John Gallaher
128 pp., BOA Editions,
ltd.
ISBN: 978-1-938160-50-9
$16.00
If I may, I will be so bold as to offer this declaration as my opening thought for my
review: In A Landscape, by John
Gallaher, is one of those books. You know―it’s one of those books which picks
you up from the earth’s gravity and sets you aimlessly afloat. Gallaher starts talking to you with what
initially comes off as unfocused or circumstantial thoughts, but soon reveals
itself as having an agenda. Most readers
want books (particularly poetry books) to shove them in some familiar direction
so they will at least be able to find their way home, and that’s a shame. To quote some lyrics as Gallaher does from
time to time, there is “beauty in the breakdown.” Zachary Schomburg’s Scary, No Scary lives in the realm of
the semi-conscious, and so does In A
Landscape. Gallaher uses a different
strategy (informal conversation) but the effect is the same. In A
Landscape deceptively asks all sorts of questions and does not take the
easy way out by giving the reader any simple answers. There are perhaps answers
for Gallaher, and even you if you are willing to think about the questions long
enough, but therein lies the work set out with this stunning poem.
The
physical scope of the book can be seen as an obstacle, but it soon becomes
apparent to the reader there is purpose and function built into the form. It appears in my mind as an endless and
almost seamless series of fences in a Home Owner’s Association, mimicking the
anonymity of the suburban landscape while the book attempts to mask its poetry
in an almost prosaic display of long lines and thick stanzas. Why is it essential? The questions in the book are hidden,
embedded into the fabric of conversation and they demand that the reader step
into the ether to find them. Certainly
the important questions can be asked in a more direct and obvious way, but the
beauty of this book is that both questions and answers are discovered in
incidental and almost accidental ways.
The
book takes the form of a long conversation.
Part Socratic method, and part Hegelian dialectic, Gallaher goes about
the long and complicated process of trying to discover what is essential. When beginning the book, one might feel as if
entering the process in media res,
joining a conversation already in progress.
In some ways I am sure, Gallaher has been having this conversation with
himself for years and is now asking us to join in the discussion. The book demands a different kind of
attention because each poem/section is numerical in nature, and the reader
cannot simply identify any of the poems by title. One cannot simply skip to a poem which differently
structured or unique in appearance. The
reader must start and continue on if any sense is to be made of this book. This
requirement mirrors one of the central themes of the book. I for one believe it to be a worthwhile
endeavor. This is another level of
anonymity which can be unsettling, but ultimately makes for a better reading
experience.
Gallaher
picks open his life at the seams and shares with the reader (by way of personal
history and recollection) his doubts, questions, and musings regarding how a
person gets from point A to point B. We
learn about Gallaher’s life, who plainly admits this book is factual, and we
learn about ourselves because it is only natural to be sympathetic and have
empathy for the many things he tells us by searching our own lives. He examines the impact events have upon his
life and appears at times to want a plot to emerge from a world he knows to be
void of anything resembling plot. Sewn
into the book are dozens of tiny epiphanies; moments of stark realization which
deliver themselves like pin-pricks to the brain. Gallaher is also quite adept with his timing
of these moments. He jumps ahead and
revisits themes from earlier sections with stunning precision, somehow reading
the mind of the reader. Gallaher always
knows what topic to speak to next and what part of the reader to address.
One
of the biggest discoveries I personally made as I read the book was there
seemed to be an undercurrent of unsettling or lingering doubt about all of the
really big questions. Eventually I came
to believe the book is asking this single question: “Knowing all we know, how do we carry
on?” At every turn, Gallaher seems to be
asking that question for all of us.
Detailing experiences which are big and small, seemingly random and at
times frightening in their connectivity.
If poetry was the world of quantum mechanics, or quantum theory was
perhaps meant to be expressed through poetry, I would gladly hail In A Landscape as one of the more
elegant theories of how the universe operates.
Ultimately,
In A Landscape asks us to join in the
conversation. We may not be able to make
any predictions regarding our own lives, but we can be reassured we are not the
alone in what we fear and the questions we ask.
There is hope in these pages, and it is the kind of hope which is
lasting, because it did not take any short cuts and it did not shy away from
the difficult truths. John Gallaher has
given us a jumping off point which is worthy of our time and our collaboration.
