Sequelae

David Rice delivers a climate-centric anthology of original pieces of poetry in his book, Sequelae. The compilation combines both prose and poetry verses which, for clarity, are not the same thing, and breathes life into the messaging. The book states that the formatting is inspired by tanka, the ancient art of Japanese syllabic poetry, but forgoes the hallmark thirty-one syllable structure of 5/7/5/7/7. The poems are instead a blend of the punchy characteristic five-line construction of tanka and the immunity of syllabic structure found in free-form poetry. Between poems, Rice provides narrative prose that expands the theme and provides more clarity than can be given in five lines. There is also visual art interspersed that has been created by Tex Buss.
As a woman who comes from an Asian family, my affinity for Asian poetry forms is probably greater than that of most more casual readers of poetry. I'm deeply familiar with tanka and the style it gave birth to that is more widely recognized; the haiku. Naturally, I picked up Sequelae by David Rice as soon as I saw it. It's not entirely what I was expecting or accustomed to but it is still incredibly good. The verses are beautifully and powerfully constructed, the narrative prose genuinely solidifies the message, and the artwork by Tex Buss pulls it all together wonderfully. My favorite poem in the book is Pre-TSD, which describes the devastation of climate-created fires that will inevitably come. I was born and raised in California and have witnessed firsthand the destruction of giant Redwoods that were born before the first European settlers landed in the Americas, and the trees that line the drive to Lake Tahoe being nothing more than charred skeletons of what they once were. Rice's words touched me in a profoundly painful way but being moved by poetry is the entire point of crafting it. Very highly recommended. Reviewed by Jamie Michele for Readers’ Favorite

Part One: Just Human?

Not Too Big To Fail

Ninety-six percent of the historic redwoods logged. Monetized. We now see that as excessive. Should we have stopped at four percent? Fifty percent? Will we mine ninety-six percent of the coal, oil, and natural gas and then create national parks to protect the rest?

no-moon-no-lights night sky
my granddaughter says
we're so small
here on earth
we're giants

Part Two: Eco-Grief

Lifeline or Thin Thread

We invaded--land, sea, air--and the earth couldn't defend itself. Will we keep pillaging until nothing we want is left? It's hard to accept that we could have tried harder and didn't.

Children are too young to grieve the end of the earth they never got to know.

micro-plastic particles
in deep ocean sediment
my granddaughter says
Mom said mushrooms
can eat plastic

Part Three: Attention, Please

Fixer-Upper

a raven hides
the rest of the gull chick
in the ice  plant cliff
we're the predators who prey
on our own children's future

But if we could accept that our disruptive desires aren't obligatory . . .

first rains green the hills
a flock lands and feeds
our makeover
of the earth
doesn't have to be permanent

And if we could watch the campfire, pulsating red-orange as the wood gives up its centuries for our warmth, and see it as a gift . . .

a returning swallow
perches
on a chartreuse-mossed oak
this could be my home
if I widened my gaze
 

Part Four: Aah, Green

Long View/Short View

bay-oak woodland
trying to see
all the shades of green
time slows down
--- we're born for this, too

So many casualties in our three-hundred-year assault on the earth. Hard to be compassionate about what we've done and are still doing, but one day our planted-sapling peace offerings might shade more than an armistice.

juncos feeding
I veer off  the trail
so they won't fly
research shows helping others
helps us, too