NO DAFFODILS, NO CLOUDS
REVIEW by Dana Wilde, formerly of the Bangor Daily News...
“No Daffodils, No Clouds: Poetic Pursuits,” by Tom Lyford; illustrations by Jefferson Prestridge; Dover-Foxcroft, 2012; 86 pages, trade paperback, $15.
Anyone who has crossed paths with Tom Lyford's poems, either in print or in person at local readings, has an inkling of what to expect from his new collection, "No Daffodils, No Clouds": backward-looking honesty cast in quintessential self-deprecating Maine humor.
Some of the poems here are new versions of older pieces, like "Riding Around with Stephen King," from his earlier books such as "Americana" and "Kilroy Was Here," while others are new. Some of the titles are little exemplars of the material itself: "Good Noose for Modern Man," "Parallel Worlds for (Musically Inclined) Dummies," "Thus Sprach Alleyoopstra," "Poem Nazis," "Yawn of the Dead." It should be apparent from these examples, if you're paying attention, that no aspect of pop or other kind of culture escaped scrutiny up in Dover-Foxcroft, which in Lyford's comprehensive view is both the center and the backwater of the universe. The title poem, which alludes to the, well, beclouded common sense that all poetry skips along the English countryside after Wordsworth, sums up Lyford's modest but honorable and honest intent:
I wanna write a poem as crooked as Willem Dafoe's teeth
... one that conjures up the Jaws theme and makes you say
something like, "You're gonna need a bigger boat!"
The book's cover shows a photoshopped image of OJ Simpson in his white Bronco leading "coppers and choppers in a cold pursuit." Maybe, like the courtroom OJ at least, Tom Lyford is innocent. But what's chasing him is the feeling that he's part of the great American lam anyway for reasons known and unknown to him, even in Dover-Foxcroft where he's been holed up nearly his whole life and is the "self-appointed rogue Poet Laureate."
OK. Yes. I'm a pop culture fool. What else can I say -- me,
the original Tiny Town Kid born and raised here back in
the Fifties two hundred miles north of the nearest city,
I mean, what other kind of culture was there ...
This book, like Lyford's others, will make you laugh out loud, especially if you happened to grow up in mid-20th century semi-rural Maine and were paying attention. And if you didn't, you'll most likely recognize your inmost fool anyway, trying to shake the pursuit. If you're paying attention.
Copies of "No Daffodils, No Clouds" are available by going to all major on-line bookstores.
“No Daffodils, No Clouds: Poetic Pursuits,” by Tom Lyford; illustrations by Jefferson Prestridge; Dover-Foxcroft, 2012; 86 pages, trade paperback, $15.
Anyone who has crossed paths with Tom Lyford's poems, either in print or in person at local readings, has an inkling of what to expect from his new collection, "No Daffodils, No Clouds": backward-looking honesty cast in quintessential self-deprecating Maine humor.
Some of the poems here are new versions of older pieces, like "Riding Around with Stephen King," from his earlier books such as "Americana" and "Kilroy Was Here," while others are new. Some of the titles are little exemplars of the material itself: "Good Noose for Modern Man," "Parallel Worlds for (Musically Inclined) Dummies," "Thus Sprach Alleyoopstra," "Poem Nazis," "Yawn of the Dead." It should be apparent from these examples, if you're paying attention, that no aspect of pop or other kind of culture escaped scrutiny up in Dover-Foxcroft, which in Lyford's comprehensive view is both the center and the backwater of the universe. The title poem, which alludes to the, well, beclouded common sense that all poetry skips along the English countryside after Wordsworth, sums up Lyford's modest but honorable and honest intent:
I wanna write a poem as crooked as Willem Dafoe's teeth
... one that conjures up the Jaws theme and makes you say
something like, "You're gonna need a bigger boat!"
The book's cover shows a photoshopped image of OJ Simpson in his white Bronco leading "coppers and choppers in a cold pursuit." Maybe, like the courtroom OJ at least, Tom Lyford is innocent. But what's chasing him is the feeling that he's part of the great American lam anyway for reasons known and unknown to him, even in Dover-Foxcroft where he's been holed up nearly his whole life and is the "self-appointed rogue Poet Laureate."
OK. Yes. I'm a pop culture fool. What else can I say -- me,
the original Tiny Town Kid born and raised here back in
the Fifties two hundred miles north of the nearest city,
I mean, what other kind of culture was there ...
This book, like Lyford's others, will make you laugh out loud, especially if you happened to grow up in mid-20th century semi-rural Maine and were paying attention. And if you didn't, you'll most likely recognize your inmost fool anyway, trying to shake the pursuit. If you're paying attention.
Copies of "No Daffodils, No Clouds" are available by going to all major on-line bookstores.
