earththroatToo thin for you? It really works best as a book, though there are some marvelous individual poems. A God, Old Testament in His absence, presides over the book, but he is occasionally directly and lately addressed, Rilke-style.
once   the bells
twice   the bells
I am not able
sorrow of light
In the MuseumOkay, she almost loses me there with her breathlessness. But the book as a whole persuades me, and is richly intertextual enough for the blanks to be charged and overflowing instead of just blanks. And the "poetic" words she uses (light, field, dancing, garden, and of course all the colors of dusk: gray, purple, green, red, orange, white, blue, black) are never solely shorthand for the poetic (though they can, playfully, be that). Words end up talking and rubbing logopoetically against each other, producing new readings of the old vatic Sayings.
We keel left. Verticals
protruding from the green
This works. This unreels.
The process undulates.
Only when the lights go out,
only when we huddle
in the semi-erotic darkness
does the vein hit.
Pergamon. The frieze.
Marbled heads captured
in their looming white.
Situated here, inside
themselves, Degas' horse,
the Russian bride.
Something's pushed against us
We re-make God.
Sentence us, Lord.
Tell us the next
And then the next.
Lavender body, tree
pouring from its root.
Can this be memory?
Preceding Series (Duncan)Such a gorgeous evocation of Duncan and her experience of Duncan, of the permission he grants us postmoderns to go around dazd asking the big questions all over again. I feel enlarged by this book. It makes Poetry possible again in poetry. And Caton the reader is someone I feel fortunate to have encountered as a writer.
Often I am permitted   unwingd O   to re-turn
groping   often, often   a certain shaped thing
seeking its longitude   and the permission?
light falling on said meadow   arms out-stretchd
as if from no thing   rising   oft oft often
is the per mitting   is the I of ten   to excavate
this eadow   to un-leaf   headless, heedless
the obscene green   so much in the rhythm
of these sounds precedes us   came into the world
came forth   a meadow   often, often   obligd
permitted   re-turnd   re-tumbld   arms out-
strechd   oblique, obscure   I ecstatic   take
O and walk her through a dark center to this the light desiring