Sometimes it's one's duty simply to call attention to the special beauty that's there before us, .. such rare sensitivity: a flower of great beauty amid the noise and clangor and violence.... How often we have cried out in silence for 'a language / we cannot speak, ' for the grace of a single moment, 'immortal, held still in one shot, one frame.' And isn't that frame the very image at the heart of Being that 'we hope to see more clearly, ' the very thing that, for our own peace, we must salvage 'out of this rubble' of life? William Carlos Williams found this in the world about him, and now another New Jersey poet has found it for us as well. Read her. No, better, meditate on what she has to tell us in such exquisite and tender language. Her poems are like saxifrage, the healing flower that breaks the very rock of indifference strewn each morning about us.—Paul Mariani
I should have known immediately that you were a published professional. I've just finished reading the latest edition of Best American Poetry. Several of your poems published here are better than any of the poems in that volume. I'm also poring over Hart Crane once again (reputedly the 'most influential' poet of the 20th century) . It seems to me, brilliant as his poetry is, that he led us up the wrong road, rejecting accessibility for metaphoric density and logical discontinuity. If a poetry for the people is to be renewed, I think your style, deceptively simple yet majestically elegant as it is, must be the style we develop. I'll be looking for your books.
(a.m.) the city was split by lightning, stripped down to bone, and tortured, its flesh lashed by flames…
suddenly I was beggared, wearing the rags of loose skin, hanging like pockets lined with blood.