John Jenkinson’s rich new collection extends from the zaniest romps to the most sober considerations of our diffi cult human condition; from briefer meditations to longer explorations; from a familial, marital mini-epic to wide-ranging casts of the imagination way beyond the merely autobiographical. But what unites all of this variety is a consistent desire to get the words right, to lodge them in our memory . . . a Jenkinsonian effort that makes this not just a “collection” but also a single grand experience.
—Albert Goldbarth, author, Budget Travel Through Space and Time
Whether his immediate subject is leaf rot or the beloved, the funeral or the fête, John Jenkinson mediates the matter of our pathetic circumstance with humor, a compelling cadence, keen intelligence, and reliably generous spirit.
—Scott Cairns, author, Slow Pilgrim
With lucid wisdom, formal authority, raucous affection, John Jenkinson invites us to sit down to a splendid spread. In spiced and layered language, he blesses our place at the table and—attention!—in the food chain. From the fi rst poem, we know this book will savor, from the ancestral to the astral, the elemental and the radiant. In carefully modulated voices, his poems make room for us all. Jenkinson raises a toast to the things of this world, offers us draughts of experience’s well-aged spirits. His use of form is like diplomatic good manners, complex but never exclusive. So, by the close of this feast, which in fact begins again with canapés, we know that we are (and always have been) vastly welcome. —Jeanine Hathaway, author, The Self as Constellation
There is laughter in this book. Laughter and pretty words. What the hell else do you want?
—Austin Hummell, author, Poppy
While so many contemporary poets have abandoned the preeminence of music in their work, Jenkinson remains rooted in the fertile tradition of the lyric. [ . . .] And not one line is wasted.
—Bruce Bond, author, Cinder; The Throats of Narcissus. From the Preface
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