We Weep for Our Strangeness

Dennis Schmitz's first book. These poems by Dennis Schmitz about how "a man must/grow from the inside/like a tree breaks whole/from the seed" and about the birth of a foal or slow, miraculous growth of a glacier or how the river "lay like a blue wrist" or the deaths of rabbit, father, doe and farm boy are the kind of poems one often returns to when one feels that edgy, unmistakable, pure desire to read poetry in all its rawness. —Paul Carroll