It should be palpable. It should be mute, dumb, silent, as wordless as the flight of birds, as motionless in time as the moon climbs. A poet sacrifices all of self - emptied into ported barrels of nothingness - to allow poetry its own breath.
This is the sacred reality of Ric Couchman’s first book of poems, Musing From Outside the Universal.
Each poem writhes in its womb, beating at the rhythm of the human condition. Each poem gives birth in a beckoned soul, where it becomes what it is, empowering that beckoned soul to billow, to laugh, to weep, to take flight through the ventricles of a soul’s hidden truth - sparking a light here, poking at dormancy there.
From the opening beat of A View From The Cradle, the beckoned reader, tethered to life, is whisked into the turbulence of a dogged reality, destined for a ride throughout which the myth-themes of life, the dimensions of love, family and faith, and the hatch-marks of individual and collective responsibility are shaken and reshaped.
This book is alive.What this poet achieved is as Archibald MacLeish prescribed and as Ric Couchman in agreement intends, that a poem should not mean, but be. These will stir the bowel and reset hearts.
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