In the Blood: Poems

I am no mystic. I know nothing rises that doesn't know how to already. In my ears, only the clubbed foot of routine, no voices, no clatter of dreams: but I saw what I saw Even in his first book of poems, the deep contradictions in Carl Phillips's work are already pronounced. Here is a subtle poet, attuned to the simple honesty of everyday speech, and yet steeped in classical allusion. Life here is quiet, yet burning with anger and unavoidable desire. Offering intimate statements of passion and yet retaining a private withholding, these poems take as their primary subject the body-growing, aging, loving-and spirit that fills the flesh. When In the Blood was selected for the 1992 Morse Poetry Prize, Carl Phillips was a high-school Latin teacher. Thirty years later, he has written seventeen books of poetry, has received the Pulitzer Prize, and is one of the most prominent voices in contemporary poetry.