A giant crane appears at the back windows of a residential street, its beam swinging freely, its red 'eye' seeming to overlook the lives on the other side of the glass. In her eighth collection of poems, Susan Wicks writes searchingly about our ordinary existence, its serendipities and unreliable sense-impressions, its delight in a new generation, its brief escapes - but this earthbound perspective is also part of an implicit dialogue. Under the crane new buildings spring up, seasons shift, perspective varies, until, its work completed, the giant machine is ready to be driven away. By the time it leaves, the landscape we knew will have changed and we too will have moved on.
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This morning I look up and you are in my kitchen window cutting up the dark, all fretted steel and open bleeding eye. DEAR CRANE
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(@Bloodaxe Books, 23 February 2021, ebook, 84 pages, borrowed from @natpoetrylib via @OverDriveLibs)
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This is a new poet for me. I really enjoyed Dear Crane. I chose to read the book at random even though the concept seemed a little odd to me, ode to a crane, really? I really enjoyed the poems in this collection, light and frivolous at times especially the numerous poems called Dear Crane addressed to the crane in question but with dark undertones about human existence and experiences that aren't always obvious. Dear Crane is very enjoyable.
