I believe I have found a new favorite contemporary poet in Dorianne Laux. I am sure that as I continue to adventure through poetry, I will find other "favorite poets," but Dorianne penetrated my psyche in a way that few poets do. I feel like a lot of poets feel like they have to make their poems inaccessibly to have literary validity, yet Dorianne proves this sentiment utterly false. I would argue that her poems are accessible to nearly everyone and they remain gritty, meaty, very American and an absolute pleasure to read and ponder. I wrote one poem and started two others while I read this book over the course of a couple of hours. The compliment to Dorianne Laux inherent to that is this: She made me pay attention. She made me remember that every single thing has earned a poem, if someone wants to write it one. The poems in this collection are narrative in nature, and are not so much glittery as they are dusty, which I also mean as a compliment. Laux writes lived-in poems, about the past, the summer, cars, sex, the horses and glaciers that have lived outside various of her windows. This was a perfect respite from the Icelandic saga I'm also reading. It brought my gaze in close and focused it keenly. Highly, highly recommend.
What do You think about The Book Of Men (2011)?
Still deciding. I'm writing a reaction to it for Candace Black's poetry workshop.
—Elb
