What I like about Mark Granier's work is his sense of the edgy play in words themselves, together with his straightforward command of narrative happenings. In their lightness of lyric touch, these poems introduce a speaking imagination that's generous, quiet, keen-eyed -- so, Dublin after a snow-storm is roofed / in a silence deeper than Sunday," washing does its line-dance," and windmills (in a Rembrandt etching) go cartwheeling across the horizon. In his deft illuminations of the ordinary world, Granier shows us the thin partition dividing a chilled sense of mortality from that throbbing everyday life we live and try to be aware of. Airborne is at once buoyant and down to earth ...," as good poems should be. --Eamon Grennan.
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