“[Bottoms] makes astounding leaps of both faith and doubt, and does so with insight, honesty, and flashes of anger―all characteristic elements of his work.” ― The Southern Review “One finds here what one expects in a book of good Southern poems: clear narratives . . . evocative images, searching irony, and meditative poise.” ― Library Journal “Bottoms’ poems do what the best poems have always done: They compel us to reread them. They linger in our minds. They alter our perception of the world.” ― Atlanta Journal-Constitution David Bottoms explores otherness, the death of parents, and private spirituality. Images of rural Georgia confront the changing landscape of his memories where he searches for refuge in quiet places of prayer. Rooted in nature, Bottoms’ poetry affirms the “tenuous ways tenderness seeps into the world” and the loneliness inherent in memory. Memory is “smoke off a damp fire” as Bottoms explores absence, a contemplative inner life, and changing landscapes. From “An Absence”: Yes, things happen in the cool white spaces, those moments you turn your head – the way the trembling branch suggests the owl, or the print by the pond suggests the fox. Near the end, though, only one thing matters, and nothing, not even the fox, moves as quietly. David Bottoms is the author of eight books of poetry and has received the Walt Whitman Award, fellowships from the NEA and Guggenheim Foundation, and served as Poet Laureate of Georgia for twelve years. He currently holds the Amos Distinguished Chair in English at Georgia State University. “[He] makes astounding leaps of both faith and doubt, and does so with insight, honesty, and flashes of anger – all characteristic elements of his work.” -The Southern Review “Bottoms’ poems do what the best poems have always done: They compel us to reread them. They linger in our minds. They alter our perception of the world.” —Atlanta Journal-Constitution "One finds here what one expects in a book of good Southern poems: clear narratives... evocative images, searching irony, and meditative poise." —Library Journal “David Bottoms is brilliant in the clarity and richness of his language, profoundly humane in the breadth and compassion of his vision. He is quite simply one of the best poets writing today.” -Jane Hirshfield David Bottoms grew up in Canton, Georgia, the only child of a funeral director and a registered nurse in a home that had only two books: a King James Bible and a book by preacher Billy Graham. In 1979, Bottoms’ collection, Shooting Rats at the Bibb County Dump, won the Walt Whitman Award from the Academy of American Poets, where judge Robert Penn Warren described Bottoms as, “a strong poet, and much of his strength emerges from the fact that he is temperamentally a realist.” Bottoms has since published eight books of poetry, two novels, and a book of essays, and served as Poet Laureate of Georgia for 12 years (2000-2012). He has won numerous awards including fellowships from both the NEA and the Guggenheim Foundation and won a Levinson Prize from the Poetry Foundation. He currently holds the Amos Distinguished Chair in English at Georgia State University. Bring the Beautiful Horses Some days nothing helps. Some days not even a basket of apples will bring the black horses out of the past, and Christ Pantocrator seems little more than the face of an absurd hippie. (My old man bent toward the gaping mouth. He sniffed, it was confirmed. Nothing would help.) Some days the sweetest words will not bring a blessing from the sky, or sweeten the breakfast table with a smile, or bring the beautiful horses out of the magical past. (Nobody knew death like my father – the Solomons, Wake Island, Guadalcanal. Thirty years prepping bodies in a funeral home.) Some days on the prayer porch the petitions never clear the trees, and there is nothing to do but rock and watch the wind rattle the maples and pin oaks. (When he turned toward my aunt and shook his head, everyone knew it was accomplished.) Some days those beautiful horses will not leave the shadows of their hill. Some days nothing helps. An Absence Near the end, only one thing matters. Yes, it has something to do with the moon and the way the moon balances so nervously on the ridge of the barn. This is the landscape of my childhood – my grandfather’s country store, his barn, his pasture. His chicken houses are already falling, but near the end only the one thing matters. It has to do with the prudence of his woods, the way the trembling needles prove the wind. Let’s sit here by the fence and watch for the fox that comes each night to the pasture. Imagine how the moon cools the water in the cow pond. Yes, things happen in the cool white spaces, those moments you turn your head – the way the trembling branch suggests the owl, or the print by the pond suggests the fox. Near the end, though, only one thing matters, and nothing, not even the fox, moves as quietly. Hubert Blankens