Let's look at P.J. Gallo, specifically his chapbook Geirfuglasker. I especially love the middle of his poems, they're incredible.
He's got imagery that the Imagists would approve, and it's perfectly evocative, like in his "Étude Geirfuglasker" here, which I will excerpt from. For a second I thought I was back on the sea.
... | In a bright
valley, we are lost at sea,
lost in a simple blue fog |
[...]
a dark speck for a boat. Though
a simple blue fog settles
down into the sea's many
valleys. The lost at sea find
land by sailing until they
find land. The lost at sea's
bluish hull, nucleus of
a watery wreath
His poem "Monk Parakeets in Several Trees Outside a City of Millions" has a similarly amazing middle, one that made me consider booking a plane ticket after. The excellent combination of all the disparate elements is perfect. There's such a sense of place, of atmosphere. You also almost get the feeling of just driving through this place, this too wild piece of nature. The excerpt reads:
.... summoned after a
history of hungry nights |
Just then, a monkbird dips her
beak against a leaf, sipping
sidelong away from thirst |
Florida's littoral limit,
Florida's beautiful limit
becomes the limit of my
curiosity's weaving [...]
the rear seat of the realist's |
My glance across wet velvet
water ends against a buoy
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