{"id":686,"date":"2024-02-13T11:09:49","date_gmt":"2024-02-13T17:09:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/?post_type=product&#038;p=686"},"modified":"2025-09-05T12:50:03","modified_gmt":"2025-09-05T17:50:03","slug":"songs-for-the-extinction-of-winter","status":"publish","type":"product","link":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/product\/songs-for-the-extinction-of-winter","title":{"rendered":"Songs for the Extinction of Winter"},"content":{"rendered":"<h3>by Rob Cook<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t<style>\r\n\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t#tab_container_685 {\r\n\toverflow:hidden;\r\n\tdisplay:block;\r\n\twidth:100%;\r\n\tborder:0px solid #ddd;\r\n\tmargin-bottom:30px;\r\n\t}\r\n\r\n#tab_container_685 .tab-content{\r\n\tpadding:20px;\r\n\tborder: 1px solid #e6e2cc !important;\r\n\tmargin-top: 0px;\r\n\tbackground-color:#fffbe5 !important;\r\n\tcolor: #000000 !important;\r\n\tfont-size:16px !important;\r\n\tfont-family: Open Sans !important;\r\n\t\r\n\t\tborder: 1px solid #e6e2cc !important;\r\n\t}\r\n#tab_container_685 .wpsm_nav-tabs {\r\n    border-bottom: 0px solid #ddd;\r\n}\r\n#tab_container_685 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li.active > a, #tab_container_685 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li.active > a:hover, #tab_container_685 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li.active > a:focus {\r\n\tcolor: #000000 !important;\r\n\tcursor: default;\r\n\tbackground-color: #fffbe5 !important;\r\n\tborder: 1px solid #e6e2cc !important;\r\n}\r\n\r\n#tab_container_685 .wpsm_nav-tabs > li > a {\r\n    margin-right: 0px !important; 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a homestead where a woman, \u201ccold from the breath of spiders through the deepening house\u201d, worries about her mortality, even after the world has ceased to exist.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"sm_text\" style=\"text-align: left\">\"The implications of global warming are present but never heavy handed, as images of the dying world drift beneath lines such as \u201cOutside on the late news, the weather buried somewhere in Orion\/men disturbed by the prairie\u2019s endless grasses\/\/A thousand skeletons of snow nailed to the river wall.\u201d The book serves as an atlas of access roads and firetrails through the fading cities and antelope wastes. And the inhabitants of this haunting landscape flaunt their deformities as a kind of beauty that exists only in the bleakest of individuals, those who\u2019ve acknowledged their residence in the abyss and have chosen to stay.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"sm_text\" style=\"text-align: left\">\"Always lurking behind each wounded phrase is the grieving of animals, the \u201cstallions\/born from paint\/and roan kindling\/(who) vault across fires left\/by wandering bears.\u201d This book is not comfortable. It will not reassure you about the goodness of humanity, the triumph of the human spirit. It is a pure and honest and highly imaginative mapping of our late-winter species, the era of the homeless indoors. Read this book and you, too, will not be able to ignore \u201cthe shrieking of microbes losing their skins.\u201d\"<\/p>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: right\">\u2014Crow Billings<\/p>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: left\"><strong><img fetchpriority=\"high\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-643\" src=\"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/07\/rob-cook-headshot.jpg\" alt=\"Rob Cook\" width=\"200\" height=\"250\" \/>Rob Cook<\/strong> lives in NYC's East Village. He is the author of\u00a0<em>Blackout Country<\/em>\u00a0(<a href=\"http:\/\/www.blazevox.org\/\">BlazeVOX Books<\/a>, 2009) and his work has appeared in\u00a0<em>Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Many Mountains Moving, Tarpaulin Sky, Fence, Oranges &amp; Sardines, The Bitter Oleander, Mudfish, Parthenon West Review<\/em>, etc. He has been nominated for enough Pushcarts to know he will never win one.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <div role=\"tabpanel\" class=\"tab-pane \" id=\"tabs_desc_685_2\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<P><STRONG>The Neolithic<\/STRONG><BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nBecause I was only learning<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nto see, it took months<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nfor you to show me<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nwhere your hand curled<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\ninto a snail<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nthe electricity scratching<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nacross your nerve sky<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\ncontrails that keep you awake<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nYou\u2019ve written their history<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nand the names<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nfor the laughter between Demerol<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nand the time it took me<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nto put your shards together<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nand see you<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nbecause I was too angry<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nto wear contact lenses<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nthe years I walked around<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nand didn\u2019t know what a person<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nlooked like<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nand so I dressed and lived<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nas a man from the days<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nbefore sun<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nfollowing the storm-lights<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nthrough your arm,<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\npast the trees of hot iron<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\npast the stone soldered<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\non the way to the ends<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nof your fingers<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\n <BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nwhere I watched you<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nover and over<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nin the planet\u2019s thin early air<\/P>\r\n\r\n<hr \/>\r\n\r\n<P><strong>The Gossip and Incompleteness of American Winter<\/STRONG><BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nHow many borders built<BR>\r\nout of animal silence<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nWho will remember<BR>\r\nthe spaces where I was<BR>\r\nsupposed to talk and didn\u2019t<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nCan you hear me swallowing<BR>\r\nthe gin that causes evening,<BR>\r\nthe sound I make crossing the wilderness<BR>\r\nto get away from the words<BR>\r\ntangled between party guests\u2014<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nmy face over spider country<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nan eclipse, a coven of copper snow,<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nthe room\u2019s arctic territories<BR>\r\nwhere Mr. Runyon brags<BR>\r\nhow he made his bed bleed,<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nall the speaking between us,<BR>\r\nyours:<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nlight that others could use<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nAnd you ask me:<BR>\r\n<EM>Crow, what\u2019s wrong, I can see the January flocks<BR>\r\ndrifting away in the eyes<BR>\r\nof our friends<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nCrow, when you don\u2019t speak<BR>\r\nI hear gypsy moth excrement<BR>\r\neven this far beyond summer<BR>\r\nfalling like a small rain from the trees<\/EM><BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nIt\u2019s all I can do to listen,<BR>\r\nbut then I realize it\u2019s just more gossip<BR>\r\nabout the few inches of sunset<BR>\r\nbefore it reaches us<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nand about people ruined by their clothes,<BR>\r\nthe starving bison shadows<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nthat will be lived in, by somebody, again.<\/P>\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t <div role=\"tabpanel\" class=\"tab-pane \" id=\"tabs_desc_685_3\">\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\"><b>Mitchell Denning<\/b><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Wild fires burn in the French Rivera, torrential rains fall in Texas where clouds squat and drown the land, thousands of Lake Tahoe acres are aflame, drought destroys sixty percent of agricultural terrain in Romania, the wheat crop disintegrates in the Ukraine, forty percent of North America\u2019s honey bees vanish, everywhere wildlife in peril. Climatologists predict that by 2050 snow will no longer be able to be counted on in the Northeastern United States. Water promises to be the filthy lucre of the future.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">More than a foreboding, there is a consensus among many that our earth has already tumbled from the precipice into climate instability from which chaos is spilling. The planet-scale events are so awe-inspiring that they beggar the imagination. The word \u2018surreal\u2019 has been worn out as we grapple for language with which to express our reaction to the protean world we find ourselves in. And because the forces of change are simply too much we are unable to process them and we collapse back into triviality or the mediated or barely literate. From the title of his first collection of poetry<em>\u00a0Songs for the Extinction of Winter,\u00a0<\/em>Rob Cook stands apart in being able to channel the epochal.<\/p>\r\n\r\n<blockquote><em>When the light turns to stone<BR>\r\nNobody will notice<BR>\r\nThe dirt will have passed away<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nThe man with the body of a northern<BR>\r\nJanuary has to hide far off<BR>\r\nIn his pockets<\/em><\/blockquote>\r\n\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">The world of this collection is one of lastness.\u00a0<em>There are no more crows to blacken the woods--\/Only a weak voice where the horizon tried to heal,<\/em>\u00a0and the bittersweet knowledge that the poet is a witness to the dwindling natural order.\u00a0<em>Letters I\u2019ve composed to the snow buried inside lobsters.<\/em>\u00a0Cook is a visionary, and his net gathers the macro and micro, sometimes in sequence, sometimes simultaneously. The richness of his metaphors is in stark contrast to flat internet-speak, the movement of instantaneous textual information. The same speed and nowness inundates our anti-poetic culture as if only by being in the most immediate of moments will we know we are alive as in the innumerable cell phone conversations about coordinates. \u201cI\u2019m on Second Avenue at the Bank of America ATM.\u201d<em>\u00a0I crack open your cigarettes\/and find a map to the clubs\/that stay open through\/the long nights of stone.\u00a0<\/em>The poet\u2019s sense of place and time contains the hyper present and the primal, clubland and the Stone Age.\u00a0<em>And what happened\/to the ape\/who woke on a cavern wall\/and still had the stone sky\/To carve.\u00a0<\/em>Language itself is under assault and in\u00a0<em>Songs for the Extinction of Winter<\/em>\u00a0the syntax is textured, deeply layered and lush. The word world Cook creates is in opposition to contemporary abbreviated idioms.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">On a continuum that includes the Elegiac Sonnets of Charlotte Turner Smith\u00a0<em>O\u2019er what, my angel friend, thou wert,\/Dejected Memory loves to mourn,<\/em>\u00a0and Janet Hood\u2019s\u00a0<em>Elegies for Angels, Punks and Raging Queens,\u00a0<\/em>Rob Cook creates his poems of mourning for species, eco-systems, alternate universes and friends. Even in these more personal elegies, the poet is melting the hyperkinetic, hypertech age of today with the traditional.\u00a0<em>He\u2019s growing now\/in the darkness Hopkins and Byron\/ made for him<\/em>\u00a0are the lines that open his \u201cElegy for a Master in an Age Without Masters,\u201d for the poet Ronald Wardall.<\/p>\r\n\r\n<blockquote><em>He\u2019s going forward on storm intelligence, maps<BR>\r\nhe corrected for the pigeons<BR>\r\ntrying to cross the East River.<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nHe stops to eat an Indian cloud.<BR>\r\nHe tells lies about his life<BR>\r\nso God won\u2019t find him,<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nthat he led the grasses through<BR>\r\nthe abandoned dial tone of Montana,<BR>\r\nthat he swept floors while students<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\npoisoned the mop water and janitors wrote<BR>\r\nhis poems.<\/em><\/blockquote>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Also nested within the larger songs of mourning is an extraordinary elegy for the poet\u2019s cousin. In \u201cNorwegian Deer Trails\u201d Cook takes the solemnity of the form and breaks it before reshaping it into something still sorrowful but brilliantly whimsical and idiosyncratic.\u00a0<em>I look out the window at the deer leading daylight\/back into the woods\u2014\/Followed all winter by their own\/tracks, they must know where the wind sleeps\/and which tree the snow is coming from.<\/em>\u00a0Those are haunting and satisfying lines but the poet doesn\u2019t stop there.<\/p>\r\n\r\n<blockquote><em>Today on the phone to Norway,<BR>\r\nmy cousin\u2019s voice ruined<BR>\r\nby AIDS and the freezing long-distance,<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nI kept slicing carrots and zucchini<BR>\r\nand mixing Dr. Sorge\u2019s Blood Rejuvenation<BR>\r\nPowder and Rose Hip Formula with apple juice<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nforcing the sludge down into my body<BR>\r\nstarved into the shapes of hypothermia<BR>\r\nfrom three years<BR>\r\nof nardil and low blood sugars,<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nthe background tape of the homeopathic maverick<BR>\r\nrepeating:<BR>\r\n<BR>\r\nEven single-celled organisms<BR>\r\nturn to wood after eating pizza.<\/em><\/blockquote>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Cook has a genius with titles that are almost one line poems in themselves. \u201cTemp Work in Seven Atmospheres,\u201d \u201cBirthday of the Thirty-Five Gemini\u2019s,\u201d \u201cThe Gossip and Incompleteness of American Winter,\u201d are three examples. The collection is divided into four sections, with Part One and Part Four containing the thirteen Songs for the Extinction of Winter. These are sequences that repeat and enlarge the themes of lastness and lostness, how the epochal and personal entwine. The images and voice of Rob Cook have been compared to that of Cesar Vallejo. It has been noted that the \u201cdifficulty of his poetry [Vallejo\u2019s] initially hindered the international recognition it deserves.\u201d Like Vallejo, Cook\u2019s poetry might be considered difficult and the same sort of descriptive language applied to Vallejo\u2019s work\u2013\u201cimpressionistic, chaotic, even incomprehensible\u201d\u2014might be applied to\u00a0<em>Songs for the Extinction of Winter<\/em>. Vallejo and Cook share the visionary eye, the quick surprise, vulnerability and often a quizzical playful tone that a child might delight in.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\"><em>The moon made of cobwebs taken by wind\/will hurt us, and soon.<\/em>\u00a0Yet there are differences, timing being one. Cook confronts not the Spanish Civil War but the deflowering of 21st century capitalism that had overreached to the point it can no longer be sustained, a time of ultra-careerism and self-promotion, a rankness where poetry exists to illuminate the poet. Vallejo labored in obscurity struggling mightily to elevate the poem not the \u201cI.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Cook takes up that struggle and makes poetic subject of the flattening of the individual into a consumer. For market shares, the feral world is being forced back everywhere. People in elevators complain, \u201dI hate it. Winter just isn\u2019t me.\u201d This is the poet for the age without masters. His songs are against platitudes, against slum megapolises, against crop depletion, against love depletion. In the saying and seeing of that which hasn\u2019t been seen or told before there is extraordinary imagery and breathtaking beauty.\u00a0<em>There is a pause in the weather that makes you tremble\/Because of its teeth that sound like the flawed whispering of deer.<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n<hr \/>\r\n<p align=\"justify\"><strong>Gail Gray<\/strong><BR>\r\n<strong>Owner\u00a0<em>Shadow Archer Press<\/em><\/strong>\r\n<strong>Editor of\u00a0<em>Fissure Magazine<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">It\u2019s hard to take an art derived from a series of odd synapses in brains, crossing cultures, dissolving boundaries, touching something not previously touched, feeling the wind arise from a revenant\u2019s hidden corner. The wind hypnotizes\u2026and you are lost, surrounded. And as this wind moves this one in that direction, it moves another differently. Prods different steps, seeks other hideouts.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">And then once in a while, comes this one guy, he\u2019s walking kind of slow, taking it all in. Sure he feels the wind\u2026but just a little ahead of time so he stills himself to not be afraid. He allows it to wash over and through him until it becomes part of him.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">And once it\u2019s part of him it leaks out from the splits in his seams and the holes in his pockets and the gaps between his teeth\u2026and he must sing it or dance it or make poetry of it. And when he does, people are moved more than they are by the seduction of the muse or the insistence of the angel\u2026as Lorca knew so well\u2026 are moved by duende.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">And that guy, the one who knows how to meet the wind, the one you need to read, the one who understands. ..the man who wields surrealism like a wand to summon memories in surprise tastes, measures from poignant to bittersweet\u2026.sometimes just plain bitter, that man whose words makes your blood rush dark and furtive\u2026 that guy is Rob Cook. Just read his poem \u201cBirthday of the Thirty-Five Geminis.\u201d<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">And so the circle\u2026the Ourorboros eats its tail.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">I didn\u2019t make the connection until a few months later, after being seduced by Cook\u2019s lines in poems such as \u201cElegy for a Master in an Age Without Masters,\u201d \u201cHypoglycemia,\u201d or the series of poems named in the book\u2019s title and find the melancholy hidden between the spaces.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Frederico Lorca married duende to surrealism, inspired by painting (Dali), who was inspired by psychoanalysis (Freud) who was inspired by his patients\u2019 dreams. I was unnerved and shook up by the surrealists, finally \u201cgetting it\u201d after all these years. I\u2019d been launching my own search thanks to \u201cThe Aristos\u201d by John Fowles and Heraclitus, Jung and Vanilla Sky and Stay, and I discovered there were many paths to the same experience\u2026.the Gnostics, Illuminati, Alchemists, Buddhists, Shamans., hallucinogenic aficionados. Each had found their own way to the center. But the Surrealists?<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Not in a million years did I see them there, even though the connection was deep in my solar plexus, complex, perplexing.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Appolinaire put a name on it, Andre Breton\u2019s spelled it out in the \u201cSurrealist Manifesto\u201d not quite poetic, but emphatic. And of course, it\u2019s all there\u2026surreal\u2026not just a fancy title to explain melting clocks and broken swans, but just what it says\u2026beyond the real. Beyond the mundane reality to individualistic personal to the unio manifesto.<\/p>\r\n<p class=\"excerpt\" align=\"justify\">Rob Cooke, as a surrealist poet, proves it\u2019s not a skill like harnessing, but a release, like inviting the wind in. And when the wind and the poet become one, the duende, the deep song from the center comes alive and breathes its momentary but long lasting touch upon your soul. It\u2019s an intuitive lyrical dance...the duende. It comes and you put yourself in its way. Rob Cook has mastered the dance. Find his poems online, find his book, wrestle an angel for it, sucker punch a muse to read it.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t <\/div>\r\n <script>\r\n\t\tjQuery(function () {\r\n\t\t\tjQuery('#myTab_685 a:first').tab('show')\r\n\t\t});\r\n\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\tjQuery(function(){\r\n\t\t\tvar b=\"fadeIn\";\r\n\t\t\tvar c;\r\n\t\t\tvar a;\r\n\t\t\td(jQuery(\"#myTab_685 a\"),jQuery(\"#tab-content_685\"));function d(e,f,g){\r\n\t\t\t\te.click(function(i){\r\n\t\t\t\t\ti.preventDefault();\r\n\t\t\t\t\tjQuery(this).tab(\"show\");\r\n\t\t\t\t\tvar h=jQuery(this).data(\"easein\");\r\n\t\t\t\t\tif(c){c.removeClass(a);}\r\n\t\t\t\t\tif(h){f.find(\"div.active\").addClass(\"animated \"+h);a=h;}\r\n\t\t\t\t\telse{if(g){f.find(\"div.active\").addClass(\"animated \"+g);a=g;}else{f.find(\"div.active\").addClass(\"animated \"+b);a=b;}}c=f.find(\"div.active\");\r\n\t\t\t\t});\r\n\t\t\t}\r\n\t\t});\r\n\t\t\r\n\r\n\t\tfunction do_resize(){\r\n\r\n\t\t\tvar width=jQuery( '.tab-content .tab-pane iframe' ).width();\r\n\t\t\tvar height=jQuery( '.tab-content .tab-pane iframe' ).height();\r\n\r\n\t\t\tvar toggleSize = true;\r\n\t\t\tjQuery('iframe').animate({\r\n\t\t\t    width: toggleSize ? width : 640,\r\n\t\t\t    height: toggleSize ? height : 360\r\n\t\t\t  }, 250);\r\n\r\n\t\t\t  toggleSize = !toggleSize;\r\n\t\t}\r\n\r\n\r\n\t<\/script>\r\n\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>by\u00a0Rob Cook<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":838,"template":"","meta":[],"product_brand":[],"product_cat":[28],"product_tag":[44],"class_list":{"0":"post-686","1":"product","2":"type-product","3":"status-publish","4":"has-post-thumbnail","6":"product_cat-poetry","7":"product_tag-rob-cook","9":"first","10":"instock","11":"shipping-taxable","12":"purchasable","13":"product-type-simple"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product\/686","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/product"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/838"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=686"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"product_brand","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product_brand?post=686"},{"taxonomy":"product_cat","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product_cat?post=686"},{"taxonomy":"product_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rainmountainpress.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product_tag?post=686"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}