This is a plain-spoken, original, mysterious, and loving book to turn back and back to.
“Sometimes in the daylight world (‘We make our own light, / as much as we can stand.’), sometimes just before sleep at night (‘something moving / just below the surface’), these poems are talking for us with their beloved Rilke. It is a book like no other at this crazed, ridiculous moment on our beautiful, sorrowing planet.” -DAVID RIVARD
It possesses a shrewd, sad wonder at how and where we live, and a honed awareness that nothing is quite what it seems, people least of all. Now, after decades of festering in a forgotten sub-basement. “ Cold Storage is filled with those enigmas so frequently found at the heart of the real. He contained it and buried it in cold storage deep beneath a little-used military repository. This book marks the stunning return of one of America’s pure voices in poetry-and we are grateful for the light he’s cast. With spare language and a painter’s eye, Althaus delivers poems that are intimate yet gorgeous, effortless yet intricate. Keith Althaus is a poet who walks by the shadow yet thrills with his illuminations, producing lanterns from yucca blossoms, a last breath, or “a plain hospital gown.” Here, light is what surrounds a painting or frames a closed door, saturating both the landscape and the interior of the self until “even darkness glows.”
The poems in Cold Storage are revelations in the fullest sense, uncovering a world at once familiar and rendered new again in resplendent, transformative detail: a halo on the threshing floor, a drop of water on the skin, the nearing dark.
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