On the surface, L. S. Klatt’s poems are airy and humorous—with their tales of chickens wandering the highways of Ohio and Winnebago trailers rolling up to heaven and whales bumping like watermelons in a bathtub—but just under the surface they turn disconcertingly serious as they celebrate the fluent word.
Under the heat of inquiry, under the pressure of metaphor, the poems in Cloud of Ink liquefy, bend, and serpentine as they seek sometimes a new and sometimes an ancient destination. They present the reader with existential questions as they side-wind into the barbaric; the pear is figured as a “wild boar” and the octopus is “gutted,” yet primal energies cut a pathway to the mystical and the transcendent. The poetic cosmos Klatt creates is loquacious and beautiful, strange and affirmative, but never transparent. Amid “a maelstrom of inklings,” the writer—and the audience—must puzzle out the meaning of the syllabary.
I love poetry and was really looking forward to reading a good book of poetry. Unfortunately, this book fell way short of that. I am aware that this book has won awards. However, in my opinion, the ideas set forth in these poems are nebulous at best. They are extremely hard concepts to grasp. Please bear in mind that I can under most circumstances comprehend even the most abstract meanings within poems.
Here is a line from the poem Ohio.
I worry about your fences
wherein thousands of propane tanks
stand breast to breast
like white chickens.
I personally do not recommend this. However, that is just my opinion.
In conjunction with the Wakela’s World Disclosure Statement, I received a product in order to enable my review. No other compensation has been received. My statements are an honest account of my experience with the brand. The opinions stated here are mine alone.