Species

Wielding the prose poem as if no other vehicle for wit and plotless story-telling could possibly suffice, Friedman serves up sixty-eight rectilinear versions of soulful stasis (Beckett as upwardly mobile consumer, for example) that begin with figures on a stage and end with the possibility of verbal essences ""bubbling up"" to a ""small sky."" The exclusive use of one-word titles suggests major thematic or definitional content that Friedman consistently winks at while evading, as in ""Identity"" (""That's it, we're out of here.""), and ""Easter"" (""Voice from a passing cloud: hold on to your day job.""). Friedman, editor of the influential Denver-based journal Shiny, is adept enough with the form to create a near-cinematic dynamic of quick cuts and turns that keep the reader on constant alert for shifting subjects and wise-guy humor: ""I saw your documents and they took my breath away."" While largely providing an engaging and at times extremely funny read, Friedman occasionally enters a comfort zone with the form that lends itself to banality (""Let's say you know each other but don't really know each other""), raising the possibility that prose poems alone will be unable, over time, to adequately serve or stretch his talent. Nevertheless, Friedman's knack for deadpan drama, and his insistent, subtly jarring tone of amused isolation (""I never think about my dark side, the idea of it is too silly. What is unfathomable in all of us?"") should earn this fifth book a wide audience. (Feb.)