Robin Wyatt Dunn’s new collection is delirious, in a maze of dream, in
a maze of imagination, colluding with earth,sky and the nether world.
There are liquid images, of sea and water. There is impressionistic
thought, sensuous swaying and a dark intensity.But there is hope in
movement, in colliding and colluding.The poems are entreaty to love
and to poetry. There is swirling black hell, of bullets and bombs, but
the poet circumvents all such hazards, to be deeply moved by a world
he knows. Maybe Los Angeles, his city. Maybe his country, but his
unifying vision is that of a world, which touches,hurts and even
mauls. These lyrics sensitively haunt, and each makes one search for
the next. They are cadenced, moving, angry, but their existential
wrath has meaning in this world. The poems are inward narratives- of
hope and reconciliation, in a troubled universe. This is the angst,
but the angst is overcome, by love, poetry and infinite colours of the
world. A beautiful and rare collection, of lyricism, poise and if one
may call it, magic.
Ananya Guha, author of Now, Here And There.
What black delirious daylight sets you forward in the boat washes over you like a startlingly clear-eyed fever dream. Its lyricism seethes with shades of violence and wit set against the L.A. skyline. Robin Wyatt Dunn is a master of the form.
— Jeff Bowles, author of Godling and Other Paint Stories
Robin Wyatt Dunn, always the poet of beauty and imagination, offers us a work of splendid topography. A dream, as poetry often simulates, is present within this work. Dunn travels the language of the Earth, its peopled history, to remind us (if we read carefully) that art and life are equal synonyms. The special thing about this collection is it is not only astonishing, it is bare and melancholy. They say sad songs achieve the best effects. This vivid verse compilation is sad, drifting, and mournful at once. The poet’s exile is the chief image of the collection—as Christ Himself said, “A prophet is not without honor, except in his own country.” A poet is home in his work. Here, Dunn both enumerates and interrogates the hidden dream we are too distracted to encompass; as simple souls in the brush, we do not wish to disturb the Universe. Yet Dunn did this for us.
– Dustin Pickering, founder of Transcendent Zero Press
And so with darkness, I read Dunn’s manuscript contemplating my aches dangling free, albeit grisly and vanishing, “I’m leaving Los Angeles…the decision to love is like an old whisker…with my knife to your back…wracked runt and wired to the max”. It is rather sardonically discerning to have these lines put into mind of that vexatious, dreamy, pulsating rhythm, the one which we all at some point or another, struggle to disembark from our conscious of atrophy and decay. Yet, somehow, no matter how vast its burgeoning rust and bankruptcy have eroded our remaining faith and goodness, we still carry on in this archival system of scatological shuffle into something far more dwelt in lies and privation, for we are but beings huddling together to pride ourselves the courage in the dark: I am a writer, but you write me
.~Lana Bella, author of Adagio, Finishing Line Press, 2016