HIS LAST HURRAH

Bois’ poetry collection follows writers’ creative processes.

The book begins with a meditation on the trials of putting words to paper—an endeavor that involves “mining the human heart, / not once but numerous times” (So Long As the Words Come Through”). A speaker tells of how they disregard their subpar writings, trusting that “a near future piece / will cancel out the last” (“And That’s That”). In a Charles Bukowski–esque piece titled “Not a Damn Thing,” the speaker proclaims, “So long as I’ve got a drink, / Ink, and a loose leaf, / Muses seduce me profusely”; in other poems, speakers note that they neither “reminisce nor rewind” (“Take a Seat”) and have “words / for all regrets” (“Frets”). Writer’s block is rare for another speaker: “Over time he’s learned to accept rejection, not strive for perfection, and trust in the process he projects his voice with.” As the book progresses, Bois paints a picture of a washed-up divorced man who fantasizes about “an eternal menage a trois” (“Maybe It’s This Way?”). Near the end, a speaker seems to reach a place of acceptance, declaring, “Know this, nothing lasts forever. Nothing” (“Nothing Lasts”). Over the course of the book, Bois experiments with poem length and format, making for a varied reading experience, and the speakers’ ongoing wrestling matches with their muses may be relatable to other writers. The poems offer up occasional insights, such as “We must bring our own gamble to this thing called life. Without gamble, we are nothing but wandering ghosts.” However, the book is so self-referential that readers may struggle to connect with the various speakers; a series of self-congratulatory poems, for instance, read like imagined review blurbs. Others awkwardly state the obvious: “Recently jilted lovers often want a quick fix to put an end to their loneliness.” The use of the third-person perspective throughout further distances the speakers from the reader.

A set of highfalutin but sometimes-engaging works.