Why the gods put fire in Lightered and  hid it

                                                        

 

 Coyote stole kindling from the big hogan.

 That winter coyote needed it. Exhausted by excuses

 and usual laziness, he wanted to get ahead quick,

 like his daddy, who had been big stuff forever.

 

 Chief got pneumonia a week later, never breathed right again.

 Spider Woman had warned him when she gave him lightered.

 Coyote set the plains on fire with that one piece of fat wood.

 Buffalo, rabbits, foxes, birds—smell of barbecue everywhere.

 

 So the winds came together and gave Coyote the name

 they howl all winter.  Nobody ever trusted Coyote after that.

 Now Coyote sits on the plain alone and howls his own name.

 Thinks he's one of the winds now, own judge and executioner.

                            from Lightered: New and Selected Poems

Van K. Brock is a poet to cherish — and read! — for his sense (w isdom) and skill in bringing the secrets of our time to us without spoiling the mystery. These lightered poems give brief strong light to family tragedies, evidence of ancient, too-present crime. And there are folk tunes here, much music in the words for dancing, fields of sunflowers, washing screaming to be hung "in the sun like saved sinners."

Michael Mott

 

Scholarship, love of nature and family, honoring through poetry of art, music, and travel, in-dignant witnessing to history's evil absurdities — these and many other passions assure the power of Brock's chromatics. He hears even the shards of mosaics as songs that awaken epiphanies, and there's grief in his poems that we are too often fragmentary man, with some parts — perhaps the most essential for our humanity — unfinished. I've followed his work for years. I value this up-todate definitive collection.

  David Ray

 

Lightered's title refers to highly combustible, sap-rich pine, and Brock's poems — suffused with a strong sense of public and private history, Dixie-haunted, world-struck—sizzle and snap on the tongue and in the mind. Brock knows how to brush just enough strangeness into our speech to make it sing and to make it last. He's been to the sacred wood and brought back fire.

R. T. Smith