The Atlantic House

Harry Tankoos Books, 2011

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“The stark, reverent poems of  The Atlantic House are testimony to the implausible—stones are alive, motion is still, emptiness is aswarm. In this six-element universe (Nature’s four plus language and history), precipitation is inadvertently fingered as the determinant of Time. A bee’s stinger is the needle that plays an LP—and the music that issues forth is everywhere tonal and clamoring. The still-living creations of the dead (the poet’s relatives, T.S. Eliot, Dickinson, others unknown and unnamed) populate this beautiful volume of poetry around which Ariel hovers. These poems anatomize—as all great art anatomizes—the war internal that preexists the war global. What these verses are sometimes wailing, sometimes whispering, sometimes bemoaning, and sometimes outright hating is Truth itself.”

—Sandy Brown

“With a bee inside her fist, Good makes “a place from which to speak.” When we moor at her Atlantic House, the evergreens are blasted, and the birds are full of blood, but the ashes are flakes of Pharaoh’s gold. In this strange and shifting place, things twist beautifully at our feet.”

—Camille Guthrie