Synopsis "Billboards in the Wasteland (in English)"
"In Jacob Johanson's latest book of poetry, Billboards in the Wasteland, two strong poems reach out from the middle of the book that illuminate Jacob's reckoning with the legacies of two late masters he admires, Kell Robertson and Lew Welch. Sure, they're formidable presences but their influence has never overwhelmed Jacob's journey as a poet. His tributes to them are substantial and passionate. Jacob writes from the burial grounds of the Shawnee, the Kansa, the Osage. In one short powerful poem, a haiku almost, Jacob imagines the Lakota admitting the violated spirit of Tamir Rice to their circle. In another poem, he "saw an oncoming storm/divide the desert/into before and after/just to learn/the importance of now." There are long drives across an insensate America he assures us with vibrant, plain-spoken language, that its wrecked and beautiful mythology is still intact, that wastelands are in the eye of the beholder." -John Macker, author of The Blues Drink Your Dreams Away, Selected Poems 1983-2018 and Atlas of Wolves."There's something in the waters of the Kansas / Missouri borders these days, and Jacob Johanson is drinking freely of it, which is to our benefit. He is the man of early middle age, realizing regrets, well entrenched in daily routine, with lots of time ahead to contemplate. His poems can be read as, "...old constellations on old stars," familiar territory explored with new eyes. There are the women, just out of understanding, to tango with in minefields. There are the Shawnee sages, as well as an exchange with our friend the Moon, no sage at all in these pages. Johanson, writing in, "... an era of forgotten atrocities," expresses the fears, hopes, and memories of those often without a voice. In Billboards, the signs are there for all to see, and to find a kindred spirit."-Cheryl A. Rice, author of Love's Compass"Jacob Johanson's poems are tiny billboards illuminating the consciousness of Americans in the early 21st Century with quick hit, short lined, revelatory poems full of humor, hope and horror. His poems unite the rational and the surreal. A man finds god on a small square of paper that melts on the tongue another is moved to write by an angel thankful there's enough change on the dashboard to make it home. Reading Jacobson I find myself angry and laughing sometimes simultaneously. For example, open this book to page 27 and read Blowing Out Headspace, Move Along. Despite the craziness of our culture, he ends the poem with these tender lines: "close your eyes/and you can feel/I promise/ individual blades of grass/pushing between your toes." That's soul brothers and sisters. That's soul."-John Knoll, Black Mesa Blues (Spartan Press, 2020)
