|These are poems
that delight, instruct, and guide. Filled with twists and turns, lush
with detail, they go beyond the anecdotal, evolving into chiseled gems
of truth, lovely yet razor-sharp in their insights. A distinctly
original voice, Harry Brown shows us that even the most common things
are works of art, little miracles of wonder.
Some poets court the Muse; others she seems to have sought out, accosted abruptly, and recruited. I have imagined Harry Brown standing in a pasture, looking about idly, until startled at hearing a Voice say, "Write about the weathered stump. Set it down about the cow. Use the words you know. Don’t bother to lie." The result has been a body of work that gives strong meaning to the phrase body of work. Grainy, pungent, assertive, rough-humored, and deeply honest, the poems in Felt Along the Blood possess integrities as unyielding as the world they inhabit. The Muse must be proud; she ought to be.
These poems, both accumulated and new, are like seeds on snow. They percolate, respond to weather. They melt on the page, blossom in the mind.