to the fierce guard in the Assyrian Saloon

Howard W. Robertson

The delight of this book is the constant surprise. Lee Douglas’s physical and contemplative world is where the quotidian meets the sublime and does a hula dance. Howard W. Robertson creates a persona who whispers in our ear to come along on his bumpy and glorious ride. The reader is then placed in lush rooms of wordplay and acute observation, while also being allowed a sense of intimacy. The poetry accesses Lee Douglas’s perspective with a curious and compelling simultaneity, akin to reading a journal and hearing internal monologue. This is a landscape where a sensei wears a cowboy hat and scrambled eggs are symptomatic of authentic being. However this is not an entirely ethereal world; the poems also create a narrative where we meet Douglas’s children, ex-wife, and even the new city budget manager. Robertson reminds the reader that living is a beautiful and terrible mystery that is best faced with humor, endurance, and love. Robertson’s intense language makes Lee Douglas’ perceptions a pleasurable and powerful reminder.

Howard W. Robertson is a poet and fiction writer who lives in Eugene, Oregon. His poems have been published most recently in Nest, Literal Latté, Nimrod, Fireweed, and Ergo. Robertson has been among the winners of various poetry awards, including the Bumbershoot Award, the Intown Award, the Pacifica Award, the Pablo Neruda Award, and the Literal Latté Award.

A sample poem from the book

the barber did just what I told him

The way to spot your car in a very big parking

lot at River Valley shopping mall an enormous

place when you’ve lost a big bright easy to

spot red ’71 VW camper in a divorce settlement

and bought a little short brown ’82 Honda Civic

four-door sedan that you can’t find even though

the lot is not very full is to begin to wander

but immediately bump into Dwight Wong your col-

league at the International Studies Center on

campus and enjoy smiling idly and ask a couple

of cheerful inane questions and refuse to be

impressed by a famous Soviet sculptor who’s

coming but be only interested in your own tri-

vial everyday concerns and push this pleasant

vacuity to the point that the car appears from

behind the big fat green Plymouth and you and

Wong laugh delighted that here you are now

director-elect of the center and already making

decisions on the hundred thousand dollar fed-

eral grant for next year and you find your car

like some kind of zen madman or holy Russian

fool or little kid or something.