The poems in Poem’s Poems, both those that feature Poem as their hero[?] and those that don’t, tend to treat the figural as literal and the literal as figural. If there is a model for Poem in his misadventurous adventures, it’s perhaps Frog from Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad picture books for children, but if Poem is Frog in this equation, I can’t, I confess, figure out what happened to Toad.
I’m tempted to echo Mark Twain’s warning to readers of Huck Finn: that those attempting to find meaning in these pieces will be shot. The current state of politics argues against such a comment. Even worse that move would seem but a coy ploy to declare the existence of meanings by denying their existence, and if I know one thing, it’s that Poem isn’t capable of either the Theory Two-Step or the MetaMeta Boogaloo that that would entail.
This link [link!] will flip you over to the web page at CW Books (Poem’s publisher) with some sample poems from the collection, including Poem debuting his skinny jeans after shopping the Gap and Poem ordering an espresso, along with a piece that evokes (of all things) Duck Dynasty and another remembering Maynard G. Krebs from the 1950s sitcom Dobie Gillis.
Clicking the thumbnail to the left (and thanks to John Hunt, cover designer extraordinaire, for the great design) will take you to the CW Books page with links for ordering Poem’s Poems. The store on this site (accessible using the menu at the top of the page) offers the option of ordering the book directly from Poem’s own private stash. Poem promises a steal of a deal. Gonna, he says, be “yuge.”
Blurbs:
The animating spirit of Hunt’s new collection is Poem, a metapoetic persona whose quest for self-definition yields a series of—you guessed it—poems in which a folksy wisdom is pitted against literary fashion in gesturing toward a “beyond / beyond mere form.” Be’s are bopped, rock is rolled, spurs are jingle-jangle-jingled as Poem cuts the rug of aesthetic idioms from the past century while the new century’s selfies lay siege. Pay attention. – Joe Amato
*
I have been a fan of Tim Hunt’s writing since we were students at Cornell University. This new collection of poems, which stars a character named “Poem,” never fails to energize, challenge, and amuse the reader. I hope the book will be submitted for Pulitzer Prize consideration. It deserves an award. – James Bertolino
*
Tim Hunt’s newest collection of poems is playful and irreverent, yet literate and contemplative. His persona—the poem as, well, Poem—is always somewhere that he doesn’t quite belong, or is always asking the “wrong” questions, yet ultimately charms us with his love of both illusions and allusions. From a plea to include Slim Gaillard in the Norton Anthology to imagistic evocations of Ezra Pound, questions of canonicity and the literary past—especially the Beats—hover here and demand attention. Highly recommended. – Deborah R. Geis
Review from Amazon:
Whether, as in his previous book, he indulged in his Asian-American Tao of Twang, or a madcap character named T. Texas Twiddle, Hunt kicked up his poetic heels like a Lone Star line dancer. The same irreverent humor and high spirits infuse this third full-length collection, which features another off-the-wall character; now he’s named Poem. Hunt’s slightly recondite book title refers to poems written by a guy name Poem—hence Poem’s Poems. There’s a piece about Poem ordering an espresso, along with a “Coffeehouse Soliloquy”; there’s a piece about Poem ordering a glass of Chardonnay. Although computers and IT don’t come under consideration here, this book is a kind of hand-held device, a platform for images of contemporary pop culture.
As with his previous book, I prefer poems outside what I could call The Main Shtick, i.e., Hunt’s stuff about Tao and twang and—in this collection—his stuff about Poem. Let me quote two fragments from one of my faves: