Heidish (A Misplaced Woman, 2016, etc.) presents an account of St. Francis of Assisi’s life, as told from his father’s perspective in poetic form.

St. Francis is known as a saint who believed in living the Gospel, gave sermons to birds, and tamed a wolf. Over the course of 84 poems, Heidish tells her own fictionalized version of the saint’s journey. In his youth, Francesco is an apprentice of his father, Pietro Bernardone, a fabric importer. The boy is a sensitive dreamer and nature lover who sees “natural holiness in every living thing.” As an adult, Francesco decides to pursue knighthood, but God warns him to “Go back, child / Serve the master.” He joins the Church of San Damiano, steals his father’s storeroom stock, and sells it to rebuild the church. His furious father chains him in the cellar, and the bishop orders Francesco to repay the debt. Afterward, father and son stop speaking to each other; Francesco becomes a healer of the sick and a proficient preacher. After failing to broker a peace agreement during wartime, Francesco falls into depression and resigns his church position. He retreats to the mountains and eventually dies; it’s only then that Pietro becomes a true follower of St. Francis: “You are the father now and I the son / learning still what it means to be a saint,” he says. Heidish’s decision to tell this story from Pietro’s perspective is what makes this oft-told legend seem fresh again. She uses superb similes and metaphors; for example, at different points, she writes that St. Francis had eyes like “lit wicks” and a spirit that “shone like a clean copper pot.” In another instance, she describes the Church of San Damiano as a place in which “walls crumbled / like stale dry bread.” Following the poems, the author also offers a thorough and engaging historical summary of the real life of St. Francis, which only adds further context and depth to the tale.

Whimsical, melancholy, and death-laden songs make up this tuneful collection of poetry.

Much of Torgersen’s verse has a singsong quality, with strong meters and rhymes, repetitive choruses, and the use of dialect, especially West Indian patois. His subject matter and poetic moods, however, are often steeped in quizzical rumination and existential angst. A few pieces wander into overt philosophizing, including a colorful but dated prose essay that warns readers that “the long-legged wolf of consumerism runs unchecked as the lead dog in the world-wide Iditarod of capitalist oppression.” Some are songs that have been copyrighted by other authors, including the Paul Simon hit “Slip Slidin’ Away,” The Eagles’ “Hotel California,” Steve Goodman’s railroad ballad “City of New Orleans,” and Jimmy Cliff’s “The Harder They Come.” Torgersen reprints the lyrics of these and other copyrighted songs verbatim, without attribution. In an introduction, he contends that many of his early verses were “stolen” from him, but he offers no evidence of his authorship of any of the lyrics here that have been previously recorded and published by others. In dozens of what appear to be original poems, however, Torgersen’s verse abounds in cryptic lyricism. He often strikes a prophetic chord, admonishing readers in “A’ Them Gone,” for example, to “Hear me when I say / there is something here today, / and there can be no peace / ‘till it’s gone.” Surreal scenes course through many poems. “Big Hill Revisited” begins with “The space suited florist’s man / is dumping dead daisies / out the back of a blue van / into an alley at dawn.” Goats are also a substantial presence in the collection: “The Wind and the Goats” speculates playfully that “Maybe it’s the way they smell, / so strong and, well, goatey, / that keeps the wind from trying / to ruffle their hair,” and “Look Homeward, Now” mentions “a goat on display, / with his head on a plate.” In patois pieces, such as “After We Are Weevils,” Torgersen’s poetry sounds an earthier but still hallucinatory note: “After we are weevils, / they baked in we bread. / Ask me ‘bout it sometime, / and remember we dread.” Formed in 1960s countercultural music ferment, the poet’s voice wanders through various styles, from folk picaresque to morbid psychedelia, and his imagery is often intriguing, even compelling. Sometimes, however, the verses fall flat on the printed page (“Aaa aa aaa / mm aaa aa aa / A’ them gone, / gone away, / yes they gone, / gone to stay”). At its best, though, the musicality of Torgersen’s poetry packs a strong emotional resonance, as in the elegiac chantey “One Love”—“Strike up, ye band members, / and play soft and low, / for ‘tis alla we / beyond the sunset must go, / and relive the story / from those lost days of glory, / where we once walked / through life hand in hand.”