&10;&10;To The Last Be Human collects four&10;extraordinary poetry books-Sea Change, Place, Fast, and Runaway&8212;by&10;Pulitzer Prize winner Jorie Graham.&10;&10;From the introduction by Robert Macfarlane: &10;&10;The earliest of the poems in this tetralogy were written at&10;373 parts per million of atmospheric CO2, and the most recent at 414 parts per&10;million; that is to say, in the old calendar, 2002 and 2020 respectively. The&10;body of work gathered here stands as an extraordinary lyric record of those&10;eighteen calamitous years: a glittering, teeming Anthropocene journal, written&10;from within the New Climatic Regime (as Bruno Latour names the present), rife&10;with hope and raw with loss, lush and sparse, hard to parse and hugely powerful&10;to experience &8230; Graham's poems are turned to face our planet&8217;s deep-time&10;future, and their shadows are cast by the long light of the will-have-been. But&10;they are made of more durable materials than granite and concrete, they are&10;very far from passive, and their tasks are of record as well as warning: to&10;preserve what it has felt like to be a human in these accelerated years when&10;&8216;the future takes shape too quickly,&8217; when we are entering &8216;a time beyond&10;belief.&8217; They know, these poems, and what they tell is precise to their form&8230;.&10;Sometimes they are made of ragged, hurting, hurtling, and body-fleeing&10;language; other times they celebrate the sheer, shocking, heart-stopping gift&10;of the given world, seeing light, tree, sea, skin, and star as a &8216;whirling robe&10;humming with firstness,&8217; there to &8216;greet you if you eye-up.&8217; &10;&10;I know not to mistake the pleasures of this poetry for&10;presentist consolation; the situation has moved far beyond that: &8216;Wind would be&10;nice but it&8217;s only us shaking.&8217; &8230; To read these four twenty-first-century&10;books together in a single volume is to experience vastly complex patterns&10