"This is a poetry of deep spiritual longing and inquiry, quietly urgent-a lyricism that's intuitively right, a vision that's the steady but bemused gaze of intelligence. Diane Vreuls' saints might be Malcolm, adult (but other-oriented) who's directed by his mother's voice from the transistor radio in the basket of his giant trike, or Perpetua, who admits, like Vreuls, 'that only God can know / what is a cry of pain, / and what a song.' This is a poetry that might take years to make, or no-time-so natural is its expression, so rare the sensibility. It's elliptical, often a poetry of glimpses,...
"This is a poetry of deep spiritual longing and inquiry, quietly urgent-a lyricism that's intuitively right, a vision that's the steady but bemused ga...
