Paranormal Libido

Jack Bowman’s poetry resides in the unmapped spaces between the sudden silence that wakes you up in the night and the primal fear of a foreign airport when your passport is returned unstamped and you are denied permission to board. His work creates a smoke-filled cinema of the mind, where anything is possible and nothing is for free.



To open a volume of Jack’s poetry is to pass through the airlock from your comfortable world into his. Jack careens through his own existential landscape with the gas pedal to the floor and one wheel over the double yellow line between psychosis and genius. His verses pull us from moonlight to candlelight to the harsh glare of cheap fluorescent tubes, in that galvanizing split-second of premonition just before every lamp goes dark, and every circuit breaker trips. - Mark Dixon