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From the Publisher“Becker builds solid, well-crafted poems out of everyday materials, therby capturing life as it is lived. For readers who like poetry that ‘honors the poached fish and the beans,/...our communal selves sheared of the theoretical,' this honest, plain-spoken collection is just the thing."
“Robin Becker achieves what may be one of the early twenty first century’s most difficult accomplishments—to write a credible poetry of affirmation. In the doing, she doesn’t pretty up the world. Rather, she finds language that embraces our dualities, our many-selved presences, regularly demonstrating her kind of perfect affection: ‘Come up for the lunch I made you, / O handy lover, with your retractable blade, / your small drill, your paint brushes bristling.’”
". . . firmly about the business of living, about the information one must collect and process both to live from day to day and to instigate change. She creates calm and then upsets it, a stunning achievment for any poet."
“Stunning: it reveals a poet whose age and experience have mellowed her subject and tighened her craft, but never diminshed her intensity of both attention to detail and affirmation of the dark compassion it takes to ‘accept myself / for what I am—androgynous, sublime.’ Becker’s poetry is always reaching toward the unsayable, demonstrating her deft abilities to write poetry that bears forth generous and ‘homely affection.’”
—The Virginia Quarterly
“The sixth full-length [collection] from the still-underrated Becker (The Horse Fair, 2000) uses sustained attention and deceptively quiet language to delve skillfully into Jewish heritage, lesbian culture, generational succession, and the ambivalent legacy of the Sixties. Describing her path from a radical youth to middle age, Becker's verse remains careful and clear, much like Philip Levine's in its sense of how poems ought to work (and Becker is at least as good a technician). Her free verse lines can grow pleasantly prickly, or even grim: "Against Pleasure" warns beachgoers about ‘jellyfish for the rest of the summer/ and the ozone layer full of holes.’ Celebrations of amity and of erotic love counterpoint such sad reminders: a poem about a grand flood projects ‘a waterproof optimism, hoping to run into a few friends/ who'd taken the rain into their own hands and gone pelagic.’”