There's something of gossamer in Ann Iverson's newest collection of poems, This House That House This House, yet her words enmesh the reader with lightness of touch. In "Muse," her graceful magic is at full play: "The water wore her dress/and the night put on her shawl. /She buttoned up the sun/and hemmed the sky in lace./A poet came/to stitch the stars/into the dark/then set the needle down/..." Some poems are personal, packed with love's urgent sensuality, as the poet longs for "...his thighs/trees of thunder." In rich, unexpected language, Iverson mourns lost pets and parents, and dreams of her mother clinking "her glass against the goblet of the night." Her poems, often slight, have considerable heft.
-Elizabeth Weir, When Our World Was Whole
Ann Iverson's latest, welcome book of poems, This House That House This House is for the life of us, a shelter, an abode. Each home, each poem, anchor and vessel afloat, amazingly, under the ethereal moon, the companion deer, the illusive feline spirit.
What, then who, must go and, still, abide? The way, the how of it: the honor of good work, the ebb and flow of domestic life, the loss of employment, of honored parents. Then, Sunday, oh, Sunday. The surprising, not quite off-hand way Ann stops us in our tracks, the way she makes us laugh, invites us to move along as we read on and on.
-Yvette Nelson, The World Before Us
These poems are like a magical carpet ride through the intimate spaces where the poet dwells. Ride alongside her on waves of love, longing, and grief. Catch a glimpse of stars holding hands. Turn the page to be startled with joy in the midst of a mass of birds taking flight. I laughed out loud as a handbag restored her belief in love and took deep breaths as I bore witness to one truth and another and another. Iverson defies the boundaries of time and space to bring us into the ultimate expression of home, exploring the connectedness of all life.
-Teresa Boyer, Burning
