Akbar, Kaveh. "Sometimes beauty is something I'm accused of: Carolina Ebeid." Divedapper 64.
I used to think of these little pieces as discards, or smaller fragments that would languish in a notebook. Or they just wait, they’re like little ladies in waiting and they'll be called upon sometimes to service the queen—as in the greater more cohesive poem.
Ebeid, Carolina. "All Those Gorgeous Feelings." The Paris American.
Do they haunt you? Do they hunt you out?
often they move small
and quick like a pair of humming
birds at a feeder, a tiny
and iridescent humming about
the ears, just listen, they drink-&-drink
---. "Weight." BOAAT Press.
Is a caesura a quiet hallway
in a church? Is it a silence
with commandments to hush,
---. "What Hereafter's Like." The American Poetry Review, vol. 47, no. 2.
what day drinking’s like, like the sensation
of swimming without goggles in cold
water chlorine burn holding hands, what
listening through a stethoscope is like, oh
glowing second trimester—la luna é più bella
Osborne, Todd. "Poetry Spotlight: Contributor Carolina Ebeid." Memorious, December 13, 2016. You can also read Carolina's poems "Something Brighter than Pity" and "[The bridge's shadow lies across the water]."
I have a deep admiration for poets who try working in received forms—especially older or more obscure traditions [ . . . ] I don’t often look to traditional forms, however, when I begin writing a poem. I can imagine how much less anxiety I would experience over a poem (should I end here? how do I know when the poem is finished? how should it look on the page?) if a certain number of syllables and lines were already prescribed to me. Like most poets writing alongside me, I write in free verse trying to find an “organic” form for the given poem. I know I don’t have a full understanding of how the idea of form influences my work. The image that comes to mind is that of a small fire I am trying to control with a container like a lantern. The poem needs a form so that it does not fizzle out or burn the place down.
Venegas, John. "Book Review: You Ask Me to Talk about the Interior." Angel City Review, December 15, 2016.
It is perhaps most difficult to see beauty when it lives in and around something horrid. But the focus of vision does not preclude it from existing. A pristine sky is unconcerned with tragedy and violence beneath it, and there is a strength in character, I think, in having the capacity to recognize both simultaneously. That strength flows through You Ask Me To Talk About the Interior, a poetry collection written by Carolina Ebeid, in abundance.