I have always been a fan of George Looney’s poetry, and this new collection might be his best yet. He’s on constant high alert, noticing what so many of us miss—the beautiful, poignant moments that can lift and sustain us, the moments that leave us wondering and in wonder. Looney, always the empathetic observer, weaves a wistful spell in this compelling collection, one dazzling poem after another. He gets to the hearts of all living things on earth, and to the heart of the earth itself—half moon, half water.
—Jim Daniels, author of The Middle Ages
“The heart is too prone to water damage,” observes George Looney, in this, his eleventh collection of poetry, where the poet takes a deep dive into the myriad ways we can be shipwrecked by the flawed legacy of our humanity. Old age, lost love, death, drunkenness, desire, and even impotence, inhabit these poems like house ghosts we learn to live with, and even dare to love. With gentleness, humor, and unfailing tenderness, these poems take readers on a distinctly Midwestern tour through a world where rust is the coin of the realm and Lake Erie’s caprice is a metaphor for life’s vicissitudes.
—Frank Paino, author of Obscura
A Midwestern mystic, a rustbelt bard, a poet of mystical insight and existential illumination, George Looney is, to my mind, a rare virtuoso. His poems are full of wit and despair, lyrical beauty and heartbreaking longing, honesty, and hope. He is the kind of poet who can take you to the edge of your consciousness, addressing mortality and loss, and then back home again—or to a bar, a coffee shop, a diner. Reading his work, I feel I am in the presence of a voluminous consciousness and a great heart.
—Nin Andrews, author of The Last Orgasm