Abstract
The poems in Bearings are arranged in the stressful rhythm of alternation between the intense states of being in love and/or with someone or being alone. Loss refines the vision. For Rhonda Batchelor's poetry that means a gain which shows, for example, in occasional tender lyrics about experiences not governed by love and in the tang of the west coast in her poems, though setting is never the central thing. The centre is love, particularized with an art that revitalizes the ancient subject.