Richard Foerster’s shining and shadowed poems accumulate into a whole that suggests the breadth and scale of a life, and of two lives conjoined. This poet is not afraid of darkness, or perhaps just afraid enough, so that his language – gorgeous, witty, dire, often all at once – lights up everything it touches.
Richard Foerster has always been a keen observer of the world, both natural and manmade, as well as a master of his craft, a sculptor of impeccably rendered lines. In With Little Light and Sometimes None at All, his latest book, there is also the wisdom of accrued experience, a sense of summing up a lifetime of close observance, a measuring of dark and light… Part lament, part benediction, this is one stunning book by a poet working at the confluence of craft and heart.
–Sarah Freligh, author of Sad Math and The Natural History of Women
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