Thomas DeFreitas gives voice to his own wonder and worship in this collection that shows us "a metaphysical / Somerville, / where pigeons / recite scripture." The poems are prayers of joy and longing, where the poet dreams of "summer-limber dancers," "the Armory," and "a lake of grace." I know the places DeFreitas brings us, but in his poems, I'm greeted "with a mad patch / of song." His city-with its churches and church basements-is transformed into a "shrine more venerable than this grey," and is "graced with a trailing vine of flowers." The poems in Swift River Ballad revel in words, in "shame and roses, embarrassment and lilies." I will return to this place, "to thole, to muddle through, to thrive."

-Jennifer Martelli, author of The Queen of Queens

Joy is what Thomas DeFreitas brings us with Swift River Ballad-earthy devotion, spirituality grounded in the ordinary facts of Creation. Whether in his friendship-tributes ("Her Mind, Her Heart"), a dream-elevated celebration of Somerville, Massachusetts, or the sensibility seeing "hearth-gather, harvest-hoard, cider-huddle" in November's decline, the poet puts mud between the toes of mortality's Great Matters. This festival-feeling hasn't come easily, as we see from the title poem and others such as "She, Barkeep, to Him, Barfly." If he tells us, remarkably, that he does not "approve of death / Unless it is sensual," we have to imagine that he will and must approve when the conditions are right. So let us consider this, then turn back to the rejoicing of "My Belly"-"catholic and capacious ... brave with bombast." Let DeFreitas remind us that the swallow passing above our heads has come from everywhere.

-David P. Miller, author of Bend in the Stair

Swift River Ballad knows where it is situated. Like a river, it flows along, at times swift, and others lingering. It remembers those who came before, persons public and private, paying each homage in equal measure as only a river could; DeFreitas is generous in his sweep and deep in his scope. This collection runs along the landscape of a life-from dive bars to church basements, from "Sweet Caroline" to the Cistercians, from Andy's Diner to Cooke's Hollow. In each reading, you will find someplace new to linger, some new twist in the turn, some new delight to discover, some memory that rises to the surface, recovered.

-Christie Towers, author of and again i heard the stars