Charles Goodrich's poems celebrate the body of the earth from which we come and to which all things return, as well as the power of poetry to raise its fist-full of seeds, its only weapon-against oppression.
These poems share the comfort of ravens, black wings banked around the coals of their hearts, /their bright minds/smoldering, the particular, fleeting tang of whortleberries, and the minerally kiss of cold water drawn from a well.
Contemplating the uncomfortable, such as aging, the risk of tsunami, and the self-inflicted erosion of habitat and democracy, these poems nonetheless point our eyes toward the hawks, not the hawkers of hate.
This is poetry wholesome in the best sense, showing us how to preserve our wholeness and the flow of grateful energy amid the obstructions (major and minor) of our worldly lives.
- Karen Holmberg.
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