Ted Kooser's prose poetry collection The Wheeling Year was essentially my introduction to poetry, or at least to poetry that I liked. There's something about the non-pretention of de-lineated verse which makes everything more digestible. Add to that original and odd scenarios, and you get a pretty memorable book. Shumate's tone of voice is approachable for new readers of poetry, but sometimes his gimmicky or ignorant side shows through and it taints things.
The book is grouped into five unnamed sections, which can be roughly thematically grouped as follows:
1) Calm/Beautiful Moments
Despite being a little male-gazey, this was probably my favorite section. It didn't have any overriding topic tying the poems together; rather, it was tonally unified by seeking out a serenity and usually achieving it. The first poem set the tone of being slightly blasphemous, but still reverent in a roundabout way (concluding that though he would have changed a lot if he were God, he would never have been able to come up with the idea of rain). We get lots of nice little scenes and snippets of life, and this feels the most Kooser-esque of any of the sections. It's a great introduction and draws the reader in nicely.
2) Famous Authors
Normally it's extremely difficult to be referential in a way which new readers won't feel offended by, but I'd hope this section wasn't too offputting. You get enough fun description that things end up at least still being interesting even if you don't catch all the references. For me, the Neruda poem was my favorite, it was very surreal and memorable, just like Neruda's work. "Hitler's Barber" felt gimmicky and more like the punchline of a bad joke than a poem, but here we are. I think that treating him in such a flippant way doesn't do justice to how evil he was. I was horribly torn by "A Nazi in Retirement," a poem from the previous section, since it was so calm and peaceful. There has to be some sort of middle ground, as the "Retirement" one felt too neutral (which I guess was the point? to remind us that "they" also can smell and feel?), while the "Barber" one felt too cartoonish. Another weird problem Shumate had was that more than a few of his poems teetered on racism (just like in the first section they teetered on being very male-centric); he managed to save things each time, but it was odd how he nearly fumbled such a basic thing so many times.
3) Religion/Theology
Easily the weakest section. If you're going to criticize religion, go right ahead, it deserves a lot of criticism; but make sure you do your homework, and don't say stupid shit like "Describe sin simply as those acts which cause suffering and leave it at that." No, that's importing an entire pagan morality that is anti-Christian. You don't get to do that. Likewise, the first and last poems of this section mentioned "Buddhas" (once again the borderline racism?) and were extremely weak and repetitious.
4) (Losing) The War with Love
This section found itself at the somewhat hackneyed, dusty, and tired intersection of war and love, but some of these felt like they had more genuine emotion in them than the rest of the collection, especially "Tornado" (about rage and revenge), "The American Dream" (likely one of the the best attacks I've read on the concept, which is saying a lot given how many people take pot-shots at this cliche), and "Reading to the Blind Man." This last poem, short as it was, really struck me; the more works we have reminding us able-bodied people that disabled people are "just as human" is extremely important, especially with how drowned out their voices are in this vociferous political climate. The poor man just wanted to linger, and I don't blame him.
5) Sleep of Death and Memory
Of course, this topic had to end the collection; we're really too linear of thinkers, sometimes. I appreciated how Death melted into Sleep (which produces fantastic dreams that are so hard to remember upon waking, thus complicating the Memory aspect). Many of these poems did justice to their subject, like "Afternoon Nap," "Visitation," "The Slaves of My Ancestors," and "Mushrooms." The last of these rightfully pointed out the pagan charm of those bizarre phalluses which pop up overnight and are gone in a week.
These episodic, usually surrealist landscapes were fun to inhabit, like walking through rooms in a house of mirrors. They might not have the staying power of a more "serious" book of poetry, but they make for a nice introduction to the genre, and some of them are worth re-visiting, like "How to Sit in a Cafe" and "Bomb Shelter," both of which focus on posturing and expectations in interesting ways. The whole time I couldn't help but feel Shumate was posturing, trying to pick and choose whose expectations he wanted to meet, whose he wanted to disappoint. The anti-Christian tone throughout definitely was calculated, as he must assume not many Christians read contemporary poetry, or if they do they're like me and they're numb to the bullying at this point. He also had a slightly irreverent tone, sometimes accidentally so (since this was published in 2004), which still felt pretty tame compared to the overuse of "fuck" and "shit" and sex in most contemporary poetry. I swear we're going to look back at this moment in poetry and roll our eyes, because there's a lot of gimmicky stuff out there. This is definitely one of them, but at least it's palatable enough to enjoy once or twice before it goes rancid.