These are poems of shrewd and bemused observation. Consider these lines from \u201cFair Road\u201d:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the strip mall more stores
\nHave closed but one
\nLike Jesus
\nIs always coming soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
How can you not love such wry wit? But of course it\u2019s more than just tongue-in-cheek humor. In very few words, Nelson paints a picture of a corner of the world where (although he doesn\u2019t explicitly say so) life is slower, opportunities scarcer. It\u2019s not necessarily the South, but it kind of feels that way. The Southern landscape and mindset are often on display. Poems such as \u201cInside Georgia,\u201d \u201cGeorgia Sunset,\u201d and \u201cThe Guitars\u201d mention Georgia directly, while many others couldn\u2019t take place anywhere but the Atlantic south. Egrets, dogwoods, pecans, wisteria, frogs, hog-nosed snakes\u2014all play a part as subject or backdrop to these poems. As do guns: \u201cGun on the Table,\u201d \u201cThe Gun Show,\u201d Women and Guns.\u201d But what\u2019s striking\u2014and distressing\u2014is that guns are not portrayed as a menace but as a routine commodity, like a loaf of bread. Nelson also has an affinity for dogs, though again, not your inner city junkyard dogs, but the companionable hounds that follow you around the yard, strangely intent on inhaling life\u2019s least pleasant smells.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then there\u2019s chickens. Nelson has a soft spot for farmyard fowl. They feature in \u201cBetter Angels,\u201d in which their simple, hardscrabble existence becomes a foil for the speaker\u2019s unobtainable desires. In \u201cI Love Chickens,\u201d he playfully reflects on the virtues of these awkward birds, and in so doing presents a subtle commentary on human nature, needs, and priorities. The poem relies on anaphora, with each phrase completing the sentiment started in the title, \u201cI Love Chickens\u201d:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2026Because they are flappable. Nelson smoothly succeeds in what I often try to do: describe a subject in literal terms that can also be understood metaphorically. So yes, chickens literally walk along a plank to leave the coop, but for humans, \u201cwalking the plank\u201d conjures images of pirates forcing their captives to topple overboard to their death. And the fact that they do it \u201cevery morning\u201d like us suggests that every day when we leave the house and head to work, we are metaphorically trudging toward a kind of death. While we both may \u201cbrood,\u201d the verb has vastly different connotations depending on the subject. Then there\u2019s the unapologetic revelry in language. \u201cFlappable?!?!\u201d Well, if someone can be unflappable, it certainly follows that someone can be flappable\u2014and who more so than chickens? Great poetry often points a lens at the absurd but grammatically valid quirks of our language.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There is a sort of deadpan comedy on display throughout the book. \u201cOur Wars,\u201d for example, starts out:<\/p>\n\n\n\n He was a nerd before there were nerds The sentence is a bit shocking at first, but reading further, it becomes clear that it\u2019s a game\u2014young boys playing soldier, mimicking those overwrought scenes from World War II movies. Of course, we know from other poems that Nelson came of age in the Viet Nam era (and would later take part in the draft lottery), so a description of a kid pretending to get shot can\u2019t help but suggest a real boy\u2014probably still a teen\u2014dying in a real war. <\/p>\n\n\n\n An elegiac streak also runs through this book, in which that wry humor turns a bit more sardonic. Several poems seem to ruminate on the untimely death of a faculty colleague in the English\/writing program where Nelson teaches. In \u201cVisiting Writer,\u201d the poet imagines looking up from his work<\/p>\n\n\n\n To see you standing at the lectern, Suddenly, the title takes on a new object and meaning. \u201cIn another year\u201d seems to be about the same person. In it, Nelson observes:<\/p>\n\n\n\n In another year the building will be filled Ouch! That\u2019s absolutely devastating in its matter-of-fact summary. It also uses end breaks to great effect (\u201cload every rift with ore!\u201d). It goes on to say <\/p>\n\n\n\n Whenever they wanted explanation That could in fact serve as the motto of this book. It\u2019s only natural to want reasons for the nonsensical aspects of life, but in the end, the world\u2014no matter how predictable it can sometimes seem\u2014is governed by random chance. True understanding is impossible\u2014the best we can do is to observe and appreciate. Building on that, the random nature of the universe, the crazy improbability of any of it being here at all, engenders a profound sense of wonder. That\u2019s emphasized in the title of the book, which in turn comes from the final line in \u201cTwenty-Five O\u2019Clock\u201d (which is a bit more elliptical than most poems in the book\u2014I think it refers to the \u201cextra hour\u201d we get from Daylight Saving each fall). The poem ends: \u201cSome wonder what I mean. Some wonder is what.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Interestingly, I found that I kept misstating the title of the book as \u201cSmall Wonder,\u201d as in the phrase meaning \u201cit\u2019s obvious, it\u2019s understandable.\u201d It would be an apt title, as the phrase could be interpreted in different ways\u2014and that\u2019s a hallmark of Nelson\u2019s style. In fact, the book ends with a poem called \u201cSmall Wonders\u201d (the plural allows only one meaning), which is essentially a series of haiku-like poems that accentuate the mandate to observe the world to derive a set of truths (explanation being impossible). Our hunger for meaning may ultimately go unsatisfied, but we can marvel in the small miracles of life (as a guidepost to the large miracle of Life). My favorite:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dogs know what to do Yes, those dogs always have a lesson to teach, but like Zen masters, they enlighten without saying a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Do yourself a favor: track down this book and spend some time reveling in its wise perspective. As the poem \u201cFeeders\u201d suggests: \u201cWhere you reflect, you will feed \/ Your hunger for wonder.\u201d These last eight-or-so years have insidiously replaced our sense of wonder with a sense of cynicism; but I believe, underneath it all, we do still hunger for wonder.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Eric Nelson: Some Wonder Wonderful surprise! I was looking through one of my bookshelves for a particular collection when I stumbled across a small book of poetry that I swear I had never seen before and had no recollection of … Continue reading ![\"Some](\"https:\/\/c.media-amazon.com\/images\/I\/71L5dvWUhJL._SL1360_.jpg\")
<\/figure><\/a>\n\n\n\n
\n\nBecause every night they return to their coop
\nAnd every morning they walk the plank into their day.
\n\nBecause like us they brood, follow a pecking order, desire
\nA nest egg. Because even their shit is useful. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nBut one thing you had to say for Mark—
\nThe guy knew how to die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nIntroducing the visiting writer. All that time
\nNone of us knew you were the one visiting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nwith students who know you
\nas a scholarship fund<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nYou told them instead to observe<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nWith the dead—
\nRoll in them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n