To The Eaves

by Lisa A. Forrest

In the last ice of early spring, Forrest's lyric rearranges reflection, sharpens senses at the touch of winter's wither and whip. How a word rooms unsuspected rattle clears an ear space for the pillage & push of language, of places and persons. For the love of hearing, the concentric snap of lyric is tenderly broken, leaving us this very human music, a candor of eye, mind and heart. To be played again, and again, songs for summer's jar of fireflies. -Jonathan Skinner Lisa Forrest is that poet we need at this her work, nearly drenched in ochre tones and reverent of the heft of lonely and rural landscapes, revives the American pastoral and orients us in a psychic place many take for granted to have been lost to history. "This is our love song tumbling," to paraphrase the title poem, and in such a line one senses not only the gravity of love and loss, but one can visualize the rolling hills of some forgotten and dignified place. Forrest reminds us of both hidden geographies and sentiments; her writing is as organic and breathing as "crackling twigs [and] blazing leaves." - Ethan Paquin These poems unfurl in the reader's palm in bird song and the natural world has never been more sensuous or sung. Yet human nature, thwarted love is her true topic. Lisa Forrest's To The Eaves , takes us to the heights with grace and sweet song. -Brenda Coultas

60 pages, Paperback

First published April 18, 2008