I recently had the privilege of peeking into the heart of Richard Atwood as I traveled back in time with him to Germany, 1965-1966. His book, “You, My Love” is a diary in verse that chronicles a passionate love that was short lived, but emblazoned into the heart for a lifetime.

As I began to read this book, I was immediately held captive by the beauty of the words and the form of the poetry. The poetry, read aloud, rolled naturally and fluidly. I could almost hear the breathlessness, desire, agony, and need that were painted across the pages of this book. I grabbed my own husband, not a poetry lover, and had him listen as I read the poems aloud to him. Not only were the sounds of the poetry appealing, the visual harmony added so much to the poems. One poem, about the beginnings of love, Atwood describes his growing feelings as:

And it seems too perfect,
                      too desirable
                      too much…
and I am afraid to believe it,
but not unwilling to accept
the fragile touch
                            of your
fingertips on my heart.


“You, My Love” is broken into two books, a start of a fiery love story and the end of the journey (but not of the love). Rather than simply being a compilation of poems written for a love, each poem is a piece of a story that builds upon itself in a steady crescendo that begins with a glimpse, climaxes into a full blown passion, and then drops the reader into the building agony of a secret love that can never come to fruition. It tells the story of an accidental love that was forced apart by time and torn asunder by distance. Like a tidal wave, the emotions poured out into the verses left me pulled me under and left me gasping for more.

After reading this, I was left with a single question- How many of us would give anything to be loved and adored in the fashion that was poured out in this diary? I was completely captivated by this timeless classic and am looking forward to reading more poetry from Atwood.