Ellen Lord's passionate poems often hang out in the liminal space just before dawn. They tell us of a mad mother, a brother dying of his brief, wild life, a husband dying of cancer, and so many other hungry ghosts. But night--the night of sadnesses and deaths, contains "a secret maw of delights." These poems travel between life and death almost seamlessly: "I've let my garden go since my husband died. Strange--how his hand feels so warm in mine." I'm glad to have these generous poems where "Everything is all right even when it isn't."
-- Fleda Brown, poet & essayist
Vigil repays the close and the occasional read: a voice that grows in virtuosity and grace.
-- Tom Lynch, author of Bone Rosary: New & Selected Poems.
Lord's finely tuned poems are witness to the natural world's raw and often silent moments. Her lines put emotion under a microscope and reveal new dimensions, strange folds, and curious gyrations that may otherwise go undetected. Here, we learn that grief has delicate nuances, that awe has countless expressions, that wonderment itself comes on the wings of many creatures. While the individual poems emerge from a singular voice, they form a concert of mood and utterance. Confessions, admissions, declarations, radical assertions all sing together. I hope her work is read and acclaimed widely.
