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All, </div>
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Please find attached and below Jack Ridl's Review of The Beauty of the Trees by Ron Smith</div>
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Thanks</div>
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Duncan</div>
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Review of That Beauty in the Trees by Ron Smith, LSU Press, 2023
<div class="ContentPasted0">Don’t bother reading this review, just go read masterful poet Ron Smith’s That</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Beauty in the Trees. And what is that “that”?</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Ron Smith is subtle, nuanced, clearly ambiguous, rich in layers of implication. His</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">poems don’t talk to you. They lead you into a world where you participate and</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">wonder.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Reviews often attempt to make up your mind for you or draw attention to the</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">intelligence of the reviewer. Or they reveal the reviewer’s insights for a resume:</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">tenure’s on the line.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Do something more important than the impotent notion that evaluation makes a</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">difference. W. H. Audin retracted his ridiculous and yet still perpetrated line,</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">“Poetry makes nothing happen..” Set aside your educated notion of the importance</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">of critical evaluation, and something will happen. Bring your vulnerability and</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">attentiveness, and something valuable will happen. And in this discordant time</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">when language is used to mislead, twist intention, cause cruelty, annihilate</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">reputations, misdirect, impose nihilistic solutions, grant permission to unleash</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">hatred, poems and most certainly Ron Smith’s poems can save moments within our</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">lived lives.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Should I end there? Sure.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">I know I should support such exclamations even though I’d prefer to let the work</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">do that, and I’ll go walk our dog. First of all, Smith (Can I call him Ron for</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Aethlon readers? Sure.) First of all, Ron’s book of poems is inconsistent. And it</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">lacks coherence. Ron dares to violate the preeminent ideas held in a hammerlock</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">that a collection of poems should “hold together,” be thematic, have a structural</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">coherence, tonal consistency, and recognizable voice, (Whatever that is.) one made</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">familiar by the fourth poem, one that remains familiar until we’re asleep.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Because this review is for Aethlon readers, I’ll offer some poems where Ron works</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">with sports.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">In “Rizal Stadium, WorldWar II” (p. 24) he creates a convincing fusion of baseball,</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">killing, the body strewn landscape of war, the speaker’s ability to take “bad hops in</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">the heart then firing a/frozen rope (yes) frozen rope to first,” his “father who’s right</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">now fighting/ for his life on Guadalcanal,” Rod Serling, Episode 19 of The</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Twilight Zone,” sudden commentary, and more to create the reality of innocence</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">and horror that was then and, when we reflect, is now. Ron makes it seamless, and</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">seamless it becomes for us no matter how accomplished we are at</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">compartmentalizing.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">This is one of the great accomplishments throughout the collection: to refrain from</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">isolating experiences and instead give us the “blenderized” world we live within.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Read “Birth of Modern Poetry” (p. 88). Every line turns at the right moment; the</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">poem “flows” in the voices of Pound and Williams and you’ll laugh and wonder if</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Ron means it, and wonder about modern poetry itself and notice Ron’s mastery of</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">free verse while he parodies it, or does he? And it’s a multi-persona poem where</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Ron, or is it Ron? steps in. Every line begins at the left edge: how formal and</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">controlled and common. You now and then stop at moments such as when WCW,</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">talking about Hemingway and Pound going at it— “ ‘Pound [falling] back upon his</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">settee.’/1922. the year of litrachur’s nuclear atrocities, Hem wrote/ that Ez led ‘wit</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">his chin’ and had the general grace/ of a crayfish,’ whatever that means.”</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Then after the delight of that “formally free verse” Laurel and Hardy perceptive</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">fiasco you note a poem where the subject offers a revelation in varied line stanzas,</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">a poem tapestried into various juxtapositions that bring a fresh perspective in</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">fragments, short lines, long lines, single lines, couplets, varied in position on the</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">page, syncopated in rhythm. For example—</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">“Riefenstahl” (p. 56) Hitler’s Olympics film maker where we read</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">“and less</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">bat-</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">tired, brushed</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">by tender woodwinds, faces, fluent bodies</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">mist enfolded, invested, draped, touch them, smooth them,</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">as the camera turns</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">them</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">into</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">gesture . . .”</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Images? Well, in one poem there’s “anchovy sauce, fried artichokes, and gusts of</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">garlic,” then in another you’re with Willyum Wumpus, then on Omaha Beach, in</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Plato’s cave, Rome, Assisi, or the marsh water of Savannah. You’ll meet up with</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Mussolini, Keats, Casanova, Jesus, George Washington.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Attend to three poems a day. Three. The poems welcome your participation and</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">rewards your imagination and intellect and delight and sorrowful remembrance.</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Spoiler alert, I’m giving away the ending—</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">“that we must say, we do say, we will</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">always</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">say is a kind</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">of beauty.”</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Jack Ridl, author of Practicing to Walk Like a Heron (Wayne State University</div>
<div class="ContentPasted0">Press), co-recipient of ForeWord Review”s award for the year’s best collection of</div>
poetry<br>
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