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Rick Barot

From Catalog to Controversy: Review of泭Rick Barots泭The Galleons

Amie Whittemore

Cover of Rick Barots The Galleons

Reviewed:The Galleons泭by Rick Barot泭(Milkweed Editions, 2020)

The far points now near, more present than the present, Rick Barot writes in the opening poem (The Grasshopper and The Cricket) of泭The Galleons,泭his fourth collection, ushering readers into a richly peopled and textured collection guided by a truly curious and insightful mind: what do historys galleons deliver to us? And what do we make of these all too often problematic gifts?

There are ten galleons in Barots collection, each one a different ship, delivering its difficult, complex, sometimes harrowing, sometimes lovely, treasure. In The Galleons I, the speaker contemplates the intersection of the personal and the political explicitly:

泭 泭 泭 泭 泭 her story is a part of something larger, it is a part
泭 泭 泭 泭 泭 of history. No, her story is an illumination

泭 泭 泭 泭 泭 of history, a matchstick in the black seam of time.
泭 泭 泭 泭 泭 Or, no, her story is separate

泭 泭 泭 泭 泭 from the whole, as distinct as each person is distinct
泭 泭 泭 泭 泭 from the stream of people that led

泭 泭 泭 泭 泭 to the one and leads past the one. Or, her story
泭 泭 泭 泭 泭 is surrounded by history, the ambient spaciousness

Barots speaker goes on, rethinking and restructuring the human relationship to history through metaphor (later history is a net, then the galleon on which the she in this poem travels the Pacific). Through these transformations, Barot attempts completeness, attempts to contain the complexity that perpetually lies outside the full grasp of language.

As the speaker in The Flea confesses, Barot has a grudging faith // in the particular, and each poem rich in historical and contemporary detail. These poems are not so much poems of witness, but participation, always engaged with the thing at handa long lost galleon, a grandmothers handsand泭the background, the web of culture in which the thing is perpetually and complexly ensnared. Take, for instance, Still Life with Helicopters, which opens with the propagation of rudimentary helicopters across the world, children in China played with bamboo toys // whose propellers, thin and light as dragonfly / wings, were set on a sharpened stick and spun, before manufactured on a mass scale: there are as many / different kinds of helicopters now as there are // uses for them. Then the poem leaps from catalog to controversy as the speaker contemplates the helicopter looming over a protest in Oakland: protestors swarm onto / the 580 Freeway and shut it down, protesting // the grand jurys decision in Ferguson, Missouri. Barot then disrupts the description of the protest by returning his focus to whats near at hand: The police and the news helicopters are / what I hear as I sit at the desk, the desk and its // world of things: the black notebook, the pencils. 泭This mimetic disruption is powerful as it breaks the spell of the poem, the spell of writing the poem: we cannot get so lost in the sensuality of particular facts and figures without losing sight of the often oppressive systemic, abstract webs that contain them. Barots ability to shift focus swiftly in order to address the simultaneity of existence with such grace is part of the pleasure of reading this bookwe get to be everywhere, all at once, with him as our guide. 泭

One of the many things I love about this collection is that while it contemplates past and present traumas and inequities, Barot is also interested in the possibility of the souls enrichment through cultural transactions as well. In Virginia Woolfs Walking Stick, the speaker weeps on seeing the stick she used when walking to her death, recalls how her work reached him in college despite the differences that should have made the affinity // impossiblethe years between us, gender and class / and race. But there we were. This collection situates Barot as a champion of the human soul, for these poems confront the worst in us while still tapping into human gentleness, creativity, and verve. This balance is most aptly struck in the poems that feature his泭, who serves as a particular whose story limns a broader history. Perhaps most touching is The Galleons 5, in which the speaker interviews the grandmother in a series of couplets: the first line of each one being in the grandmothers voice, the second line in the grandsons. This duet succeeds in the task of creating a truly polyphonic poem without losing narrative clarity: what we know most deeply安e guard best, Barot writes.

Near the end of the collection, the speaker in Broke Mirror Against Tree Trunk laments: Longer than I can remember, I have prayed to the patron saint / of eyesight for a new way, a new accuracy. This is every poets prayer, and I think its been answered in Barots case. Each poem offers its insights, its particulars, its questions so wonderfully, I leave the book overwhelmed and renewed: the worlds muchness, which can so often feel unbearable, is also key to its splendor. To see even part of it with Barots acuity is a gift.

Amie Whittemore standing by a pond in the woods

泭is the author of the poetry collection泭Glass Harvest泭(Autumn House Press). Her poems have won multiple awards, including a Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Prize, and her poems and prose have appeared in泭The Gettysburg Review,泭Nashville Review,泭Smartish Pace,泭Pleiades, and elsewhere. She teaches English at Middle Tennessee State University.

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