In his new and selected, Jim Barnes crafts bliss from the urgent and allusive with an enigmatic voice that is often mysterious.
A CHOCTAW CHIEF HELPS PLAN A FESTIVAL IN MEMORY OF PUSHMATAHA’S BIRTHDAY
We know he liked chock beer and watermelon and raced sleek ponies in the dead of night. We’ll give him that. We’ll have to open up the valley to whites and those Chickasaws, or it’s sure no go. But we’ll keep it pure. . .
A lot depends on image. Use your masks. Don’t wear boots. Speak the language if you can. . .
One of America’s better poets, Barnes continues to write outstanding new poetry, worthy companions to many stellar poems from earlier in his career, collected here. The title comes from a climactic line of one of my favorite Jim Barnes’ poems - a line as meaningful for what it does not say, and as haunting for what it portends.