{"id":3103,"date":"2012-09-04T08:32:48","date_gmt":"2012-09-04T08:32:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=3103"},"modified":"2020-12-09T14:36:57","modified_gmt":"2020-12-09T14:36:57","slug":"james-naiden-reviews-yellowrocket-by-todd-boss","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/james-naiden-reviews-yellowrocket-by-todd-boss\/","title":{"rendered":"James Naiden reviews ‘Pitch’ by Todd Boss"},"content":{"rendered":"

This poet\u2019s first collection appeared from Norton in 2008 when he turned 40. It\u2019s titled Yellowrocket<\/em>, after the plant \u2013 some call it a weed \u2013 that appears on the upper plains of the American Middle West. In this case, it\u2019s in central Wisconsin, from the dark soil near Marshfield where the poet was born and grew up, from where he departed as a young man \u2013 and occasionally revisits. So this new book, Pitch<\/em>, appearing in early 2012 from the same American publisher, is no less resonant, if not more so.<\/p>\n

The title poem refers to a family treasure, an old Steinway piano that Boss\u2019s father was hauling somewhere in a pickup truck during winter. He made too quick a turn and the piano \u201cpitched\u201d onto the ground, although surprisingly intact afterward. In a tightly strung four-part poem, Boss speculates not unkindly about his father\u2019s subconscious attitude. With alternately indented lines of a single space, the poet remembers:<\/p>\n

Freud would say he did it on purpose \u2013<\/p>\n

my father who couldn\u2019t hold a tune<\/p>\n

if it had handles, reins,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and a canvas<\/p>\n

shoulder harness \u2013<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

that he towed the inscrutable implement<\/p>\n

a hundred miles and then,<\/p>\n

on the last one,<\/p>\n

took a corner<\/p>\n

like a chance \u2013<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When the poet was growing up during the 1970s, there was a popular song played on many American radio stations and juke boxes about Luckenbach, Texas, a small dust gathering of shacks, would-have-been memories and fable, but then with the Reagan ascendancy, quickly forgotten. Todd Boss later had the opportunity to see the place, whimsically on a family vacation:<\/p>\n

At most<\/p>\n

A ghost of a ghost of a town,<\/p>\n

A stable of well-broken picnic tables,<\/p>\n

A platform stage, and a dance hall<\/p>\n

Patched with tin . . . .it wasn\u2019t much,<\/p>\n

But as the sign by the roadside said,<\/p>\n

It was good enough for anybody<\/p>\n

To be somebody to be in . . .<\/p>\n

Because Boss\u2019s poems are so tightly written, very seldom is there a word not plucked for sake of economy. His poems reflect this world, not outer space or fantasy, and in so doing refer to his early memories, his parents, his wife, children, and friends, as well as strangers. Any good writer savors the wells of memory, with the dialogue of years talking to each other back and forth, although some of the people may no longer be living. Here memory can be sweet and cruel at once.<\/p>\n

One critic reviewing Boss\u2019s first collection said that his poems bring pleasure. That they surely do, for he has always written with a wide scope \u2013 love, anger (better yet: love within<\/em> anger, especially from his spouse), sudden upheaval but surviving, unceasing despair at time\u2019s ravages, the unexpected good and not-so-good. In this, there can be rich consolation in loving one person for a long time. I refer to but will not quote from \u201cIt Isn\u2019t All Fiddles\u201d \u2013 for Amy, his wife \u2013 and a host of other rich quarries: \u201cAmidwives: Two Portraits\u201d; \u201cA Waltz For the Lovelorn\u201d; and \u201cMy Love For You Is Embarrassingly,\u201d \u2013 lest you wonder, frequently the title of a Todd Boss poem is indeed the first line, punctuation included, or what amounts to that. A daring technique, but he usually makes it work.<\/p>\n

In Pitch<\/em>, there is also a sequence about a major calamity \u2013 the collapse of a freeway bridge north-south through the city of Minneapolis on an otherwise tranquil summer evening in 2007. The poet had just driven over the bridge \u2013 and his cousin has called to ask if he\u2019s all right. Surprised, Boss replies that he\u2019s fine, not knowing what has just transpired behind him. In part 5 of \u201cSix Fragments For the 35 W Bridge,\u201d the poet employs a spare sequence of jagged one-word lines \u2013 much as the North Carolina poet Lou Lipsitz did years ago in his \u201cSkinny Poem\u201d \u2013 to render stark effect:<\/p>\n

Not<\/p>\n

water<\/p>\n

but<\/p>\n

air\u2019s<\/p>\n

where<\/p>\n

the<\/p>\n

fallen<\/p>\n

fall<\/p>\n

first.<\/p>\n

Not<\/p>\n

landing<\/p>\n

but<\/p>\n

numbing<\/p>\n

to<\/p>\n

the<\/p>\n

fact<\/p>\n

that<\/p>\n

landing<\/p>\n

is<\/p>\n

coming<\/p>\n

is<\/p>\n

the<\/p>\n

worst<\/p>\n

part<\/p>\n

of<\/p>\n

falling.<\/p>\n

Not<\/p>\n

losing<\/p>\n

a<\/p>\n

loved<\/p>\n

one<\/p>\n

but<\/p>\n

calling<\/p>\n

and<\/p>\n

calling.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It\u2019s worth noting that thirteen people died in this incident, with much loss of motor vehicles and other property. Boss is more than aware of his serendipitous good fortune.<\/p>\n

Now in his mid-forties, Todd Boss surely will bring a lot more to feast on, delectable poems as affirmations in this dangerous, uncertain time. We read his poetry to see how our pulse is doing \u2013 collectively, then in each of us, among these stringently woven images.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pitch<\/em> is published in the US by WW Norton & Co and is available from Amazon in Hardcover <\/a>and Kindle <\/a>\u00a0format.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This poet\u2019s first collection appeared from Norton in 2008 when he turned 40. It\u2019s titled Yellowrocket, after the plant \u2013 some call it a weed \u2013 that appears on the upper plains of the American Middle West. In this case, it\u2019s in central Wisconsin, from the dark soil near Marshfield where the poet was born […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3103","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-reviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3103","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3103"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3103\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23744,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3103\/revisions\/23744"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3103"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3103"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3103"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}