Here's an excerpt:
In three parts, the book moves chronologically through recollections of childhood and young adulthood, arriving in present-day. Steeped in experiences, the poems are unreservedly linked to those of Drake and her particular perspective. Still, the poems don't operate strictly from a singular view: Drake takes subtle care to nod to a kind of compound-I. For examples, she carefully aims to understand a cat's comfort in the hen house, recognize the odd companionship of insomnia, and balance the persistence of life with the inevitability of death.
[Q:]The poems in "Driving One Hundred" reveal an affection for both sides of an argument -- they love the cranky, complicated world. But most are written from a single perspective whose speaker seems to be you, Barbara Drake. What is the power of "I"? What are its pitfalls?
[A:]I come from a sociable and storytelling family, and I think that's what the "I" in my poetry is about. Something happens and you've got to tell someone about it.