Holly Prado. Esperanza: Poems for Orpheus. Los Angeles: Cahuenga Press, 1998. Readers who love a poetry rich with gravidas will admire Holly Prado's Esperanza, her new collection of some seventy poems inspired by Orpheus, ancient lyrist/lyricist. Orpheus is a companion-god, a confidante and religious figure to be adored and revered. He catalyzes her themes: passion, deaths of family and friends, her aging (the book concludes with a sardonic intimation of her eventual departure: will be next. / you will be you, and then not.), totemism of trees and flowers, and Prado's love for poet and actor Harry Northrup who merges with Orpheus. Rituals matter, as Prado makes obeisance to gods of poetry, time, and life force. She is primarily an elegiac poet whose flashes of humor palliate dourness. She is also attentive to psychology, particularly to Jungian ideas, without ever turning slick or gimmicky. Dreams, as channels supplied by Orphic forces, inspire her. Poetry is ritual. Prado cultivates voices (her verse is received, as Greek poets in a divine creative frenzy, or mania, as Plato called it, received voices). Her tropes, themes, and metrics derive from transcendental acts and states of mind often ritualized. Among passages revealing her methods, One I've Been Asked to Do is a blend of ordinary and magical. On a Sunday morning her husband sings about wings before we even have / our breakfast. Natural elements are commonplace: bugs, sparrow, raven, hummingbird, roofs, trees, and By introducing an angel, she evokes mystical and liturgical: an angel's shoulder blade/wing parallels an earlier swiftly glimpsed bird as a of green, spinning healthily right through a tree's / large taking-in of sun. She hopes, she says, to rewrite walking all time, family that can map and cook, imagine transubstantiation: shoulder blade, this bird appearing just way gods should: in flash and speed, another species, and dependent on what isn't true: our joy. Her vision here has a celebratory rightness produced by liturgical languagetransubstantiation, joy, angel. But there are problems: at times devotional apparatus of language and reverential attitudes meander, obfuscating rather than clarifying motifs. Automatic writing-perhaps reflective of Orphic mind where poet abandons logic, fashions bowls of worship (to adapt one of Prado's images) and pursues a chic surrealism-may simply confuse readers. Tropes may connect or they may not. Many, even her most compelling, tropes have mystical appurtenances. Her models, possibly, are Gertrude Stein and HD. Prado seems indebted to both, particularly to Doolittle; and in her surreal flourishes she shares much with her contemporary Diane Wakoski. The latter, though she writes much of Kings, gods, and goddesses, lacks Prado's complexity of mind on matters Orphic and Jungian. In Prado's Ritual shoulder blade, green thread created by flying bird, and the earth-stemmed family transcend pitfalls of automatic writing. Another poem, Gogh Recovers, celebrates powers of poetry and art to quiet and control pain, illness, and narcissism: becomes / noon that leads us to sirens / and Orphic poet. An irony is that sun drove Van Gogh mad, stimulated final painting of disturbing crows over a wheat field, and led to his suicide. Prado seems to construct, even to resurrect, a salvation for painter. In this passage she employs a rose and a wrist to limn a liturgical moment: creative act controls and even sublimates madness and obsession: intense composure, like rose. tunes of inside inside of our wrists. Prado's rose and wrist, so visual, evoke those private tunes of light that must remain elusive, as religious/Orphic mysteries remain elusive. …