | Jun 12, 2019 |
Interesting little book by Jewel, yes Jewel the singer. A collection of her poems that cover anything from growing up as a little girl in Alaska to the red light district of Tai Pei. Through her poems she tells stories of growing up in Alaska. Her look for love and being in relationships but her insecurities. Another reviewer noted that some lead you to want to know more about her or that part of her life and then you jump to a completely different area or time period. But all and all a nice collection of contemporary poetry. ( )
  ChrisWeir | Nov 26, 2017 |
For some reason, I find the short, simple reads take me the longest time to actually get to. I've been sitting on this book since it was new, probably thinking at the time that I would read it slowly, over time, maybe only one or two poems a day, and then just letting it sit on a shelf gathering dust.

So, finally sat down and read it over the course of a day. Pretty standard fair for modern poetry, but there are a few gems. Jewel does her best work when she is writing about her past. The best poems in this collection, to me, were those about her youth, growing up in Alaska. Poems like "Crazy Cow" and "Grimshaw" (also my favorite of the whole bunch) give a stark view of what it was like growing up Jewel. ( )
  regularguy5mb | Feb 29, 2016 |
When I worked at Borders, my coworkers and I kept a copy of this in the break area so that we could make fun of it. She's awful. ( )
  HeatherMoss | Oct 15, 2015 |
Showing 1-5 of 16 (next | show all)
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» Add other authors (2 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Jewelprimary authorall editionscalculated
Lacombe, BrigittePhotographersecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Steir, PatIllustratorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Wolff, MartinaTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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"Some people react physically to the magic of poetry, to the moments, that is, of authentic revelation, of the communication, the sharing, at its highest level...A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape and significance of the universe, helps to extend everyone's knowledge of himself and the world around him." —Dylan Thomas (1913-1953)
  the One in Whom we live and move and have our being
  to my parents, Nedra Carroll and Atz Kilcher
  to my brothers Shane, Atz, and Nikos
  and to the land which inspires my heart to sing, Alaska
First words
From an early age, my mother would gather me and my brothers after school for "workshops" in music, visual art, and writing.
You Are Not

you are not
the brave soldier

Neruda's sons
Chaves' brother

you are not
the dark horse
heart filled
with all the weight
and compassion
your hardships
have won you
you are not
driven by the need
to free all people
from meanness and
loveless abuse
   I know you
you are asleep in your church
on Sunday afternoon
looking for god
in answers you seek
through others
of being the answers
you are praying for peace
but unwilling to be it

praying for mercy
but unwilling to give it

praying for Love
but too busy
making sure you got your own:
 a good job
 a good girl
all the trimmings you are
entitled to
all the bells and whistles
that are meaningful
but only to those who possess
a heart most common
Road Spent

I could stand to be alone
for some time
Lose myself in white noise
slip into the blur
contemplate the color yellow
  Right now
I just don't handle splashes too well
Or too many teeth
around me all at once
armed like guns with something to say
Urgent whispers
hoarse restraint
  Quiet as paper cuts
people steal me away
cart my flesh off in tiny crimson piles
my bones have been sore
Rattling against each other
in their anemic cage
ravens circling
my heart beating
it's-time to-go it's-time to-go
someplace full of surf
full of flat blue sky
full of shuuushhh

Moths beat themselves
upon the screen door
of some other afternoon

A red dress burns in my mind

Outside the hound is turning
a lantern over that had
been left out in the rain

I long for a hot day
when moist palms reach
for my warmth and pull
me down to some humid
and reckless depth

Night spilling over me
its velvet stain
We Talk

We talk
about nothing
about movies
        we stick to
surface streets
        and find no
meaning in cafe windows
no substance in
        hotel rooms
I used to unwrap you!
tender layers unfolding
like eager gold
        but now
we are cool
and recount
our daily bores
        as though
the sum of our
        while softer
things shriveled
        and dry roots
go unfed
by the phone line
and all
        that is
        not said

  I feel
my heart
to vague depths
 words there
   are such
 spaces that
 I can't help
    but feel
   My Heart
the pregnant pause
  of all you will
      not say
      and all
       I can
      not ask
Last words
(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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