Solo Concert

<p><span style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>Diana Senechal is a great and original poet with one eye on tradition and one astringent compassionate eye on what really is--here in the shadowy now. Her presence it's almost an ache is deeply compelling and moving. - Rick Moody author of </span><em style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>Hotels of North America</em></p><p></p><p><em style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>Solo Concert</em><span style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)> is centered on music but more the delicate interstices-the unheard hosanna bells in a slant of sun-than blaring crescendos. These poems are listeners rather than talkers. Senechal's poetic voice often humble and disarming (I'm still learning to talk) is ultimately inexorable (I must occur). In Jackrabbit she imagines a roadkill rabbit the instant before death in the headlights asking itself what if what if. </span><em style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>Solo Concert</em><span style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)> has this kind of immediacy: the poet as large-eared conduit staying open to the roar of things I do not understand. It's a tremendous debut collection. - John Wall Barger author of </span><em style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>The Elephant of Silence</em></p><p></p><p><span style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>A poem by Diana Senechal is smart witty and resourceful. Also it boasts a stone-like integrity. And </span><em style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>Solo Concert</em><span style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)> subtly coherent and evidently unified by theme is itself like a multitude of stones on a gravestone placed there by pilgrims in concert evoking songs in the kindred air hosannas perhaps of holy gadflies. - David Havird author of </span><em style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>Weathering: Poems and Recollections</em></p><p></p><p><span style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>The voice lurking behind everyday things is like meaning. If we try to grasp it by force it always slips through our fingers. However if we give up control and allow it to slip away we too can become listeners to a world where meaning begins to take shape without us. Yet it always and continuously pertains to us. Diana Senechal's poems are beautiful imprints of this music. - Csenger Kertai author of </span><em style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>B. rövid élete</em><span style=background-color: rgba(0 0 0 0); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)> (The Short Life of B.)</span></p><p></p>