Speech Minus Applause
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In the neighborhood of Jim Peterson's Speech Minus Applause, the dog bowl refills itself. There is nothing and everything to do. Thought is the only sound, and strangers, friends, animals and loved ones, old and new, come and go like fragments of light outside the window, travel down tributaries fed by a city, a street, a door, a mouth-a home becomes a body and the body a refuge for introspection and reverie, a leafy whirlwind of memory. In these wise and darkly animated poems, the wrinkled lines between dream and dreamer are called into question, and a curious and grief-struck eye turns to wa...
In the neighborhood of Jim Peterson's Speech Minus Applause, the dog bowl refills itself. There is nothing and everything to do. Thought is the only sound, and strangers, friends, animals and loved ones, old and new, come and go like fragments of light outside the window, travel down tributaries fed by a city, a street, a door, a mouth-a home becomes a body and the body a refuge for introspection and reverie, a leafy whirlwind of memory. In these wise and darkly animated poems, the wrinkled lines between dream and dreamer are called into question, and a curious and grief-struck eye turns to watch itself wander, from room to room, through its own joy and sadness-the voices in Peterson's newest collection can only, despite their loudest and wildest attempts, speak to themselves, and through that silence, they speak to everyone. -Grant Kittrell
