This Honest Engine is unafraid. It asks questions that men rarely ask: Is there a cure for patriarchy? Must I also think like a fist? Will grief and loss swamp us? Sometimes, true, with the poet we wrestle despair, 'tumbling from an apex of grace.' But memory can restore, can 'make enough flames bloom.' Indeed, Kyle Dargan's stunning, hurting poems bring us finally to a wary hopefulness that we might begin, at last, to reach across our divisions, racial and otherwise.
Sarah Browning
executive director of Split This Rock and author of Whiskey in the Garden of Eden
Honest Engine reveals Kyle Dargan to be a poet fully in command. He marshals the resources of sound and line and syntax into lucid and quietly insistent poems that soldier through loss and wonder to a kind of peace. And yet Dargan’s command, urgent as it is, comes with a beautiful humility. I am awed by this book’s wisdom and calm clarity and moved by its faith. I will read it again and again.
Keith D. Leonard
author of Fettered Genius: The African American Bardic Poet from Slavery to Civil Rights
These poems are a touchstone for future readers about important issues—small public debates—an awareness of society’s demise. . . . Dargan’s process—known interest, and sure hand—change social calculations to literary art.
Grace Cavalieri
Washington Independent Review of Books
[Dargan's] poems look head-on at an end that stretches out beyond our imaginations, at the middle spaces between life, memory, and death. . . .The lines breathe space into the unknown.
Tanya Paperny
Washington City Paper
[A] book full of thought-provoking images and ideas.
Rose Solari
Santa Fe Writers Project Quarterly
Honest Engine’s ultimate lesson is that home is the place of the necessary labors. And as the book that highlights a four-volume journey though the rough terrains of America, it’s a refreshingly prayerful and sympathetic view.
Rigoberto González
Los Angeles Review of Books
These are poems of the critic, the perpetual outsider, the haunted man, the insomniac. These are poems that peer deeply and delve into the parts of ourselves we might not like, but know. The collection works because the speaker is not exempt from his own penetrating eye, and because, as much as he details his cynicism, he is a lover of all that’s human and flawed. The most honest engine we have is the heart, and in this book, Dargan offers his. I look forward to reading more work from this relentless poet.
Laura Swearingen-Steadwell
The Rumpus