Reviews
Beyond This Cataclysm of Making & Unmaking
a review by Dan Manchester
- Tinkers
- by Paul Harding
- Bellevue Literary Press, 2009
Tinkers is the story of George Crosby’s final week (and a day) of life. It is also the story of his father’s life. And his father’s life as well. And generally of families. And reasonable horologists and their reasonably ticking clocks. It also contains at least one complete catalog of household items, an assortment of [...]
Excited By the Burden
a review by Micah Ling
- My Kill Adore Him
- by Paul Martinez Pompa
- University of Notre Dame Press, 2009
“These poems are careful and tight. Martinez Pompa gives entire worlds in 16 lines or less. He gets in and out just that fast. He makes you feel chest-heavy sadness, nostalgia, arousal, and fear. He takes your hand and shows you characters: some you know and some you don’t want to know; some are you...”
Curly Fries & Asphalt Rash
a review by Dan Manchester
- Give Over the Heckler and Everyone Gets Hurt
- by Jason Tandon
- Black Lawrence Press, 2009
A tour of margins: South San Ysidro, New Mexico; Lamb’s Grove, Iowa; Moosalamoo, Vermont; north of Albert Lea, Minnesota; Podunk; Hell. Places where “your mother name[s] you tough”; where in honor of Easter, Mister Donut tops “a traditional glazed / with yellow frosting and jellybeans.” Snails are ground into dirt. Jokes go too far, warrant [...]
Forcing a Need
a review by Micah Ling
- A Plate of Chicken
- by Matthew Rohrer
- Ugly Duckling Presse, 2009
First, this book is simply a nice thing to own. It’s handsome and square: pleasant to hold. Will Hubbard, Paul Killebrew and the folks at Ugly Duckling Presse made a fine package. The poems inside fit together like people on a Greyhound or in an elevator, but they also fit together like foodstuffs in a [...]
The World We Are in, Mundane & Vast
a review by Dan Manchester
- Controlled Decay
- by Gabriela Jauregui
- Black Goat, an imprint of Akashic Books, 2008
Controlled Decay’s opening poem skirts across four pages in long lines punctuated with open spaces, blurring the borders of verse and prose. The poem’s speaker tells us “this is a dance floor” and implores us to dance. The voice is playful—“I live for the moments I cannot bear myself thinking”—and serious—“cry til your lips bleed”—and we have no choice but to listen and join her on the dance floor.
