Jack Galmitz, Yellow Light, Yet To Be Named Free Press, 2013, PDF edition, 66 pages.
Yellow Light is a stunning collection of short verse tackling the subject of mental illness. Galmitz cleverly leads the reader down a seldom-trodden path, and like a tour guide of the mind, points out the landmarks of a troubled psyche. His use of rich imagery draws the reader in but in no way disturbs or upsets, he simply tells us a story, one that is often overlooked, forgotten and avoided.
.... And there’s Yellow Light, a book of micro-poems (some might say haiku; blurring the lines). A useful work for inspiration, regarding mutability. Each one-line poem is centered on its page, perfectly encapsulated—though the poems bleed through each other, via idea, image, structure, image. Just below, five serial pages are presented (with apologies to the author):
under the moon we were married by the moon’s rules
on the staff the notes are birds
grandfather walked through the tides
crumpled paper music
the minah bird squawks “same to you, pal”
Some of the poem(s) has/have appeared as haiku in the Roadrunner Haiku Journal:
under the pillow lute strings slit by the minstrel
descendent of a star that co-existing
Jack utilizes strong forms of disjunction (cognitive derangement, discompletion), incidentally challenging the haiku form, or simply presenting innovative ideas in brief poetry. Yellow Light also includes two short (single, long) paragraph prose pieces, and visual-poem selections. The genre-bending fluidity of formal structures is also tightly organized, hinting at narrative threads. But thoughts reach out merely to brush virtual worlds, whether alarmingly or disarmingly. Left to themselves: each is a page yet to be named. In the volume’s introduction Brendan Slater comments, “Looking at the world in a way that the mentally healthy may often find difficult”; those involved in “H21” haiku (the new “21st century” styles) should have little problem with the disjunctive modes Jack plies. Topics concern moments of noticing: moments of precisely-honed attention. Some lines so brief (temporally, formally) they seem to flit through the peripheral corners of sight.
--- excepted from "Jack Galmitz -- Experiments in Languaged Obliquity" by Richard Gilbert