Ridiculous Light

The debut from Robin is suffused with a nostalgia in which the past—reframed and reexamined, and often radiant with joy—seems to be eternally recurring in the present. In “Milwaukee 1968,” the speaker recalls a sudden reversal in her childhood, hearing the James Brown lyrics “I’m black and I’m proud” and feeling suddenly empowered by her skin color: “it was as if the sun had come out of the closet, as if the moon was burning her underwear... we marched up and down the street singing ourselves into brand new people.” Robin provides a glimpse into the quintessential poet’s mind: “Imagine if instead of leaves, the sky fell, imagine it happened at the same time each year; little clumps of blue everywhere.” It’s the thought process of someone at home in her own thoughts, unabashed about bringing others in, no matter how intimate or silly, such as in an ode to freshly-cut grass that states gleefully, “take me to the bridge and shake me like a rug over my neighbor’s black-eyed Susans.” Robin’s reverence for memory is refreshing in that she neither pines for nor regrets the past; she merely appreciates it for what it offered and how it has informed the present. Whimsical and contemplative, Robin’s experience as a visual artist lends the book a flourish of vivid imagery. (Apr.)