96. PF Potvin, The Attention Lesson (No Tell Books, 2006)

Here's a collection of prose poems from fellow Michigander P.F. Potvin -- brief, startling glimpses into a world that's ours, but with bendier rules and a mirror-ripple distortion around the edges.

(It also has a sweet cover design by Maureen Thorson. And while you're on that link, read the title poem, one of my favorites here.)

Since these are prose poems, often of the somewhat surreal or comically askew variety, my first thought naturally was of James Tate -- except it turns out these poems aren't very Tate-like.

Potvin's prose poems are much more economical, number-of-words-wise, for one thing. More poem-like. Also they're less anecdotal; they tell stories, but they're doing more than that. For instance -- and this is what's most important to me -- there's art here at the level of the word and phrase that I admire. Here are a few choice bits (each from a different poem):

And every time she shakes her first the sun dies out as drizzle slants like lightning on the dancing people.

While forking pork from the hissing fry, grandmother told us about the sea.

Sometimes I'd even kick out a cry, but wake and find the bedroom silently feigning.

She grew up on agriculture and her eyes were full of farms.

By the sweaty scruff he grabbed and picked and pitched the pig from the bed of the moving truck.

You can read a handful of poems from the book -- in their entirety -- on the author's site.