A capacious, elegant collection from a writer “with an ear as subtle and assured as any American poet now writing” (John Koethe). These poems are filled with the accumulated treasure of a lifetime, yet at their heart is the loss that fuels this dream of abundance: the friend to be mourned, the child to be loved, the poem to be written. Again and again, The Iron Key brings us to the door that opens onto the future.
from "April 2003"
I felt like a boy again, my navel flat as a dime― The glamour of protest, however compromised,
Our certainty old people were wrong. Poetry is against war or else it isn't poetry
Said my friend the poet, as if by breathing We were glamorous.
James Longenbach is a poet and critic whose work is often featured in publications such as The New Yorker, Paris Review, and Slate. He lives in Rochester, New York.
Beautiful. “The Lake on the Hill” was my favorite. The more personal feeling ones resonated with me more than the Greek/mythology inspired ones (which went over my head a bit).