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In
the Evening of No Warning Kevin Clarks
new volume of poetry, In the Evening of No Warning, wears the anxious
velvet mantle of Time gone magical with sleights of hand. What vanishes
is us. Yet, the very passing itself, musical with its childrens
hour, becomes the unthinkable and sublime refuge that all the local nostalgias
gather about. Many of these poems are altogether sweet and perfect. This
is a wonderful book. |