i had high hopes for this little collection, as i found it through an interesting book of essays about heretical herbs.

there are interesting and poignant moments, such as this line near the beginning: “whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,” and these: “Listen to carrion—put your ear / close, and hear the faint chattering / of the songs that are to come. / Expect the end of the world. Laugh.”

however, the majority of these poems are just didactic and a little dull. i think what i’d hoped for was something lively and animist, poems that foreground the natural world, but what i got was a celebration of a certain archetype of man, who is very much a rugged individual and definitely has a superiority complex over those not like him. also, we get it, machines are bad.

oh well. it’s short enough that i read the whole thing. this book definitely confirms my suspicion of wendell berry’s overall vibe, and i won’t waste my time reading any more of his work.