Mark Irwin's poetics are a direct descendant of Rilke and Hart Crane. His poetry is propelled by charged rhythms and a lush music.
"An impeccable craftsman, Mark Irwin writes with a lyrical intensity that somehow combines the brilliance of Valery and the natural ease of observation of William Carlos Williams."
—David St. John
It is now this late evening in April
among first irises and bees I realize
they were opening doors Mary Robert
and William I want to say of clouds sunlight
rain now Didn't we notice the arrows
of hearts hands leaping toward an unmapped
when No age no place though all of one
light Somewhere beneath that cloud
in a little town a white door is opening
maybe for nothing but wind but we will all
one day be there I mean when opening is finally enough
© BOA Editions, Ltd. 2004