I read this lovely book of poems after just having finished Orr's The Blessing: A Memoir. In it he tells the unimaginable tragedy of a hunting accident. How he as a 12-year-old boy discharged his gun in the wrong direction and killed his 8-year-old brother. In that book the action begins in one field, of death, and ends in another where the author discovers the sculptures of David Smith, a field full of art, constructed things, things that remind me of these poems.
The three sections of this book, Eden and After, The City of Poetry, and River Inside the River, all seem biblical in their scope and scale, primal in their energy, and yet quietly philosophical. The theme of loss and grief, the ocean of pain inside us is only made bearable by making things --books, cities, rooms-- and by the presence of the beloved however fleeting.
The poems tell hard truths, yet they are not dark. One of my favorite lines declares:
The Book said we were mortal;
It didn't say we had to be morbid.
These are poems that linger in the mind.