Sometimes verbose, sometimes stark, Cattails tries to capture the significance of loss in the lives of most. Each piece of poetry is accompanied by a piece of photography, graphically painting our collective skies grey. While answers may have been summoned at times but questions still continue to oversurge.
This is almost the strangest (that is, outside my normal experience) work I’ve ever considered reviewing. As always, do not let my star count override your judgement of content. More on the stars, counting, and my rating challenges later. It is hard for me to figure out how to explain to you what I see here when it is so unusual for me. From the very first poem, Day, you will be introduced to B’s style. It has an image in the middle. It ends with this: “When you are looking for love, you are allowed to be promiscuous.” For a strange experience, turn to Tonight’s Love, where we find this: “I have loved, /inattention, /your high-browed tall friends, /who wink at me. /With remnants of winter on your plate, /and fishbone on mine, /what are you eating?” B has a prose poem Growth, which begins thus: “She grew up in a place where people never spoke of anything. Where restrain was considered fashionable and of good taste. Where too much laughter was taught to be a taboo and children were only held when they cried too hard and choked themselves or were dying.” Finally, for another insight into this writer’s voice, turn to This Is Goodbye, where we find this: “You were another of those guests, /visiting, /and you declined, /the honorarium. /You must not visit again.” Now for my star count boilerplate. My personal guidelines, when doing any review, are as follows: five stars means, roughly equal to best in genre. Rarely given. Four stars means, extremely good. Three stars means, definitely recommendable. I am a tough reviewer. I try hard to be consistent. I can clearly recommend this book; your personal rating may well be higher.