For Now

May 1, 2020

In his ninth collection, National Book Award finalist Richardson (By the Numbers) focuses our attention on the overlooked minutiae of everyday life--flies, hummingbirds, beetles, the palm of the hand--and sees in their imagined inner lives correlatives to our own, discerning the invisible connective tissue among all things, as when he tells a humble paper clip "You must, since everything/ is like everything, also be like me." His personifications can ring startlingly true. Houseflies rise from surfaces "as if they'd suddenly remembered," and our palms "are faces/ with their eyes closed." Richardson's voice is modest, contemplative, and entranced with the subject at hand while at the same time conscious of the larger social climate ("I've searched/ the papers, but the things/ these days that pass unsaid/ are world-size"). Less engaging are his fragmentary pieces, aphorisms, and "ten-second essays." While some aspire to the spare resonance of classic Asian poetry ("On your long/ gray hair, snow lasts/ a little longer") others risk triviality ("Winter sunset --/ I put down groceries / to unlock the door"). VERDICT In an anxious time, readers will find welcome consolation in Richardson's poise and empathic relationship with the things of this small world.--Fred Muratori, Cornell Univ. Lib., Ithaca, NY

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