Peter Waldor's voice is so clear I want to call it pure in these poems of peculiar and mundane moments. Sacks of beans spill off the backs of flatbeds rounding a curve on a mountain pass, and midwives retrieve babies from the mothers' pants, so quickly did they enter the world. Wonders really will never cease. Though the poet first chides himself for staring too long, he then chides himself for not staring long enough. But pure is not unaware. Waldor acknowledges privilege when he considers for a moment purchasing a basil farm, but remembers he is only a tourist and as such worries more about views than justice. Looking out is also looking in. This is wide seeing.
-Jacqueline Berger, author, Left at the Ruin, winner, the Agha Shahid Ali Prize in Poetry
Related Subjects
Poetry