Elizabeth Macklin is a poet of the city. Her subjects are everywhere: inside apartment houses and alongside towering buildings, on streets and sidewalks, or beneath them, at the water's edge and in the changing heavens. In her able hands, through her painterly eye and rich vision, the odd scraps of urban life are converted into a sort of Platonic dialogue of fruitful enigmas, paradoxes, and playful epiphanies.
I wanted to love this book, but I found most of it to be abstract and puzzling. She clearly gives such lovely care to all the details. They’re just so hard to follow (for me) and therefore not relatable. I will always love the poem “Brooding,” which I have already unwittingly committed to memory.