When describing this book of poems to my husband, I said, "The author's great, he has talent, but I find myself not caring most of the time." I would struggle with certain poems while others jumped out, powerful and haunting.
And the dead, dumped
From nets to baskets,
Like stolen goods under the old
Warehouse's one bulb gleam. Frantic,
Nearing, the search for them continues;
Hear the wind at the door and the sea, leaving
No stone unturned, crashing.
"Reykjavik Winter Couplets"
The beginning stanzas of "Your Natural History" are downright awe-inspiring:
Beautiful. If only more of the book was like this.