Description

The solid rightness of image after image in Ken Brewer's poetry was never better than in Why Dogs Stopped Flying. His familiar style is plain-spoken, his humor reliable and self-ironic. Yet, in this collection perhaps more than in his earlier work, the particularity of the poet's insight into the physical world--and the warmth of his affection for it--combine to create an unexpected transcendence. Beasts and bodies are transformed in his lines, and our dim, unremarkable lives on this shadowed earth become somehow more luminous--small suns opening in the dark, small words to the moon.