Richard Solly writes grief like Yo Yo Ma plays the cello -- with every filament of DNA in his body. If Solly's poems were set to music, an orchestra of beauty and anguish would pervade the air. Violins -- grievous tears, kettle drums -- the pounding of fists against empty chests, flutes -- recalling playful memories.
Solly's poetry has the ability to evoke great emotion with his honest and brutal observations. Through the death of his wife and his own nearly fatal illnesses, Solly deals with his grief through everyday imagery -- the delicate handle of a teacup, as well as the abstract in the following poem, "Why a Poem ends in Death."
"Every poem ends in death.
Every revelation brings death to what existed before it.
Every pen fills with rain to record afflictions
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and can't imagine what lies ahead of its nib
as it journeys down the path of a sentence
to the end of ink. Inside the poem, the poet seeks
his own dissolution in the sky and grass. He's not
summoned out of the tomb, but into it.
To create sunlight where there is none.
He dies for this joy."
Not all of Solly's work deals with the heaviness of grief. His poem about finding a dead plumber under his sink is nearly humorous as he describes pulling the deceased, clutching a wrench in his hand, out from under the sink by his boots.
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And Solly's account of an aged circus performer's hospital encounter is poignant and sweet. This poet will also take you on a delightful out of body experience in "The Smell of Apples" that will have you too floating in an elm tree enfolded in apple aromatherapy.
Solly's rare gift allows him to write of life and death with equal intensity. Whether a slice of pain from his life or the life of a circus freak who pounds nails through his head, Solly's poetry is sure to make you feel, cry and think about his life -- and your own.
