The first thing that strikes you about this book is the cover. A very serious young women is reading Rouseau, while a Nabokov book is prominently displayed in front of her. Inside, we see her again reading in a somber looking classroom and library. We find out later that some of the books laid out in front of her are the same ones being read in “She’s the bookworm of Santo Domingo.” The woman in the pictures always has a somber expression. Andreas Gripp’s poems are like poetic snapshots. They usually have a named character and deal with an aspect of that character’s life. The subject matter is often serious and the poems are either moralistic or reflective. The twin themes of loneliness and loss are constant. For the most part the poems work, though some are a bit cluttered. “Gavin died for his sins on October, 13, 1967” is an example of a poem with too many words. Trimming or even trying a different structure would give the poem more readability. Gripp’s use of the vernacular, while it often adds to the topicality in some poems, just ruins an otherwise good poem or idea. Meanwhile, the collection’s title is perfect, because we do find a naiveté in the work that’s accompanied by world weariness. I wish I had thought of it first. (Jeffrey Mackie)
poetry, 62 pages, Andreas Gripp, $3, harmonia press, London, ON, [email protected]