Jason Heroux : Thumb-Wrestling With Noah Berlatsky’s Gnarly Sonnets

Gnarly Thumbs, Noah Berlatsky
Anxiety Press, 2025

 

 

 

1

Human thumbs. According to EarthDate episode 387, “our opposable thumbs may have made early human technology and sophisticated cultural practices possible.”  And yet, according to Oxford Languages, the term “all thumbs” means to “be clumsy or awkward in one’s actions.” So true. Many of the modern world’s most sophisticated cultural practices often feel clumsy and awkward in spirit.

 

2

The title of Noah Berlatsky’s poetry collection Gnarly Thumbs is lifted from the final line in the poem “You’ve Got To Stand For Something,” the penultimate poem in the book. “Ditch those rigid traits, and let the / gnarly thumbs / beat down the investors in the Danger Room of your / soul.” I asked a Magic 8 ball what the title signifies and it responded: “Ask again later.”

 

3

I asked Noah Berlatsky why he chose that title. “The book's to some extent an exercise in magpie collage and losing the connections between inundating gibberish, so it's maybe appropriate that those two words have flailed into twisted and stunted stumbling. Which is to say I can't remember!”

 

4

A sonnet is “a fixed poetic form with a structure traditionally consisting of fourteen lines adhering to a set rhyming scheme.” It traditionally has a volta, or “turn,” which signifies a shift or change in direction. Berlatsky’s sonnets are full of hairpin turns, the reader spun in circles. Rollercoaster poetry. Before going on this high-speed ride, please secure all loose items. You may also want something in your stomach to keep it settled.

 

5

My first impression of this book was one of confusion and wonder and, even now, with every re-reading my confusion and wonder continues to grow. I composed the following book blurb to celebrate the experience: “Have you ever entered a dark room and turned on the light and saw dozens of things scurry around in every direction? Our world is that room, this book is that light, and these poems are those things. Noah Berlatsky’s sonnets are quick, hungry, obscene, frightening, and alive. “Paint prosperity. Photograph the opposite. This is Art / Garfunkel on the bridge over heaven’s stentorian schmaltz.” You may feel shaken or disturbed along the way, but rest assured: you’re in good hands with Gnarly Thumbs.”

 

6

When thinking of Gnarly Thumbs I’m reminded of a section from Mark Yakich’s A Guide for the Perplexed. “A poem can feel like a locked safe in which the combination is hidden inside. In other words, it’s okay if you don’t understand a poem. Sometimes it takes dozens of readings to come to the slightest understanding. And sometimes understanding never comes. It’s the same with being alive: Wonder and confusion mostly prevail.”

 

7 

In the book’s acknowledgments Berlatsky thanked Clark Coolidge for giving him the “general idea.” I asked the Magic 8 ball if it could illuminate this general idea, and it stated: “My sources say no.” I asked Berlatsky the same question and he responded, “It's really just the idea of writing nonsense sonnets; I read his book 88 Sonnets and thought, "I could do that!" There are also a couple of direct lifts (I think he mentions borax for example, and I stole that for one title.)”

 

8

Then I asked Berlatsky what was the hardest part about writing Gnarly Thumbs? “The hardest part was actually after it was done and a press (not Anxiety) expressed interest. I was super excited since I hadn't thought anyone would print it, and the editor seemed enthusiastic. Then I got the proofs, and they had taken out words and lines without checking with me. Apparently he felt that the lines were too long (?!) and that readers would be confused (?!) so he basically rewrote them. In some cases, they weren't even sonnets anymore I objected and we went back and forth and eventually he killed the project because I wanted the poems the way I wanted them. It was very distressing and upsetting. But then Cody at Anxiety said he loved it just the way it was, and now it is in the world, and I am glad I refused to settle!”

 

9

Finally, I asked Magic 8 Ball what does Berlatsky hope readers will take away from this book? It responded, “Better not tell you now…”

  

10

 …. but then Berlatsky himself replied, “I hope people laugh? The book is about how I feel sometimes overwhelmed with jargon and earnest effusions and the way that we're all constantly bombarded with marketing copy and demands and word slurry. I find that alienating and enraging and also amusing and exhilarating and weird. So I hope people will share my experience of being bashed about by language and bashing back.”

 

 

 

 

Jason Heroux lives in Kingston, Ontario, and was the Poet Laureate for the City of Kingston from 2019 to 2022. His most recent publications include Like a Trophy from the Sun (Guernica Editions, 2024) and My Life as a Notebook (above/ground press, 2025).

 

Jason Heroux & Dag T. Straumsvåg: An Introduction to A Further Introduction to Bingo

 

 

 

 

 

This project started on January 2, 2021,with us imagining that it might be fun to write about the Orion Bingo Hall located near Dag’s residence in Trondheim, Norway. We took turns writing scenes inspired by the Bingo Hall (these scenes were prose poems, though we often called them “micro-chapters”). Essentially, one of us would write a segment, and send it by email to the other one of us, and the other one of us would then write the next segment and send through email, back and forth. One segment inspired the next, and certain threads would continue on, until the whole piece became a collaborative patchwork. After the first few segments were written, we noticed recurring characters began to appear (a mathematician, a cleaning lady, a mailwoman, the Bingo Hall itself) and the sequence took on a life of its own. We numbered each piece, dropped some segments, and shuffled a few pieces around, and along the way we incorporated the random energy of bingo into the manuscript, with its sense of chance and unpredictability. This “bingo energy” allowed us a great sense of freedom, where anything could happen at anytime. In January 2023 we learned that the Orion bingo hall was shutting down. With Orion now gone, we felt as if we had been commissioned to document its last few years from afar, an imaginary documentary of sorts, recording its magical presence in the world.

While engaged in this collaborative process, we each began composing our own prose poem manuscripts as well: Like a Trophy from the Sun (Jason Heroux, Guernica Editions, 2024) and The Mountains of Kong: New and Selected Prose Poems (Dag T. Straumsvåg, trans. Robert Hedin, Assembly Press, April 2025). Writing these three manuscripts simultaneously was a wonderful and inspiring experience, allowing us to witness how the separate projects intertwined together. It often felt like we were working in a farm with three fields, growing different crops under the same conditions, and as the creative winds blew a certain way the seeds from one lot drifted into the soil of another, cross-pollinating. This abundant interaction brought new perspectives and a deeper understanding to all three books, and we see them happily related together in spirit.

 

 

 

 

Jason Heroux lives in Kingston. His recent publications include a chapbook Blizzard of None (Puddles of Sky Press) and the collection of prose poems Like a Trophy from the Sun (Guernica Editions). He was the Poet Laureate for the City of Kingston from 2019 to 2022.

 

Dag T. Straumsvåg lives in Trondheim, Norway, and is the author and translator of ten books of poetry, including Nelson (Proper Tales Press, 2017), But in the Stillness (Apt. 9 Press, 2024), and The Mountains of Kong: New & Selected Prose Poems (Assembly Press, 2025). He runs the small press A + D with his girlfriend, the artist and graphic designer Angella Kassube. His work has appeared in a wide variety of journals in Norway, Canada, and the United States.

Jason Heroux and Dag T. Straumsvåg : from A Further Introduction to Bingo

 

 

 

10

The Bingo Hall lies awake under the stars, listening to Radio Finland. The voice of the night host, deep and clear through the ether, speaks slowly in a language the Bingo Hall doesn’t understand. He likes to not understand. It’s a relief. The voice fades through the winter dark, swirls, overlapping with a melancholic tango where space opens behind space, and the Bingo Hall dreams of swimming naked in Lake Inari under the northern lights. The only Finnish word he knows is “Juoksentelisinkohan?” which means “I wonder if I should run around aimlessly?”

 

30

The telephone rang at two in the morning. I stared at the phone, half-asleep, wondering what to do. It needed help but I wasn't sure how to assist. The phone rang again, and I realized the only way I could help the phone was to answer it. I picked it up, said hello. "Sorry to bother you,” the Bingo Hall said, “but could you do me a favour? I’m afraid of spiders, and there's one in the hallway. I feel it crawling through me. Can you come over and get rid of it? I'll shine a light so you can spot it." I hung up the phone, slipped on my boots and jacket, and stepped outside. I walked across my yard and reached the Bingo Hall. The automatic doors opened as I approached. A single light glowed in the hallway, shining against a wall. I studied the illuminated wall and saw a spider crawling across it. I carefully picked up the spider and placed it gently inside my pocket.

 

33

During the warm months when people keep their windows open, one can hear the bingo caller all over the block and beyond, and someone, leaning out of a window or walking by in the street, will always merrily yell “Bingo!” and then giggle and smile. Old and young alike. It feels good to yell “Bingo!” in a light voice. One Sunday in June, walking past the cathedral during service, I could hear every word spoken inside through the open doors, every psalm number called sounding like a bingo number, the music floating beautifully through the air, but no one is filling their sheets.

 

75

One of the many things the mailwoman loved about her job was that she never knew day-to-day what she’d find in her mailbag. Sometimes it was a sack of fish, addressed to the sea. Other times she carried tiny envelopes of raindrops, sent from a cloud to a puddle. Yesterday her bag was empty, nothing in it, but the mailwoman still went door to door, delivering the emptiness, the nothingness. Today she delivered a handful of snipped hair to a barbershop floor. “Thank you. It’s my mother’s hair. I miss her so much,” the barber said, sweeping the strands into a pile.

 

50

The number four dreamt it was back home in the Country of Four, where things were simpler. There were only four days a week, four weeks a year. It remembered eating four meals a day. Those were good times. But there were dark moments too. When its parents died it buried four coffins. The number four woke from the dream, confused, unsure where it was. But when the clock struck nine and didn’t chime four times it knew it was still in Trondheim.

 

72

The Bingo Hall sits by the window in a night open café, looking out at the harbour. A westerly gale slams the herring boats together. The wind surges through the streets. A lighted kitchen window floats in a rain puddle on the asphalt. Inside, a man is having kippers and potatoes. When his coffee arrives, the Bingo Hall knocks over the cup and spills coffee all over the floor. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “Don’t worry about it,” the waitress says, “it’s OK. I’ll get it cleaned up in a whiff.” “I’m so sorry,” the Bingo Hall says again, “I was just gonna... and then...” “It’s OK, really, it happens all the time,” the waitress says, walking off to fetch a cleaning cloth. “You’re a mess,” the Bingo Hall’s lungs wheeze at him. “We just want to be left alone,” his hands say. When the waitress returns, she says, “I don’t mean to pry, but aren’t you the Before-Man in that beauty product commercial that was all over TV a couple years ago?” “That was him alright,” his heart says, “and what’s more, he was perfect for the part.” “That’s what I thought, too,” the waitress says. Then she smiles, gives his hand a quick squeeze.

 

 

 

 

 

Jason Heroux lives in Kingston. His recent publications include a chapbook Blizzard of None (Puddles of Sky Press) and the collection of prose poems Like a Trophy from the Sun (Guernica Editions). He was the Poet Laureate for the City of Kingston from 2019 to 2022.

 

 

 

 

Dag T. Straumsvåg (b. 1964 in Norway) has been employed as a farmhand, sawmill worker, librarian, and sound engineer for a radio station in Trondheim, where he has lived since 1984. He is the author and translator of ten books of poetry, including A Bumpy Ride to the Slaughterhouse (2006), The Lure-Maker from Posio (2011), both from Red Dragonfly Press, Nelson (Proper Tales Press, 2017), Eleven Elleve Alive, with Stuart Ross and Hugh Thomas (shreeking violet press, 2018), and But in the Stillness (Apt. 9, 2024). He runs the small press A + D together with his girlfriend Angella Kassube. His work has appeared in a wide variety of journals in Norway, Canada, and the United States.