Recently published by Lynx House Press
One of the poems of Abiding Time describes woodpeckers "knocking like door-to-door evangelists" and deer grazing "with the eyes of infants, not windows / so much as depthless pools // where the soul might be." In another, an ordinary building turns "in the glow that makes things seem self-spun from inner light." For some poets, description is revelation. Robert McNamara is such a poet. He plumbs the miraculous in the daily, and does so despite grief and betrayals, as well as knowing fully "how little we are at home in the interpreted world." With an understated formal mastery, the poems of Abiding Time reveal a healing ability to see (as if with the aid of an infrared imagination) behind the surfaces of things to the deeper correspondence—and further, still, into "the tragic beauty of the world."
--Daniel Tobin
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