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Hu Xiaolei picseason — Thoughts and ramblings and fantasies: the World of MIchael Paul Michael Paul may not be a household word in American poetry - yet - but with this publication DOG WHISTLE POLITICS we'd best become aware of him. Searching for information about the poet revealed a statement he made regarding the state of American poetry: 'Twelve years ago this writer stumbled into the wonderful world of poetry by a kind of happy accident. There was, at that time, a sense of anticipation in the poetic community, a feeling the art was about to undergo a renaissance which would take it from the fringes of American culture into a more central space, with larger, more appreciative audiences, and a much bigger readership. The spoken word scene was one of the principal reasons for that anticipation. Slam, with its origins in The Green Mill saloon in Chicago, with non-poet audiences judging original works and scoring them Olympic-style, and slam's viral spread from a local phenomenon into an international one, gave impetus to the notion that poetry would finally take its rightful place in the forefront of the arts.' The poet goes on to say that though no major renaissance has blossomed, the world seems ready for viewing poetry in a different more cogent way. And that is the way Michael Paul writes. He manages to find touchstones familiar to his audience and then transform them into something entirely unexpected. The title for the book is well chosen: 'Dog-whistle politics is a term for a type of political campaigning or speechmaking which employs coded language that appears to mean one thing to the general population but has a different or more specific meaning for a targeted subgroup of the audience'. And with that concept in mind Paul takes us off an a flight aboard a mongoose's back (imagine Paul's mongoose with wings) and lets us see the word as he finds it - a world full of contradictions, double entendre, tongue in cheek parodies and, simply, different says of viewing what our egos tell us we already understand - but don't! SARGASSO I was asked to write a treatise on horizons./ Call this research:/ watching Lost Horizon,/ listening to Vertical Horizon,/ reading Split Horizon,/ and spending time in the doldrums./ Sufficient time for all the cells in my boy to renew./ I was asked by a person in my own employ,/ whose job was to torture me, to submit/ a baedeker to the meetings/ of ocean and sky./ When I could no longer hold water, and my thoughts/ had become thin as clouds, this attempt:/ For seven years the vessel barely rocked./ No problem with the engine,/ she was simply under the direction of a captain/ with no sense of direction, Small comfort/ for the passengers, who kept looking at their watches./ There were births, marriages, funerals; generations/ coming in and passing away. Isolated in the slow rhythm/ of the sun describing arcs/ above a concrete sea./ Truth be told - there was no voyage./ Truth be told - there was no vessel./ Only a land-locked trope. Truth:/ I was both the ship and the clueless captain./ But the person paid to torture me was very real./ My report:/ Horizons are illusory./ The meeting of the oceans and the skies/ only occurs during rain, drops falling/ like letters on a page./ Cal me captain. Come board. And in Michael Paul's dallying with fantasies or novel worlds or just juggling the English language into a game of his own, he also deals with heady emotions: SMOKE AND MIRRORS The cigarettes weep, alone in the dark on a narrow bed. After twenty-four years they are finally divorced. All they want all they can think about, is the way it used to be How you would turn to them to be the punctuation for all the finished moments of your days. Interrogative. Exclamation point. Period. How you gave them your lips, your caresses, as they burned and filled you, taking your shape. Michael Paul. Unusual poems, unusual style, unusual talent. Nice to meet you at last! Grady Harp

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