Dan Beachy-Quick's Arrows rests in the palm of the hand like a shard of ancient pottery, caressing antiquity into the present, reminding us of the impossibility of separating ourselves from outdated ways of knowing. Here, in increments, we are enchanted by the humming of bees and the vibrating strings of lyre and bow. Arrows, eros, a rose: a hidden homonym impels these poems, just as those echoes enfold the overlaps of meanings they are helpless to tease apart. Word by word the voice works in what it wishes, the poet writes. Through the winging and winding of violence, love and beauty, these poems pull and elongate various forms of harm. Yet, a shadow question haunts the book: Might some means of recovery be borne out of harm itself? Poems of desire and hurt, care and prayer answer in the affirmative, turning wound into song. In other words, within these covers, something entirely new and miraculous is offered the reader.
this thought of the other world, put it away in the drawer: maybe in the dark it will grow acheless, “like the moon,” I want to say, “acheless like the moon,” and then I remember the moon is what teaches us aching — coinbright thief who cannot steal herself away from her condition, pulling tides around her shoulders but the aqueous shawl shatters when lifted — only when it’s fallen is it whole.
Better than his last. He's doing something VERY different here. It's a play with words and concept, concept distorted through words. Intriguing, is what I have to say right now.
This book reminds me of a book of meditations or prayers; for me, that is not a good thing. The writing is very abstract and philosophical. That said, The poet's word choices make the poems almost musical. They are best read out loud. Some of the imagery is outstanding, and he makes some very compelling formatting choices. Did I enjoy this book? No, but I can appreciate the talent demonstrated between its pages.