Tremble

In this, her eighth collection of poems, C.D. Wright endeavors to penetrate the retina of fears that incessantly convene to blunt the vision required of us. While the poet sustains no delusions about achieving equilibrium outright, she nevertheless meticulously undertakes to construct an intimate, adamantine presence out of psychic peril. The vernacular architecture of Wright's poems continues to dispute the authorities, high and low, over means and measures of poetic production and presentation. With instruments no more exalted than "Just this water glass" and "this untunable spoon" she brings a bracing, idiosyncratic light into every frame. In Tremble, urban and rural sensibilities commingle in an ethical imagination to convoy the reader into unexpectedly moving experiences of perception. Throughout, as she says, "The left hand keeps it focused."