Jefferson Carter
dedicated minor poet
A glowing review of my new collection in today's Arizona Daily Star, southern Arizona's major newspaper! Thank you, Christine Wald-Hopkins!
Birkenstock Blues by Jefferson Carter.
Presa Press. $8.
“… [M]y life partner / (the woman formerly known as my wife).” The “flexible, adroit” soft palate. The naked, wide-legged forward yoga bend: These are all stuff of Tucson poet Jefferson Carter’s latest (11th) poetry collection. Quirky, irreverent, often poignant, these poems deal with domestic life, aging, politics, love, the environment, cats, swearing off writing about cats, and more cats…. “Whatever catches my fancy, I write about,” Carter says. The poetry of the retired Pima College writing department Head is eminently accessible. Starting with that “whatever” that caught his fancy, his poems morph into a universal, an observation, a declaration. Praise of the soft palate, for example, morphs to neighbors “Mr. & Mrs. / MAGA & their septic / yard signs….” But it’s the practical, unromanticized love poems that touch you: “When I shift her head / because she’s snoring,” he writes about his wife, “it’s heavy / as a kettlebell…” morphs to “Who knows what a soul / weighs? I know love weighs a ton.”
Birkenstock Blues by Jefferson Carter.
Presa Press. $8.
“… [M]y life partner / (the woman formerly known as my wife).” The “flexible, adroit” soft palate. The naked, wide-legged forward yoga bend: These are all stuff of Tucson poet Jefferson Carter’s latest (11th) poetry collection. Quirky, irreverent, often poignant, these poems deal with domestic life, aging, politics, love, the environment, cats, swearing off writing about cats, and more cats…. “Whatever catches my fancy, I write about,” Carter says. The poetry of the retired Pima College writing department Head is eminently accessible. Starting with that “whatever” that caught his fancy, his poems morph into a universal, an observation, a declaration. Praise of the soft palate, for example, morphs to neighbors “Mr. & Mrs. / MAGA & their septic / yard signs….” But it’s the practical, unromanticized love poems that touch you: “When I shift her head / because she’s snoring,” he writes about his wife, “it’s heavy / as a kettlebell…” morphs to “Who knows what a soul / weighs? I know love weighs a ton.”