Here’s what Readers Are Saying About MIRRORS:
MIRRORS. FOREWORD. AFTERWORD. In medias res. The poetry and the poet. Two children. Travelers. "Where is our house?" Half in the station—the house, the horses behind you, nudging forward. Your head half in the house of the railroad knowing the right thing and things that should be done to make things right—immediately. Horses in back of you. Fires arisen. Distant stars. Your voice. Rising, falling. Two children full of years. A house. A predestined destination—a calling. We are tired of wandering. What voice? With hands as roots. A small town in Mexico. A separate peace. In medias res. These are peripatetic pidgin poems—hieratic, prophetic, intuitive, with interpolated necessity—not concluded in duties, pragmatically called to certain acts. In languages, half there, half not, struggling, beautiful, within the interstices. In medias res. Well worth reading.
Ray Uzwyshyn,
Dir. Collections and Digital Services, Texas State University