Hum
May’s first book of poems delves deeply, employs clever wordplay, and digs into the resonant hollow of empty space—a play on white noise that gets to the center of a universal rhythm: “or it could just as easily be a shaft of wood crumpling a man struck between spaulder and helm. / But now, with the rain making a noisy erasure / of this town, it is the flash that arrives / and leaves at nearly the same moment.” Mostly told in free verse, Hum takes on big themes: the destruction of the body and an exploration of love and forgiveness, power and fear, drugs and death. May is a storyteller, and his imagery is often easily decipherable. What’s more, he pays attention to sound: “Yes, the needle / of Mother’s scream, as the thumb was machined / clean off, brought icicles down. The boy listened for the sea. / Gripped his shovel. Gripped his oar. Now, in a waiting / room, he bows to the florescent hum and begs.” A gripping first collection. --Mark Eleveld