With the wisdom and sensitivity characteristic of Robin Myers' poetry, Tener concentrates the materials we are made of, the spaces we call our own. What makes us human? What are the experiences that shape us and –perhaps more important– that deform us? The voice of Tener is one, but he knows several languages: that of the desert, with his particular will; that of ants and their tiny teeth; the incessant flickering of fireflies; that of greengrocers unloading watermelons from a van.
This book does not solve questions: it looks at them with joy or shame depending on the case, aware that the range of answers is too wide, too complex to jump to conclusions about anything. Particular inventory of yearnings and small hobbies, Tenerpone on the table of the reader those forms that, without having ever seen, constitute it.