Poetry.
Award-winning poet Jeff Worley returns with a chapbook of short poems, several previously published but all brought together here for the first time.
The result is a distillation of his ever-present wit and scattered bits of wisdom accumulated over seventy years, a spirit as pure and clear and bracing as any backwoods liquor.
In some poems he fondly recalls his parents, into whose lives he landed like a sack / of old socks on their shoulders, and his Kansas boyhood.
In others he laments the indignities of age, such as the loss of memory, the appearance of mysterious spots, or the waitress who tells him his eyes are beautiful, only to add Ya know, you remind me of my grandfather.
(Ouch ) In between we are treated to Worley's thoughts and observations on a number of topics, a reminder that some of the best poems are indeed LUCKY TALK, the title borrowed from William Stafford who described poems as pieces of talk, savored and sustained.
Here that talk ranges over cats and snowflakes, deer and quilting bees, UFOs and turtle shells, a declaration of faith and the cosmic observation that The stars increase their twinkling / the more I increase my drinkling.
In the end, these poems are a feat not unlike that of Eunice Winkless and her 1905 ride on the back of a diving horse, determined to take / the whole whooping crowd with / her, make them never forget.
Prepare to do some whooping, as Worley rides these words.
You won't forget them.
