These poems are filled with light and faith and references to them. The very first reminded me first of R.S. Thomas (desolation and the fruit of 'the one tree') but finally of Larkin's 'Days'in its simplicity of language:
An anguish impossible to conceive
Until this lucky day.
Weigh it in your hands, so heavy,
So light: is there more to wish for?
But Levin has her own, very clear, American voice, characterised by a wry, sinewy intellect and a readiness to confront the mystery behind the world we know with a depth of feeling that contains the possibility of ecstasy and awareness of loss. Her poems begin with the real and move out from it to explore a pervading sense of something more - tantalising glimpses in birdsong in a garden, in human love, in Old Testament and Homeric characters, snow and memory and the physicality of everyday, for instance, grating beetroot, those brilliant 'wet jewels'. I have been inspired and consoled by this book, that I came across by chance and now feel has become part of me.