Beneath the reserved surface, the often quiet activity of Herbert Woodward Martin's poems is the 'excellent moment, ' he writes, 'when terror knocks and whispers: may I come in?' Crows, black wings, echoes of lynchings pass through these poems. They survive on a deep human love tinged with righteous anger, the desire to 'kick the shit out of any / enemy given the chance.' What prevails is determination and 'a teaching of how to stay close to the earth.' These are fiercely gentle poems, full of heart.– (07/22/2019)