The Atlantic House

“The stark, reverent poems of  The Atlantic House are testimony to the implausible—stones are alive, motion is still, emptiness is aswarm. In this six-element universe (Nature’s four plus language and history), precipitation is inadvertently fingered as the determinant of Time. A bee’s stinger is the needle that plays an LP—and the music that issues forth is everywhere tonal and clamoring. The still-living creations of the dead (the poet’s relatives, T.S. Eliot, Dickinson, others unknown and unnamed) populate this beautiful volume of poetry around which Ariel hovers. These poems anatomize—as all great art anatomizes—the war internal that preexists the war global. What these verses are sometimes wailing, sometimes whispering, sometimes bemoaning, and sometimes outright hating is Truth itself.”

Sandy Brown

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