One Warm Morning

<p>Abraham Smith is one of my favorite living poets keeping </p><p>the art form alive. He stokes the fires of imagination and </p><p>his persistence keeps the cinders of inspiration smoldering. </p><p>It is a joy to read his work and a thrill to hear him read it </p><p>in person. </p><p></p><p>- Margo Price</p><p></p><p></p><p>The mists that hover over a meadow first thing in the </p><p>morning do not disappear; rather they sublime into the day </p><p>or as Thoreau once put it they conform to the fashions of </p><p>eternity. In One Warm Morning Abraham Smith likewise </p><p>hovers gently over his words as they sublime effortlessly </p><p>it seems into an eternity of free access and inviolable </p><p>intimacy. Along the way the music they make is the most </p><p>companionable that I know.</p><p></p><p>- Donald Revell</p><p></p><p>Abraham Smith takes a long walk on a warm morning </p><p>and we are lucky to be invited along as he shows us </p><p>the mind is not a fact but a motion. And a music! of </p><p>hummingbirds / historical jazzes / corks in rapids and </p><p>a holy lot more. Smith caroms from one association to the </p><p>next -a deerfly bite a bad tattoo a cold bleacher / at the </p><p>last homegame of the year - as if there were no bounds </p><p>to consciousness as if we must have what's next </p><p>and go on go on go on go on as if the joy's all in the </p><p>movement. It is! You'll wish it wouldn't end.</p><p></p><p>- Joel Brouwer</p>