poems by Erik Richardson
ISBN: 9 780692 251324
© 2014 36 pages/
$12.95
Pebblebrook Press, an imprint of Stoneboat
www.stoneboatwi.com
Last Christmas, my husband gave us an Ancestry.com DNA test.
I knew there was a lot of Norwegian in him. Little did I know that I had some
of the Norse in my DNA, too, which is why I especially enjoyed this small book
of poems.
Berserkers were said to be Norse warriors who fought with a
trance-like fury, hence the origin of the word “berserk.” Richardson’s poems
are made of a bit gentler stuff, but they manage to sneak up on readers and,
like “a Valkyrie, whisper in your ear:” be wary, be afraid. These berserkers
are pop culture, the person in the next cube, the woman in the express line
with six-too-many items.
a berserker stuck in traffic
or at a desk, staring at a screen.
standing in a long slow line at the
store
when a valkyrie whispers in your
ear,
“you were not born for this.”
you remember that your bearskin
shirt
is stashed in the bottom if your
dresser,
but the trance is on … .
These are everyman/woman poems, the howl of the little and
small: the teacher, the scientist, the child, the motherless son.
There are other reasons to like and respect Richardson’s
poetry. First, he’s an accomplished wordsmith; his poems are rife with story,
filled with momentum and music of a good tale. Though he uses little
punctuation, he leads readers through his poems using words, pauses of syntax
and line.
perched on the edge of 92nd
street
stressed for infecting my neighbors’ yards
with wind transmuted diseases—
incriminating dandelions point back
to me
even in the dark—I have no clear
idea
what time the sun died today or
will rise again.
Second, Richardson is a skilled storyteller, incorporating
mythologies of the Irish, the Norse, the Greeks. He also manages to weave his
tales, using math and science, the voices of Hemingway and Merton, the soft
whispers of Heaney, and the mystery of the Bhagavad Gita. How does a man of
heart and principal, a man of spirit, a man of words, live and live well in a
culture such as this?
when one is free of individuality
and his understanding is untainted,
even if he quits his job,
he does not quit and is not bound.
All is not lost in Richardson’s poems. He hasn’t gone
entirely gone mad. There is humor; there are constellations of wondrous light.
In “the berserker stuck in traffic,” “… the light goes green, the line moves
on…/
your morning meds kick in
pulling you down … , the rage
that would have once made you holy
…
you are just an accountant.
poems of the skalds were not true.
a sword in the trunk
of your car is a really. bad. idea.
Savoring Richardson’s poems in this lovely book is a good
idea, a good idea, indeed.
*** originally published in Wisconsin People & Ideas
*** originally published in Wisconsin People & Ideas
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