Oh, how I love the sharp quirk of John Reinhart’s poetry. I used to drink vodka and Tang, and that’s what his work reminds me of. Sharp, playful and it can rearrange your insides. His latest offering, “dig it” has not disappointed.
While this volume is distinctly Reinhart, it doesn’t have the same feel of his other work I’ve read. From the cover to the words within, “dig it” has a sort of bleak, rhythmic funk to it. In his poem sorting it all out I can imagine the entire event taking place in a psychedelic shadow version of New Orleans.
Each poem stands on its own feet as a singular creation. From page to page the patterns, tone and style changes. At the end I wondered if I’d read the work of one man with many voices or many voices trying to speak for one man.
Regardless of how many voices Reinhart has, I enjoy them all. The last poem of the book is ping and it requires response. If “dig it” is a rock, tossed into the creative cosmos, I care. These are good words. Find “dig it” by John Reinhart on Amazon here.
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