The poems of Merritt’s second collection take on big ideas: “I’ve seen the world without us, and it lacked/ Nothing, but burned on fierce and beautiful.” Merritt (A Protocol for Touch
) grounds her generalities in powerful, gorgeous lyrical moments, and there is little of the irony that marks the work of many of her contemporaries. Merritt’s speakers plainly search for something to hold onto, and it’s not meaning: she notes that “sense does not make birdsong beautiful.” She uses “the ear, that outward/ heart” as her guide—many of these poems rhyme, both subtly and obviously, and all show a careful attention to shape and rhythm. Even the collection as a whole is carefully sculpted, with five sequences creating an arc that begins and ends with speakers searching for “comfort” and “tenderness” amid a world “where/ daily the tongues of men murder even/ the sturdiest hearts.” There are moment when Merritt’s love of rhyme leads to either antiquated (“Lest sober elders hear and come to chide”) or worn-out phrases (“the fabric of a life”), and some readers may be put off by her tendency to lean on the Greek myths at times. Still, the heights achieved in the best of these poems are undeniable. (Oct.)
