Eleanor Wilner's poems attempt to absorb the shock of the wars and
atrocities of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. In their
litany of loss, in their outrage and sorrow, they retain the joy in
life, mercy for the mortal condition, and praise for the plenitude of
nature and the gifts of human artistry.
As with her six earlier collections, these poems are drawn from the
transpersonal realm of history and cultural memory, but they display an
increasing horror at the bloody repetitions of history, its service of
death, and the destructive savagery of power separated from intelligence
and restraint. The poems describe "a sordid drama" in which the players
wear "eyeless masks," and the only thing time changes is the name of the
enemy. Underneath it all, driving "the art that" in both senses "keeps
nothing at bay," swim the enormous formal energies of life, the
transitive figure that moves on in the depths, something glimpsed in the
first light, something stronger than hope.
"It is a relief to come across work in which a moral intelligence is
matched by aesthetic refinement, in which the craft of the poems is
equal to their concerns."--Christian Wiman, Poetry