Rolly Kent's new collection of poems, Phone Ringing in a Dark House, was recently published by Carnegie Mellon University Press.

Other poems on the web by Rolly Kent:
Three poems
"The Old Songs"
"My Dog the Artist"
"In the Fifties"

Rolly Kent's Website.

Rolly Kent on Twitter.

About Phone Ringing in a Dark House:

"Rolly Kent's light touch, disarming 'big baby / flying through the darkness' self-knowledge, exuberance and gratitude launch his poems deep in his reader's mind and heart. Phone Ringing in a Dark House is set in a present with a wide open door to the past and its cast of dead beloveds: parents who continue to confound, lost friends and lovers with wisdom to impart, a dog who remains loyal and arrogant beyond his dying day. Every poem broadcasts beauty, inventiveness, mystery, wonder. This is one of those rare collections that's truly memorable—every poem feels alive."
—Kathleen Flenniken

"These poems are marvels of generosity, wit, and tenderness. Rolly Kent understands the perilous comedy of daily life, and has caught in the surprising turns of his sentences the ways we worry and wonder about how we feel. He knows as well that the ghosts and angels surrounding us are doing their best to help, but mostly we're on our own. Twice in this book, the poet's dog, Phineas, speaks——for me a sure sign of important thinking in a poem. 'Just try to be where you're needed most,' says Phineas. 'That's my motto.' Also: 'Look up more often.' Both Phineas and his poet-companion recognize that the world is almost as full of restorative loveliness as it is of loss. Just look. Now look again. What consequential art does before anything else is to show us how to see more clearly. Again and again, Rolly Kent's luminous and compelling poems do exactly that."
—Lawrence Raab

"While each of Rolly Kent's new poems has its own special character, all are committed to investigating the mysteries our lives are made of, moving from the personal to visionary realms. '. . . [M]en never / know where divinity may find them,' he writes in 'Rhode Island,' a poem beginning with light buffoonery and ending deftly balanced on the word 'Providence.' Here, and throughout this marvelous collection, Kent's gift for the comic leads to searching, often poignant inquiries into the nature of knowledge. For him, the quotidian and the unknowable are essentially metaphysical partners, as in his stunning final poem, 'My Parents In the City of Light': ——'. . . to give itself, life needs more than / just our one body, or our little world. "
—Jonathan Aaron