Three Grange Halls
Jordan Smith
Swan Scythe Press
Davis, CA
(c) 2002
There are reproductions of sketches from Edward Hopper's notebook sprinkled around this chapbook, very handsomely presented. In fact, I think the poems are sprinkled about as well. Tumbleweed. Milkweed in autumn breeze. Dandelion "helicopters" floating on a summer's day.
And I think that's my problem with poetry like this. The breeziness. The lack of depth. It's 2002 and the poetry in this collection like so many other collections anticipate the surface emptiness of "Instagram Poetry" perfectly. It's singy-songy nothingness. I read the whole book feeling like my hand was out of a window on a hot summer day, feeling air. Feeling air because there was nothing there. Nothing I would remember tomorrow. Chinese food for the soul.
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