Colors of the Universe

In “First Dust, Star Dust,” Elizabeth Rivers writes: “Still, mystery’s here: dark clouds that cool the universe enough / to let small stars like ours condense and wear / their furious light.” In the lovely play of that verb “wear,” we sense the intelligence of Rivers’ poetry: there is a wide and rich universe condensed in these short verses. I know of no other poet who brings such humanity and gentle humor to the disturbing recognition of our temporary situation in this universe. Look at how closely she gazes, both at microcosm and at macrocosm, in “The Transit of Venus”: “Einstein knew everything/is in transit./Black ant’s tiny shadow/ doubles its scurry past me/ while I practice focus, / binoculars up to my face. / I’ve added Mylar frames: I won’t be blinded,/just put in my place.” Colors of the Universe puts us in our place, and it is a place where we are encouraged to marvel at the world, to chuckle over it and to grieve it. We leave this book restored to a new and brave appreciation of what language makes possible. Christopher Bursk