“Chance,” goes the saying, “favors the trained observer.” A practiced hand, a playful wit, rueful irony, associative daring, a mind both speculative and affectionate-these turn chance to advantage in poems that outwit the predictable and all that would reduce us to a common clay, or DNA: “Just because there’s a protein blueprint for courtship/doesn’t mean anyone can dance/the way we danced.”

—Eleanor Wilner

Here, the physician’s precise language & indomitable logic nudge the reader forward; but all along the mind of the scientist is trained on the life of the soul - how we suffer, adapt & endure the daily catastrophes. He has an eye for disproportion & what it sees is the human comedy. As scientist, he wonders “if chemistry is destiny,” then proves it, then cans it, lovingly: “Just because there’s a protein blueprint for courtship/ doesn’t mean anyone can dance/the way we danced.” At a funeral, no one grieves; instead they worry about “U.S Air bereavement fare” & exchange recipes for brisket. In the reverse syntax of Yiddish, he gently needles a failed & humbled Olympic diver: “From a greater height Icarus barely splashed.” If humor doesn’t rescue us on our daily rounds, at least it gives perspective. “Mercy, mercy - have some…” the poet says.

—Steve Orlen

Daniel Becker is a husband, father, physician, and poet. He practices and teaches internal medicine at the University of Virginia School of Medicine. He completed the MFA program in writing at Warren Wilson College in 2003. He lives west of Charlottesville and sees the Blue Ridge Mountains driving to work in the morning and driving home at night. He was born and raised in Miami, Florida. Mountains still surprise him.

36 p. $6 ppd.