This modest chapbook by Marshall Dury chronicles breaths, and whispers, and wordlessness. These are quiet poems, and at their best—haunting. There is a lot of soul-searching going on here in a very literal sense. In Cicatrix (Prelude) the poet considers the nature of memories,
tender the memories,
tender the changes.
a new softness rising in you,
the suppleness of skin, gone.
The body of his lover loses its suppleness as our memories of the past soften and lose their essential tension. As the strength of a mountain can erode, so can our past, which in this poet’s words is a “delicate vessel.” As the poet seems to imply, the past changes with time, becomes set as a story or series of stories, and then changes yet again. Then with time the past collapses into itself losing substance and eventually vanishing.For more of my review of What the Quiet Accomplishes go here: http://dougholder.blogspot.com/2012/03/what-quiet-accomplishes-by-marshall-d.html