Honey and Junk: Poems

These poems are spare and crafted and wrought of gorgeous images. The New York Times was right to hail Goodyear as a major new poet - and teachers of poetry would be wise to include this volume in their syllabi. The poetry is not conventionally "accessable", but it covers subjects - eros, grief, and terror - that will capture the imagination of many emerging poets. As a former English teacher, Honey and Junk would have been one of the volumes I turned to regularly. It is a tour de force.

Goodyear writes with a sting, bold, fearless, jabbing under the flesh, blood drawn as a reminder that this is real life and it hurts. "Mother was never in the same room with any of us. I think she was a hostess, in which case I should say, Thank you for having me." (County Line Road) Like great art, subject to interpretation, these concise poems speak the language of the beholder. Certain phrases jump out, ringing familiar in the subconscious. Such a gift is hardly precocious, although the author is young; rather, Goodyear deftly manages the clumsy, inexplicable emotions that come to life in unexpected formations, the senseless rendered sensible, pricking the surface to disclose the bubbling stew that inhabits the mind. Stubborn, the mind refuses to yield until the poet's words demand an audience. Raise the lid of this Pandora's Box and see what baleful surprises await. "Is this more like a tripwire or a fuse, If I handle it right may I keep you?" (Message) There is nothing as satisfying as the well-written poem, the rush of comprehension that this poet delivers page after page. Goodyear's remarkable collection demands respect, as though for one quick moment everything is clear, the universe exposed, shocking, painful and tender. Language is magical in the right hands, both lyrical and haunting. Goodyear lets her genie out of the bottle, intentionally, as willful as a wild child, as precise as a surgeon: "life after death fingernails unfolding in the last mute wave of growing old." (Old Saybrook) Change is unavoidable, as is pain, these poems filled with a sensual awareness of place, shifting memories, deep and inevitable loss, life on life's terms. If you love words, trust the sleight-of-hand of this poet, youthful yet ageless, painful yet precious as a last breath. "It doesn't take a genius to say Get out while you can. It takes an optimist." (Safe House III) Luan Gaines/2005.