It Shouldn’t Have Been Beautiful

In this striking display of minimalist form and content, Purpura (King Baby) employs small and quiet moments to construct a philosophy that embraces the natural world as well as the ambiguities of language and meaning. This minimalism is evident in repeated expressions of antimaterialism and calls for a simplification of life, as in “Natural Disaster,” which sees the poet offer the optimistic notion that “Maybe being closer/ to nothing/ makes stuff/ not matter so much.” Other poems, such as “Devices,” long for a mythic past in which people relied on the outer and inner worlds for enrichment. Purpura’s mystical wonder produces astutely articulated observations, as in “Loud Walk in Fall”: “There is something else/ noise hurts./ Not just me./ Flinching abounds/ in the open air.” The poet’s continual insistence on duality or even multiplicity of interpretation can be seen in “Storm Targets Midwest,” a headline appearing in a poem that becomes a meditation on volition, as if “the sky chose/ them and not us,” punctuated with the declaration “That’s one way to ride/ the day’s events/ into meaning.” With an eye for detail and a reverential approach to nature providing plenty of stunning imagery, Purpura deftly distills existential issues to their essence and prompts readers to engage in their own contemplations of her themes. [em](Oct.) [/em]