Sundress Reads: Review of Here on Earth

Here On Earth (NYQ Books 2026) is a raw collection of poetry that explores the hauntingly complex and beautiful experience that is life as we know it. Tony Gloeggler explores a system of themes regarding death, grief, health, aging, love, and familial ties, all of which are the most intricate yet humane ideologies we face at one point or another. The writing forms a vision about the growing pains that we experience throughout our lifetimes, brought on by connection and aging.

To think of what the title Here On Earth meant is a powerful idea on its own; I mean, what do I experience here on this moving planet? How big and expansive, yet so small and connected? After my own pondering, I was instantly pulled into the work and hit with a powerful composition of human experience. This book allowed me to walk through the lens of another’s perspective, to feel their grief and nostalgia, and for a moment, it felt wholly my own. That is the praise I want to emphasize about the collection–that the work is unique in its own perspective but written in a way that conveys connectedness through the aspects of life that are familiar to most. I adored the simplicity of the storytelling that twists itself into the existential ideology of what it means to live.

One poem that embodied the way our lives are so interconnected yet uniquely different is “Still Alright.” The poem starts off with the mention of a friend who has a seemingly traditional family unit, experiencing the paternal phase where his children think they have outgrown the need for his love and advice. This is the part that captured my attention at first, something I have experienced in my lifetime: dodging my mother’s kisses and avoiding her guiding words, rejecting the idea that we still need our parents. It’s not until we grow a tad older that we realize how much we still need the comfort they bring us. This poem really is ingrained with that parental love, but also shows that it can be given and needed in a not-so-traditional example. This is seen in lines like:

sad as he talks about his kids
turning into teenagers, the girl
who won’t lean over in the front seat
to kiss his cheek when he drops

her off at school, afraid her friends
can see, his son no longer wanting
to play backyard basketball, a game
of HORSE, sitting at the dinner table,
head down staring at his phone, one
word answers seasoned with annoyance.

Following the stanza about his friend Tony, we are introduced to Jesse. Jesse is twenty-six and is autistic; our speaker has a paternal bond with him, doing his best to maintain the kind of consistency Jesse needs. Even though the prior relationship the author had with Jesse’s mother has long been gone, he was still a present parental figure to Jesse throughout his life until recently. In these lines we see why our author is no longer able to visit Jesse and how much of a toll it takes on him emotionally even though Jesse is not his biological son–“but I’m still thinking about Jesse and me, / his mom and her email saying I can’t visit him / anymore because I write about him. Poems / like this.” This causes a similar disconnect as Tony is having with his teenage children. I think it is a beautiful example of how the kind of parental bond is not exclusive to situational circumstances but outlasts the tests of time. Very well-written in the way comparing Tony’s traditional family and his own non-traditional version of fatherhood. “I think of talking to my friend, not / sure he will understand what Jesse means / to me or why I didn’t simply stop writing / about him like his mom asked, how inseparable / is my life’s story from my poems anyway?”

The entire collection is an ode to connectedness, allowing readers to find solace in relatable themes that can sometimes be hard to digest. It explores the unique identity and experiences the author has been through, while also showing the vulnerability of hardship. Reading about the encounters another person faces in their life allows room for introspection, finding similarities and complex distinctions in our lives. A lovely read for all those looking for community in their own grief.

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Miranda Spurlock is 21 years old and a cat mom of one, but if you count the feral cats who use their charming manipulation on her (their cute faces), she is a cat mom of 4-8 on any given day. She loves the color pink; she is very fond of fairies and escaping into a book is what she does best. Spurlock prides herself on creativity and has tried almost every hobby there is to try. She is currently a senior at UTK where she is majoring in Business Management and minoring in English.