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A review by keeb
The True Account of Myself as a Bird by Robert Wrigley
5.0
The voice is different than what I’m used to, and I didn’t like the first poem, and therefore put off reading it because I didn’t anticipate liking the rest. But most of the poems were strikingly thoughtful and beautiful. Robert writes like a person who loves words and and has a deep appreciation for nature. Maybe that’s what some people mean when they say he is old fashioned. I do think that we encounter that voice and perspective in poetry less these days. His work was full of wonder for our planet and that feels very fresh to me. Contemporary poetry is often exceptionally inward looking in my opinion.
It is also so unusual to read someone like him! He is over 50, a white man living in Idaho who likes to backpack and live remotely who is empathetic to grasshoppers. He sings and plays guitar for deer and butterflies, admires owls and wolves, and writes about taking all the AK-47’s to the furnace to be made into better, kinder objects. He gets distracted by the biggest, sexiest pair of red high heels in the thrift store, so he tries them on himself and writes about the experience. In this poem he reflects on the beauty and power the former owner had (a large woman or man) and how wonderful they must have been, how they must have danced the night away. He imagines being a lucky dance partner of this person in a daydream. He is an American man who, when observing a statue of Perseus holding Medusa’s head, reads it like a feminist, suggesting that Perseus, both himself and his manhood, are just such a small part (hee hee) in the much more interesting story of Medusa herself. The way these thoughts come to him feels so guileless and natural. Often poetry on such topics can feel contrived and posturing. I really was surprised by him and enjoyed his work tremendously!
It is also so unusual to read someone like him! He is over 50, a white man living in Idaho who likes to backpack and live remotely who is empathetic to grasshoppers. He sings and plays guitar for deer and butterflies, admires owls and wolves, and writes about taking all the AK-47’s to the furnace to be made into better, kinder objects. He gets distracted by the biggest, sexiest pair of red high heels in the thrift store, so he tries them on himself and writes about the experience. In this poem he reflects on the beauty and power the former owner had (a large woman or man) and how wonderful they must have been, how they must have danced the night away. He imagines being a lucky dance partner of this person in a daydream. He is an American man who, when observing a statue of Perseus holding Medusa’s head, reads it like a feminist, suggesting that Perseus, both himself and his manhood, are just such a small part (hee hee) in the much more interesting story of Medusa herself. The way these thoughts come to him feels so guileless and natural. Often poetry on such topics can feel contrived and posturing. I really was surprised by him and enjoyed his work tremendously!