“Everything that stands firm in The Atlantic House is surrounded by loss, waste, and wreckage. Reading these vulnerable, resistant poems, one thinks of Otto Neurath’s image of a ship that must be rebuilt on the open sea, and of Eliot’s ‘fragments I have shored against my ruins,’ except that it is more than fragments that Good means – dares – to salvage.”—Franklin Bruno

“With a bee inside her fist, Good makes “a place from which to speak.” When we moor at her Atlantic House, the evergreens are blasted, and the birds are full of blood, but the ashes are flakes of Pharaoh’s gold. In this strange and shifting place, things twist beautifully at our feet.” —Camille Guthrie

“Good’s poems weave a dense, searing, beautiful music, their rounded (and rounding) cadences offset by spiky intrusions of the mind needling along the surface-seams of dread and memory. Their yearning compels the reader through a spiraling interior bower that is haunted and complicated by essential loneliness.”—Emily Wilson

“These poems by Regan Good leave one astounded that there can be such lyrical concentration, even as each line produces an effect of wildness. They take the reader over by a force that is sheering—pure exploit of the seemingly impossible.”—Brian Young