Reading Zweig feels like taking a long sometimes grueling but mostly rapturous hike through an intense wilderness alone. This collection is all about nature -- the outdoor sort and the inner sort, meaning human nature, each at its most elemental and intimate -- flies, warts,and all, but not slighting the bliss.
A child opens his arms
in the summer heat. With eyes half closed,
He feels the life spilling inside him.
Small and pale on the grass,
He looks almost cruel, he is so happy.
The tree shakes, and God falls out;
Lifetimes of skin and longing stroll naked in the street.
Because it is all I know, I do this;
My text, a joke of the flesh, like eyesight, hummingbirds,
anything that soars.