Something about this book feels right. There’s an eloquence and a balance, an even voice that talks to you directly, close to your ear. The language is simple, the syntax too. There are no wild metaphors, no Babstockian hyper drive flurries of meaning. W.C. Williams comes to mind, but Blouin is less cerebral.

Take this 9 line poem as an example of Blouin’s technique:

forgiveness

I ask
each morning
like clockwork
as the saying goes
like the steady cold turning
of the earth
with a soft slow predictability
again
and again.

Each line manages to undermine the previous. The major weakness of this piece is Blouin’s use of a cliché three lines into the poem. However, there is no attempt to bury it, or disguise it, pretend it’s not a cliché; it works because the following line undermines it with another self aware cliché, “as the saying goes,” slowing the pace, following with an anticipatory “like the steady cold turning…” (of what?) which is unexpected as the remaining lines are. Everything this poem is actually about is left unsaid, which explains its impact. The tension resides in us wondering what he’s done. And then by extension and reflection, what we have done. This is how Blouin winds in the reader: it’s very easy for readers to see themselves reflected here because Blouin leaves so many of his own specifics out.

“The day we tore the fence down” shows Blouin unravelling the complexities of an average day. A two page descriptive poem that amounts to more than the sum of its parts. “We carried the long bleached logs / one by one down the rutted lane / the dog jumping and turning like a salmon.” With brief allusions to the marital strife of others, as well as a happier moment with his own partner, the poem ends: “a day like this/and not letting go.” Blouin uses summary endings repeatedly, but here it works because the line alludes to the previous lines without referring to anything too specific, leaving the meaning open. It’s easy to jump on the line “not letting go” as a cliché (again) but Blouin gets away with it by being aware of it. It’s not easy to create this balance, and requires skilled a lightness of touch, and it’s easy to overdo. It’s also tempting for a poet to bring his or herself to the forefront, and say, “hey reader, look how clever I am with all these subtle references and allusions.” Occasionally, unfortunately, he does do just that. But the reader tends to forgive him because of what he achieves elsewhere, how he manages to catch those little mental moments that are difficult to record.

Sometimes his understatement doesn’t work, is a bit too obvious. Such “a sad poem” where he describes a perfect day then ends: “but… it wasn’t anything like that.” Blouin’s technique of keeping the action outside the poem is present, but in this case the exchange of action for understatement is so obvious it’s hardly worth it.

Though his tendency for clichés sometimes gets the better of him, Blouin’s book overall is a success. It is poetry that makes you feel something about your own life, which is accomplished through understatement. In “I drive this truck” Blouin practically outlines his technique: “I could work around hiding the thing for you/but it’s right there. / Draw your own conclusions.” ( )