This sophisticated first collection by Jim Powell synthesizes
personal and world history to produce a compelling vision of the
past, through verse letters to friends and relatives, translations
of Horace, Propertius, Sappho, and others, and allusions to ancient
figures of history and mythology. I find it difficult to overpraise
the ease of this writing, which in one act combines succinct
physical presentation and explanation of it. . . . It is perhaps
here that Jim Powell, not yet forty, most shows his superiority to
many of his contemporaries and seniors. He not only understands the
way in which opposites are necessary to one another, he achieves
his knowledge in the poem, and so we grasp it as we read. . . . he
has tapped a subject matter that is endless and important, and by
the thoroughgoingness and the subtlety of his exploration shows he
has the power to do almost anything.--Thom Gunn, Shelf Life His
title burns away everywhere in the volume, in the fevers of eros,
divination, memory, destruction, and grief. . . . Page for page,
there is more sheer fine, clear, yet syntactically subtle and
metaphorically gorgeous writing in Powell than I have seen in some
time.--Mary Kinzie, Poetry Jim Powell's poems, like those of Thomas
Hardy, are haunted forms, full of ghosts and mocking gods, shadows
and foreshadowings. But Powell is a Hardy whose poems we've never
read, a Hardy with his hand in the blaze, not stirring the ash in a
cold and wind-torn grate.--Jennifer Clarvoe, The Threepenny Review
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