A pitch-perfect book. Kirkus

and karma permitting,
the haze will dissolve.  Where nothing
was, you’ll catch a glimpse
of Kachenjunga.
from “Darjeeling”

These iridescent poems reveal a life lived broadly and deeply.  Time passes. Locales change. Faces come and go.

But constants persist: the balm of sympathy, a subversive humor, a passion for understanding. Sharpe takes us along as she ranges the world, seeking knowledge and adventure from ocean reef to Himalayan peak, from Timbkutu to Moscow to home, wherever that may be.  Imprinted with childhood memories as she meets fabled potters, tea pickers, revered lamas, hibernating bears and demon-fighting dogs, the more she makes the whole world her own, the better she comes to terms with those who formed her.

There’s a reason why The Danger Is Seduction is a “collection.”  Look at it this way: one chocolate chip cookie is delicious.  Two or three?  Nearly as yummy.  But wolfing ten or a dozen?  Not a sane, single-sitting project.   Ditto with page after page of Shakespearean sonnets consumed one after the other: a sure route to mind mush.  And double ditto for book-long collections of poetry contrived to share a single theme, mood and/or form.  For me, anyway. So I vary the theme in Seduction. I vary the mood. I vary the form.  To avoid monotony.  But also because each poem has its own completeness.  As for the import of the whole of what I’ve written, here or elsewhere, too early to say.  My journey’s not over.