Seen by Seven: A Poet’s Review of the Reviews

A phrase flies around these days that is both useful and perhaps overused—“to be seen.” I want to suggest that beyond that phrase, we need “to be understood.” And maybe that is what everyone already means by “seen.” But I would argue that to be seen can indicate someone “knows” we are a certain way, but to be understood holds deeper resonance and relevance to our earthly existence. To be understood is to be treated in congruence with how we see ourselves and what we are experiencing. Of course, this is a dance. We may be somewhat blind or cloudy in our vision of who we are to us versus who we are to others. But, we do our best. And I think creating art is a journey to explore this and hopefully succeed if we are lucky. 

In writing and publishing my poetry collection, The Alchemy of Blood, I exposed myself as any writer or artist does. I’m used to it; I’ve been in the creative world since my early teens in various mediums: film, tv, music, and now poetry. It doesn’t always work out with every reader or viewer. We only hope for some kind of audience that sighs an echo of our intention. Don’t we hope for this in our relationships?

I’ve been honored to have received 7 reviews of The Alchemy of Blood in which the reviewers deeply understand the work, and me, in a variety of surprising ways. It moved me to read these. It helped restore some of my faith that humanity still contains a collection of people who pay close attention to creative work, and to the world—people who allow themselves to feel and express in concert with someone’s artistic expression. And I am not saying the reviewers heap surface praise. I mean they acknowledge the depth and edges of the work. This poetry is meant for literary readers—for people who want to be challenged in different ways. The collection is not filled with sameness.

I’m going to do something here to honor those reviews; I’ll review each review through the lens of my appreciation and hopefully further illuminate how they overlap with my intended and continuing process—I mean as an artist and human.

Booklife Reviews (the Publishers Weekly indie arm)

(find the review at https://booklife.com/project/the-alchemy-of-blood-104707 )

When the Booklife Reviews reviewer wrote that the poems “express our vaporous, organic truth,” I thought, “wow, how nice to put it that way. What a great line!” And then I realized it was my line from the poem “The Liminal.” To read a detail that proves the reviewer has read deep into the work and synthesized a thematically accurate concept so well… that is extremely satisfying. Especially as this was the first review I received.

Yes, I lean into the ephemeral and ethereal at times, attempting to capture how our vaporous time slips by—as Ezra Pound says—“like a field mouse not shaking the grass.” I also attempt to create a through-line to organize the tension between technological and all organic living selves. 

The reviewer then calls the work an “existential pilgrimage.” Yes, that it is. But I was not sure in writing the poems over the years that this was the aim. The Jungian structure only came as I spread the pilgrimage’s 58 parts on the floor and wondered how they might piece together.

The reviewer picks up on my tension and worry regarding the Anthropocene and brilliantly connects it to the above themes. They are generous in expressing the reality that within the early poems of darkness, I was still nodding to the acceptance of our imperfection. But I gotta say, you need to look closely; it can be a hard read.

I love that they see the glimmers of light, acceptance, hope, and love in the alchemical fire dance by the end. They also see that humanity “remains messy, tangible, warped, able to decay” and yet life has a “jagged, asymmetrical, paradoxical wonder” while “love will persevere regardless of life’s conditions.” In short, they get it. And in a surprising comparison, they mention similarities to the works of Gary Snyder and Robert Bly. I can’t argue with that, but it’s difficult to accept comparisons to such greats.

Kirkus Reviews

(find at https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/richard-labrie/the-alchemy-of-blood/ )

What I love about this review in Kirkus Reviews is its precision and accuracy. And how the reviewer takes my preface seriously when I say that the “I” is not always me, but sometimes is, but “who cares?” Their next phrase then refers to the voices as “the speakers” in each poem. And to spell out that the collection addresses “childhood, relationships, beauty, and malaise in a burning world” nicely summarizes the focus and differing tones and voices—the fact that I write in personas at times. They also nail my intention by pointing to “the central theme of spiritual growth” in the collection, while also warning the readers to prepare for some—or a lot of—darkness until reaching the fourth section (Rubedo).

“LaBrie’s work also suggests society can make people sick” is a nod to psychoanalyst and psychiatrist R.D. Laing, who espoused similar ideas in his work. I do lean in the direction of Laing—and Erich Fromm—in cautioning us to beware of the pressures of culture and society, as they can consume the best aspects of our individuality. 

I gently disagree that the first 3 sections blur together in that they are all similarly dark, as the reviewer only finds redemptive energy in the fourth section. Other reviewers find the underlying subtle growth in the continuum as each section moves towards the next. But I don’t fault the reviewer. 

I can see this reviewer is pulling for some relief, and I get it. Finally, they say, “LaBrie shines when injecting moments of optimism into the grim subject matter.” And I’m glad they see that. In fact, their mention of the poem “Suspension” makes me proud, especially in how they beautifully render their impression: “By this moving poem’s close, the speaker regresses to ‘awaken young,’ as if meeting—and perhaps healing—his younger self could help reframe his current worldview.”

Finally, the reviewer quotes me with the line “a hue of renewal” and then succinctly and accurately states, “Each instance of connection in the ‘Rubedo’ section makes this challenging collection worth completing.” It’s what I hoped for; for readers to “Please read to the end!”

Independent Book Review

(find at https://independentbookreview.com/2026/04/02/the-alchemy-of-blood-by-richard-labrie/ )

Samantha Hui opens her Independent Book Review analysis with, “Understanding humanity is never confined to a single discipline.” I am immediately grabbed by this, as I believe that nothing about humanity or life is understood via a single ANYTHING. This is why the collection has variance, and includes what I believe are challenging, funny, dark, light, incisive, troubling, mean, loving, confusing, obscure, and moving poems. Reading the book in order hopefully reveals a subtle growth pattern deep in the voice of each narrator. 

Through various voices I attempt to show that we are on a timeline, birth to death. Change and growth happen, and it is messy at times. As Hui says, “Rather than telling a single story, The Alchemy of Blood traces an emotional and psychological progression… from darkness and dissolution into moments of clarity and awareness, eventually arriving at a sense of wholeness that remains uneasy and unresolved.” Yes, wholeness can be unresolved and still enlightened.

My approach was to write over the years with no format or structure of a book in mind. This allowed me to grab any of my various interests from the ether. Later, I spread the poems out and found the structure via alchemy after the fact. To be clear, I simply like to address and think about lots of things. I have a YouTube channel in development (and hopefully later a website) called Rando Cathecto, the title of which is a clear hint at my attraction for things from all disciplines and areas of life that I find stimulating. 

Hui sees this: “The alchemical structure gives the book a strong backbone while still allowing LaBrie to experiment freely. Written in freeform poetry, the collection draws from a wide range of influences, including psychoanalysis, philosophy, economics, and literary tradition.” I’m thankful I found a structure; otherwise the pieces would fly all over the place.

Various reviewers mention the poem “Qualitative Data Collected at Parnassus” as a favorite. Hui brilliantly creates a second-level of symbolic analysis when she says, “Through his use of ars poetica (i.e. poetry written about poetry), LaBrie offers insight into how to live by examining the act of living itself.” I admit that in this poem I am also leaning into the concept of poète maudit, which means “the accursed poet” or “cursed poet” in French, referring to those who might live outside of “normal” societal expectations or standards and were often described negatively, or who lived difficult lives with drug and alcohol use, depression, and suffered early deaths. Their styles were criticized. They were rebuked, ostracized. Killed themselves. I play with artistic tribalism here. Does poetry save us? Kill us? Kill the poet? Or do we kill each other with our judgments? 

Relatedly, there is an expectation in some circles that poetry must be easy and beautiful. This is not that kind of collection. But I argue, as does Hui, that there can be beauty in darkness. Or in a poem’s attempts to describe it. 

So I agree when she says, “The Alchemy of Blood is not an easy book and is often jarring due to its inclusion of viscerally triggering subject matters…” But I do end the book on a singular positive—the last word of an old friend, which she grabs in her quote of him (and me in the poem): “LaBrie seeks to capture human existence as it actually is, and that honesty requires a careful balance of both ugliness and grace. Those willing to enter this collection with open minds and open hearts may be rewarded with a final message that a life worth living is one to which we can and must answer a resounding ‘yes.’” Thank you, Samantha.

Self-Publishing Review

(find at https://www.selfpublishingreview.com/2026/03/review-the-alchemy-of-blood-by-richard-labrie/ )

John Staughton’s words in Self-Publishing Review are shockingly deep and accurate. I used his opening lines on the back of the book: “Raw, unguarded, and ultimately hopeful in the face of harsh reality, The Alchemy of Blood by psychologist and poet Richard LaBrie transmutes the creeping despair of an observant healer into a striking collection of sensitive artistry.” I feared that the dark tones would mask the hopefulness for many readers. In the end, each of the seven reviewers have seen through the darkness to the light and hopefulness, and thus I have learned that my audience may not be wide, but it exists. 

The audience for these poems is literate and comfortable with uneasy experience toggled with what I hope is human resilience. And it’s those who can embrace some obscurity as a challenge to find either the intended symbolism or messaging, or morph it into their own.

“The work does not strive for clinical distance or assume authority in its proffered wisdom; instead, the speaker(s) in these poems are curious, playful, flawed, and often accidentally profound.” I love the accidents that happen in the trance of writing a poem. And I do think we stumble into wisdom and profundity in moments of dissociative flow, whether while creating art or just moving through life. I embrace this medium for the simple reason that I can give myself permission to float and hover and receive what drops in. 

And yet, within such playfulness I have allowed myself to shine a harsh light on the “endemic flaws of contemporary society,” as Staughton writes. I have fun with my scorn! But I also remain equally worried and hopeful, and perhaps Staughton’s statement about the Albedo section’s tone of “stubborn resilience” is how I survive it all. His deep seeing that the Citrinitas section also highlights the struggle for “higher-order understanding and personal evolution” helps remind even me that we must push through ambivalence and struggle in order to grow.

In the final section I hoped the threads of struggle and growth would tie together, and in this review I find assurance when he sees in Rubedo ”a soul-stirring blend of humble revelation, self-awareness, appreciation, and a reframing of our conception of perfection.” 

Staughton’s review is so dense, I will now just grab my favorite of his descriptive words and phrases that resonate with my intentions in the work: “smallest beauties of life, innocent hope, youthful guilt, casual nihilism, timid optimism, existential elation, provocative confrontations, existential blur of confession, reconstruction, spiritual and emotional evolution, lyrical, kaleidoscopic plunge, malleable minds…” If I commented on each of these words this long essay would become even more unwieldy than it is.

I will end on his line that stunned me in its summary of the past several years of writing and especially the past year of arranging this collection for release, consumption, and digestion: “a stirring work of poetry that can double as an intensive psychological treatise on self-actualization.” Attempting self-actualization was, and is, certainly my endeavor, and yet I am not sure I am fully actualized. Are we ever?

Midwest Book Review/MBR Bookwatch 

(find at https://www.midwestbookreview.com/mbw/apr_26.htm#suziehousley )

Suzie Housley’s review in Midwest Book Review begins with, “The Alchemy of Blood is a deeply introspective and emotionally charged collection of poetry that explores the human condition through the lens of transformation,” again hitting on the powerful content and change themes. And then she smoothly transitions to saying the journey brings “a fragile sense of understanding.” I repeatedly have to face in myself the idea that I am punching and criticizing and suffering with my character voices while maintaining fleshy vulnerability. The reviews help me see that, and Housley captures this throughout her review. She adds that included with the “raw vulnerability” is “intellectual abstraction.” Poetry—or life—without abstraction would bore me.

I am not displeased when she writes that the collection “lingers, unsettles, and demands engagement.” In my dedication I state the book is “for my mother and father, and for those who still bother to pay attention.” Yes, please engage—with the world; with what is happening. Please.

I have wrestled with what I call in one poem, “my rough edges.” Housley finds a way to summarize the tone I strove to achieve, and in a way, her words give me more confidence: “LaBrie's voice is unapologetically direct, often bordering on confrontational, yet it carries an undercurrent of sincerity that makes even the most jarring passages feel purposeful. His professional background in psychology is evident throughout, particularly in poems that dissect human behavior with clinical precision while still maintaining a deeply personal edge. Pieces such as those exploring therapy, trauma, and societal decay reveal a writer who has witnessed the complexities of the human psyche firsthand and is unafraid to present them in their most unvarnished form.” There is not much to add here except that when I first read this part, I nearly cried; it was a moment of feeling understood and seen in a way that is congruent with the extension of myself in the work.

Finally, my favorite descriptives of Housley’s: “structural ambition, emotional evolution, fragmentation, clarity, reluctant insight, transformation as a nonlinear, often painful process, writing to awaken, a multidimensional voice, emotional excavation, contradictory nature of being human, thought-provoking experience.” The difficult words—here and in other reviews—I see as positive. 

US Review of Books

(find at https://www.theusreview.com/reviews-1/The-Alchemy-of-Blood-by-Richard-LaBrie.html )

Mark Heisey’s review in The US Review of Books is shorter, but again grabs my intentions well and also shows me things I did not see at first. He describes the poems as having an “intrinsically modern feel.” In Poetry as Enchantment, Dana Gioia mentions how new poets often try different styles in their first collections and I certainly did so. However, this mix of styles—modern or not—may in fact be my permanent style. 

Heisey correctly points to the “tension between wanting better connections with others and the desire for isolation from the world” as a driving theme. However, I must credit him (and others) for noticing this perhaps more than I did as I was compiling the book. I am glad for the fresh eyes. It helps me see the importance of sustaining relationships to others amid the conflicts—externally and deep within me.

He describes the work as experimental and obscure at times, comparing it with Ashbery and Eliot. This was not intentional, but I will take the comparison humbly, if not in quality, at least in my attempts. He mentions people will feel “compelled to digest” many of the poems. In a way, this echoes Suzie Housley’s and others’ comments. Some of these poems take some thinking and metabolizing.

Heisey finds the personal or confessional works to be “often the richest in material.” And I don’t mind that each reader may resonate with some slices of stylistic content more than others. That’s the work!

Reedsy/Discovery

(find at https://reedsy.com/discovery/book/the-alchemy-of-blood-richard-labrie#review )

Rebecca Fearn, in her Reedsy Discovery review, calls this “a visceral collection of poetry.” I like her writing, and this website caters to the consumer’s experience. She expresses herself in that way—as a fan of poetry. She states that she wants “poetry to be as honest as possible, and this collection hit the mark wonderfully.” She goes on to call the work “real” and then: “Reading the collection evoked a spiral of emotions in me. Sometimes I was shocked, sometimes I was moved, other times what I read made my stomach churn. But that drew me to this collection, and kept me reading.” She is a brave reader, which is what I want. I’m glad that “real” and “honest” shine through for her.

Other reviewers mention my playful structural experiments, but I like how Fearn states that these created “extra intrigue” for her. She also provides me with relief in pointing to some beauty: “In Albedo, I was quickly met with a standout poem: 'Suspension'. This poem felt soft and airy, with a childlike sweetness…” I need people to know that not all is dark and challenging in this collection.

In her closing, she strings together lovely adjectives that might sound surprising after reading the other reviews that lean bravely into the heavier poems: “I would like to mention 'February, 1970'. This is another melancholic poem, which is airy and beautiful. It has an almost hypnotic gorgeousness, which truly captivated me. While the collection has many dramatic, gut punching notes, I often found myself most enjoying poems like this, which sting with their longing.” I was not quite aware of the stinging longing in some of my work, and in how I often feel this way. Thank you, Rebecca, for reminding me.

_____

Seeing my work, and myself, through others’ eyes is the whole point of creating. And sending the work into the world, to enter the culture, is the presumptuous life-affirming narcissism of the artist—good or bad. I tend to see it as good—as what Ken Benau calls “pro-being pride” when he describes the opposite of shame. Creativity as life-affirming, sometimes against all odds. 

Thank you for reading, if you made it this far.