The rain in the bell

iris press

Each of Matt Urmy’s poems is a quiet revelation. I won’t say “breathtaking,” since the reader’s experience of these poems is to gain new air. This is the book I was waiting for, though I didn’t know it. Reading these poems that are rhythmically sure, understated and wise, I feel restored—and I didn’t realize that I was fragmented. Spiritual and physical, the poet’s language is that of a musician, father, and visionary. He doesn’t preach, though. Matt Urmy sings mysteries without trying to explain, celebrating the astonishment that poetry patiently builds:

Time explains itself through small
discoveries—one syllable at a time—
we are born—we pass on—
(“A Measure of the Limits”)

—Marilyn Kallet