Striking a note of honesty from the beginning in the poem
“Oncoming,” the author says how poetic composition mixed with physical exercise
might fence off mortality. Do fences make good neighbors? Life against
death can be a fencing match, no? Or do we trade life in for something else in
the end? Indeed, the collection contains no raging against the eventual dying
of the light but a calm acceptance (mostly) of the waves moving in, receding a
bit, and then advancing some more. So, what is it like to be old, a reader
might ask, as a younger version of the poet did many years ago. Now he knows
that while the body aches and the lights flash on and off, he’s still alive.
Some don’t even ask, the poet notes, what it’s like to be old, distancing
themselves from the inevitable. In an easy, colloquial tone and rhythm, the
poet circles around a universal subject, musing, talking, and exhibiting the
untold facts about aging. The speaker and reader have fun with words that move
lightly on the page, at times seeming to emerge.
Old people can become a series of cliches, as in “Album of
the Aged,” but there’s always more truth to a whole life. For instance, the
poet does not see heroism in old age. One can try, but it’s strained, fake,
even pretentious. Rather, in “The Heroic,” he says “skip the tragic thrill.”
It’s like this, really, from a partial line in “Two Oldies Chilling”: “still
passing” – i.e., silent and unmoving but yet going toward and away from
something… Perspectives of aging and of the aged from multiple angles abound in
the collection.
With subtle references to major poets (e.g., Yeats), the
speaker is versatile and makes a poem about a rainy-day retirement meeting at a
café enlightening and brisk. Is it true there’s nothing new when you reach a
certain age? Are old people disgruntled? Are they all tattered clothes on
sticks? For this speaker, no, evident in the fun he has writing verse so lithe
and winsome the reader can’t help (at times) but smile. Some days are better
than others, admittedly. Or, as the poet writes, the farmer prays for rain.
There’s humor in many lines of numerous poems toggled with seriousness and
self-effacement, or as the speaker says (in “Keeping Up, Keeping Up, Keeping
Up”) “…I’ve got a poetry / Machine…” that just won’t stop. The aging mind and
body are revealed, as is the old person in the family or society: who thinks
what of whom – and why? Somethings, like memories and feelings, are lost, but
“Who forgot to turn desire off?” (“Dirty Old Men”). This poetry is like a
mirror up to human nature, for sure.
Lines vary in length, pace, and intensity. Some lines glide
like a song lyric, others like a nursery rhyme, and others like a meditation.
The collection is a delectable buffet of poems relating lives well lived,
dreamy consciousness of what has passed and what’s yet to come. The writing is
at times fearless. Then sad. Then joyful. Always reflective. The images and
metaphors don’t strain painfully but open themselves naturally, like the leaves
on a tree. For example, they young body was casually adorned in a “steel vest”
that in old age is pierced by “Pains and threats” (“Growing Mortal”). One
worries about alarm signals the body sends – a pain here, a flutter there –
reminding one not to postpone plans, not lose balance, and not relinquish the
fight.
As the title of one poem suggests, being human and
especially getting old is “a work in progress” filled with all kinds of
“tests.” There are glimpses of others and stories of different people, all
“mortal stuff” that moves steadily in verse sometimes sharp, or soft, but
always emotionally genuine and physically real. These are not metaphysical
words or images but the work of an authentic poet with keen senses: observing,
watching, touching, and listening. There’s also, as the poet acknowledges, the
discerning inner eye. That’s what we like: it’s not all mushy navel gazing.
Many lines, though, rise up to provoke a thoughtful pause, like this one from
“Waste” coming to grips with age from a youthful perspective: “The fine
degradation of their loss…” There’s a fight against time, to be in time, enjoy
time, and not waste time. To hold, at least temporarily, “the precious stone of
life” in the warmth of one’s hand (“Slipping Away”).
The old don’t necessarily feel morose, says the speaker, but
jump with joy when they feel well and see a future (“A Sudden Jumping Joy”) –
like eating ice cream. Don’t despair, resist somewhat. Youth and age are
similar aspects of the same face, readers discover, with days both good and
bad. What’s the logic of life? Try to be happy with what you have. Then, build
and renew as you can with the “nourishing grain” (“Longevity II”) even though
there is, certainly, a tragic sense to life.
- Reviewed by Gregory F. Tague, Ph.D.
Copyright©2026 by Gregory F. Tague. All Rights Reserved.
