PSALMS by Dave Morrison

Do you read poetry? I do, albeit occasionally.  I think I am most attracted to poetry when I am trying to make sense of something, or trying to give language to a feeling.  I turn to Wendell Berry’s The Peace of Wild Things when the world is too much, the gentle lyrics of Nicolette Larson when driving home from dropping my daughter at college;  Mary Oliver sustains me when I need to connect my heart with the natural world.

I recently discovered the poet Dave Morrison via an ad in one of the book journals I read.  Morrison lives with his wife in Maine now, after years of playing music in New York and Boston.  Psalms is his newest volume of poetry.  Aside from being a Mainer, what hooked me was the volume’s description:  “Memoir, Mosaic, Miniatures, Meditations, Morsels, Beads on a String.  Love Notes to the Muse. Poems. Not-Poems, Songs of Praise. Psalms.”  

I’ll set the scene:  a quintessential early fall day.  I was meeting a dear friend for lunch and a long overdue catch up.  My friend delayed at work, I pulled Psalms from my bag and fell in love with Morrison’s words.  I stretched out on a freshly painted wrap around  porch, soaking up the sun, enjoying a gentle breeze, my eyes resting on the still green grass and well cared for plantings as I considered a few of the 100 poems in this new volume.   Morrison says so much with so few words.  He clinches meaning.  He expresses what I wish I had words for, he asks the questions I need to answer, and he does it with a gorgeous honesty. His work is readable and thought-provoking, spiritual but not preachy.   I find I am turning back to what seemed like an uncomplicated piece over and over again. I snicker on one page, smile to myself on the next.  I slow down.  I am thankful.

I am a 99% library user, and a 1% book buyer.  I bought Psalms.