Review of Thawed
Stars in the Spring/Summer 2000 issue of The
"What we cannot do is our evolution; what we cannot be is our true destiny. Alice Pero's superb poems link us with the glorious unknown whose lessons are more vivid than our knowledge.
"I sit in your smile and/the walls fall down/We find reasons for tangents/ and digressions/into flying tapestries and/woven trapezes/The riddle of my last frown dissolved."
Pero is a veteran poet whose delineations of her poems into sections--New Music, Breathless Love, The Evidence, These Birches--only faintly suggest the poems' rich unifications.
"I lie/in acres of skin/and you do not even/wonder why/or consider whether/escape is possible."
Humor, wit, the majesty of mystery. A poem dedicated to The New Yorker tells what she will write, but:
"I will never mention/the one night I spent/all alone/hugging the moon."
Icons come crashing down in her vivid eyes, and a whimsy sets in:
"After the break of dawn/I stepped in the pieces/all day."
Lovely absences all day bring room for thought, awe:
"I dropped in to see you/and felt beautiful/and invisible/I held the world/ in my arms, green and captive,/while you whistled/and tap danced/and wondered what that/breeze was."
Her title poem, "Thawed Stars", is a wonderfully absurd delight about the modern world:
"I've dipped scores and scores of my stars/in black paint so as not to offend/We must placate placate/ A world of men wearing sunglasses/But beware of thawed stars/They drip."
Is our true heritage in the sides of things? In their glimmering tops?
"I'll be coming back in late March/when there is a point of remembrance/the crocus proving itself/against the snow."
The romance of discovery, the radiant brilliance, the surprise and laughter are all here in Alice Pero's deeply intelligent insights into the edge of things."
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