Angela Hoffman’s Poetry of Sweetness and Sadness

by

Angela Hoffman is a successful poet from Wisconsin who has an impressive list of published poems and books. She describes her poetry as, “a bit of sadness and sweetness held together”. It is somewhat like the style of Emily Dickinson, with a melancholy overtone. Hoffman states that being in nature is like being in church, and draws spirituality from the ordinary, everyday things around her.

Some See a Weed

  • Life in God
  • requires less and less.
  • Love blooms even in the cracks,
  • the hard places
  • in between sides of cemented views.
  • Its seeds blow on a wish,
  • hitch a ride, spread.

— First published in Solitary Plover. Found in Olly Olly Oxen Free

You’ve been published in several journals. Name a few.

I have been published in over 30 different journals including Braided Way, Moss Piglet, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Amethyst Review, and One Art. It’s hard not to name them all, as I am honored to have been included in each and every one.

How many books have you had published? Do you have a favorite book?

I have three published books. Resurrection Lily, 2022, Olly Olly Oxen Free, 2023, which was just nominated for the Eric Hoffer Book Award, and forthcoming, Hold the Contraries, 2024, which should be out by February. All of my books have been published by Kelsay Books. Each book has had a different focus; second chances, searching for God, and the struggles/joys of a marriage. I can’t say I have a favorite. They are like my children. I feel Hold the Contraries is my most vulnerable. This poem will be in that book.

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Whatever Will Be Will Be 

  • There seems to be no cure for the sadness of life
  • other than to live it—so I let it unfold,
  • feel every edge that is sharp, soft.
  • Even though I am unhappy, I pickle the cucumbers
  • into jars that shimmer like the lake that was supposed to be
  • our vacation. I pick green beans for dinner
  • that I eat salted, buttered, but I am starving for a meaty hug
  • with a backbone of trust.
  • I sweep the pine needles off the patio where no one visits
  • in this awkward time of us figuring out what is meant to be.
  • I sleep alone with the window open in a king-size bed,
  • feeling the emptiness under the cloud of the feather comforter
  • as crickets lull me to sleep like I have never slept before.
  • Even though it pains me, I hold firm to the boundaries I’ve set,
  • waiting as summer slips, letting go of all I thought I could control.
  • I cut the last of the pink hydrangeas, I cut off intimacy.
  • In the dark of the morning, I sit in the pool of lamplight.
  • I am anchored. I am adrift.
  • I buy a good bottle of wine way over my budget,
  • toast to whatever will be will be.
  • Under the forecast of thunderstorms, I view the northern lights.
  • I read Oliver, go to the library, find something new by Brené,
  • read the newspaper full of nothing but bad news.
  • While thinking of him, I go to dinner with friends,
  • and even though the entire world seems to be falling apart,
  • I find a trace of hope in my roses that still bloom.
  • I love myself, I doubt every move I’ve made.
  • I am falling over the edge. I am held by the center.

— First published in The Orchards Poetry Journal

Describe how and where you draw your strength and spirituality. 

With the current state of our world, the small joys that show up in my day-to-day living are very important to me. I make a conscious effort to attend to the little things. I draw strength and spirituality from others, whether that be my church family, other poets, friends, family, or nature. They lift me up in those times when I lose faith in humanity.

Broken Birds Gather

  • Your centeredness, grounded in something more
  • is alluring. I long to get to know you better,
  • yet I already sense
  • a part of you in me, a part of me in you.
  • I’ve watched you like a hawk, learned your ways,
  • flew under your wings spread with faith.
  • I tried on your belovedness.
  • I appear to fly solo,
  • but we are bound by our longing.
  • By attraction, more broken birds gather,
  • wondering if there is a better way to fly.

— Published in Resurrection Lily