"At times gentle and peaceful, at other times, turbulent and thundering, River Flow is a magnificent collection of poetry with a vibrant voice. This beautiful book contains over one hundred fifty poems, most garnered from the author's previous works, but also including twenty-three new compositions. The table of contents organizes the poems according to topics, while noting the name of the book in which it first appeared.
David Whyte has a confident command of words, causing them to leap with emotion while drawing vivid pictures in the mind. His poems touch several dimensions of thought, from the spiritual realm to the tangible world around us. The profound and the poignant take on a heightened perception when seen through the author's eyes.
The ability of poetry to decipher our modern world is made clear throughout this book, as ideas are expressed with elegance and intuitiveness. Using this genre allows a deeper and more meaningful expression of feelings, as the themes are sensitively encased in passionate prose and lyrical language. From the petals of a flower to the purpose of life's unpredictable pathways, these words tickle the mind with tantalizing tidbits of thoughts.
To this reviewer's delight, a section of the book is devoted to Ireland. The poetry clearly captures images of the people, the politics and the impassioned personalities that make up this culture. David Whyte's words are a welcoming embrace as the "hands across the water" reach out through these pages in a gesture of friendship and familiarity.
River Flow is a graceful journey, highlighting the ebb and flow of humanity as it drifts along on words of wisdom, compassion and understanding."
- In the Library Reviews
Read a review of River Flow by James Owens in Pedestal Magazine.
Link to Table of Contents
I AM THINKING OF WOMEN (excerpt)
I am thinking of women of nobility
and purpose, the way they catch the light
and magnetize a crowd, the way men
of individual power standing outside
that gravity-well of relational desire
are helpless before the tide, and I think
of them especially, when I think of Yeats,
walking innocently into a room in Dublin
and falling for that woman
haloed in spring light who stood, head high,
by a vase of fresh apple blossom
and how then, he pursued her, writing
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips and take her hands
and how he put her into plays depicting
the history of a country struggling to be born,
sometimes casting her as a young girl,
sometimes as the older woman
who struggles in at last to save the past
from itself all the while
in love with her from tip to toe