New from a poet whose "intensity makes the world visible" (Linda Gregg)
"Everywhere, a forceful, scrupulous intelligence is active- a luminous diction, a range of cadences." So has Mark Strand written of the work of Joanna Klink, who has won acclaim for elegant, sensual, and musical poems that "remain alert to the reparations of beauty and song" (Dean Young). The linked poems in Klink's third collection, Raptus, search through a failed relationship, struggling with the stakes of compassion, the violence of the outside world, and the wish to anchor both in something true.
What happens when a relationship fails? Klink gets into the nooks and crannies of that question in her third collection. She sinks into every aspect of the life past and present. All of the things you would expect are there--the sense of alienation ("I no longer know what to call you./ Lost-to-me, nested one, night owl" ) and blame ("you have to hold it in mind all at once/ you have to need it enough"). But Klink (Circadian) also revels in surprises: "I suspect there are no gardens in you./ You suspect I am brimming with vast shadows." She has a rhythmic dedication, a sense that every last emotional corner will be examined in its own time and a keen focus aimed as much at herself as at others. As it cycles through need and loss, this book illuminates just how inextricable experiences can be from the people with whom they are shared. This book settles into the injustice of absence and does not fear to ask: "are you paying attention to what passes through you?" (May)