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Broken Symmetry
Broken Symmetry is a collection drawn from the experiences of daily life and organized through the context of mathematics. Poet Jack Ridl uses remarkably clear and precise language to express a singular awareness of the world around us. Some of the poems in this volume deal with the universal human experience of loss, others discover a fresh perspective on what is easily overlooked, and many seek the goodness and joy that remain in a challenging world. Poems are grouped into chapters by mathematical themes, suggesting a commonality in these two separate worlds that is often overlooked. The straightforward language and universal subject matter make Broken Symmetry a profound collection of poetry that will appeal to readers of all backgrounds.
- GenresPoetry
136 pages, Paperback
First published March 21, 2006
34 people want to read
About the author
Jack Ridl
41 books20 followersJack Ridl born on April the 10th of 1944, is an American poet, and was a professor of English at Hope College,
Ridl's father, Charles "Buzz" Ridl, coached basketball at Westminster College, Pennsylvania and the University of Pittsburgh. Ridl graduated from Westminster College, Pennsylvania with a BA and M.Ed., in 1970. He lives in Laketown Township, Michigan, with his wife, Julie.
His work has appeared in LIT, The Georgia Review, FIELD, Poetry, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, Gulf Coast, The Denver Quarterly, Chelsea, Free Lunch, The Journal, Passages North, Dunes Review, and Poetry East. Hope College has named its Visiting Writers Series for him.
Ridl's father, Charles "Buzz" Ridl, coached basketball at Westminster College, Pennsylvania and the University of Pittsburgh. Ridl graduated from Westminster College, Pennsylvania with a BA and M.Ed., in 1970. He lives in Laketown Township, Michigan, with his wife, Julie.
His work has appeared in LIT, The Georgia Review, FIELD, Poetry, Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, Gulf Coast, The Denver Quarterly, Chelsea, Free Lunch, The Journal, Passages North, Dunes Review, and Poetry East. Hope College has named its Visiting Writers Series for him.
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Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews
August 29, 2016
I picked a copy of this collection up at the library in Holland, wanting to read some local Michigan poetry while on vacation downstate. Jack's first two poems, "Broken Symmetry, the title piece, and "The History of Pencils" are absolutely stunning and set high expectations for the rest of the collection-- expectations that were not quite met. Jack's contemplative poems seamlessly flowed together and touched on themes of family, simplicity versus complexity, and the interconnectedness of everything, the but after reading them consecutively, they blended together, and upon ruminating over them in retrospect, only a few seemed to stand out in my memory. I found it almost ironic that he had included a poem about last lines, since I felt that his end lines delivered little impact and made many of the poems feel a bit incomplete. Including the first two poems, "Toys in the Attic," and "The Materialism of Angels," were my favorites. Still a beautiful and fluid collection worth taking a look at.
July 31, 2007
a poet for anyone who says 'I love poetry' and for anyone who says 'I don't get poetry'...
February 27, 2008
Michigan poet Jack Ridl has created a wonder of a book. If, as they say, God is in the details, the selections in broken symmetry glisten with the divine. Every small item – and Jack chronicles lots of them in his poems: collections of salt and pepper shakers, Vs of geese, broken windows, a spray of violets sent from France during World War II – shines with significance.
Jack’s specificity forces us to pay attention to the complexity of overlooked things, taken-for-granted things, as in his “The History of the Pencil,” reminding us of the simple tool crucial to all this writing stuff in the first place. Jack doesn’t just write about toast, but toast with jam – currant jam. On a plate not just a plate, but a chipped plate. Painted with a half-moon. At its center.
In the hands of someone less masterful, less controlled, such incessant accretion of detail would amount to annoying linguistic disposophobia. But Jack guides us to look – at egg timers and piles of television sets, his gone father’s old shirt, cheese curls, the honeysuckle in the back yard – the way mathematicians view a shoreline.
Measure the edge of each grain of sand along the coastline, and seemingly fixed distances become as they are: infinite. (Indeed, the poems are gently arranged around a trio of mathematic tropes: fractals, quantum theory, and differential equations.) Jack writes in the opening poem: “Only the broken reveals, gives / the universe its chance at being / interesting…”
And when I finished the book and looked up from its pages, my tchotchkes and stack of newspapers and a subway token on the coffee table and the ailanthus umbrellas outside my window seemed suddenly dear, fundamental to the galaxies’ continued spinning, luminous as stars.
Jack’s specificity forces us to pay attention to the complexity of overlooked things, taken-for-granted things, as in his “The History of the Pencil,” reminding us of the simple tool crucial to all this writing stuff in the first place. Jack doesn’t just write about toast, but toast with jam – currant jam. On a plate not just a plate, but a chipped plate. Painted with a half-moon. At its center.
In the hands of someone less masterful, less controlled, such incessant accretion of detail would amount to annoying linguistic disposophobia. But Jack guides us to look – at egg timers and piles of television sets, his gone father’s old shirt, cheese curls, the honeysuckle in the back yard – the way mathematicians view a shoreline.
Measure the edge of each grain of sand along the coastline, and seemingly fixed distances become as they are: infinite. (Indeed, the poems are gently arranged around a trio of mathematic tropes: fractals, quantum theory, and differential equations.) Jack writes in the opening poem: “Only the broken reveals, gives / the universe its chance at being / interesting…”
And when I finished the book and looked up from its pages, my tchotchkes and stack of newspapers and a subway token on the coffee table and the ailanthus umbrellas outside my window seemed suddenly dear, fundamental to the galaxies’ continued spinning, luminous as stars.
July 7, 2008
Everyone should read this book, by the fabulous writer and professor and mentor and friend... Jack Ridl! I cannot wait for his new book to come out.
October 26, 2023
I particularly enjoy poetry books whose poems keep changing lanes and make us pay attention before we get run over by "What was that?" There are certainly many slice of life poems that most of us can relate to, but also quirky, delightful, and amusing poems. I imagine Ridl knows very well what he's doing, but his poems often blur the line between humor, magical realism, dream states, and fantasy. The best way to explain that is to pull out a few lines that especially delighted me. Many of the titles are quite masterful in themselves...a bit like Al Ortolani titles, if you're familiar with his work.
I typically pencil in checks and stars beside my favorite poems in the table of contents. I went farther than that in the first two poems I'll quote, marking them as "strange in a good way." "St. Francis in Disney World," begins,
"The children come up to him, touch
his robe and giggle. He blesses them..."
Unfortunately, Mickey decides St. Frances is too filthy and strange to be around the children. (Rest assured, though, that Mickey would be more diplomatic than the ticket taker and not say a word, just keep a watchful eye on the children.)
"He has no ticket. He's told to step aside....
He [Francis] looks back up. The sky
has gone. The earth has gone. His feet
are sore. His hands are turning into
birds. His hood is filling up with coins.
His beard is filled with bells."
That poem is immediately followed by "The Crank Collector," which begins
"I'd love to rust.
Just sit there
turning into air.
Now I put cranks
on anything...."
"Tinnitus" is something most of us can relate to, even if we only have the problem during a head cold. I love the metaphors that show Ridl and I have similar feeling about music:
"I live between the tines of a tuning fork,
caught without a partner in the middle
of a one-note waltz. Philip Glass is Bach."
Ridl also gives us a good supply of the warm fuzzies when he talks about the family dog or "The Drywallers Listen to Sinatra while They Work." His mother is visiting during the holidays, and the crew foreman invites her to dance.
I typically pencil in checks and stars beside my favorite poems in the table of contents. I went farther than that in the first two poems I'll quote, marking them as "strange in a good way." "St. Francis in Disney World," begins,
"The children come up to him, touch
his robe and giggle. He blesses them..."
Unfortunately, Mickey decides St. Frances is too filthy and strange to be around the children. (Rest assured, though, that Mickey would be more diplomatic than the ticket taker and not say a word, just keep a watchful eye on the children.)
"He has no ticket. He's told to step aside....
He [Francis] looks back up. The sky
has gone. The earth has gone. His feet
are sore. His hands are turning into
birds. His hood is filling up with coins.
His beard is filled with bells."
That poem is immediately followed by "The Crank Collector," which begins
"I'd love to rust.
Just sit there
turning into air.
Now I put cranks
on anything...."
"Tinnitus" is something most of us can relate to, even if we only have the problem during a head cold. I love the metaphors that show Ridl and I have similar feeling about music:
"I live between the tines of a tuning fork,
caught without a partner in the middle
of a one-note waltz. Philip Glass is Bach."
Ridl also gives us a good supply of the warm fuzzies when he talks about the family dog or "The Drywallers Listen to Sinatra while They Work." His mother is visiting during the holidays, and the crew foreman invites her to dance.
July 11, 2018
I want to go on and on and on forever to sing Jack Ridl’s praises, and to thank him for the way his words grip my heart until the wringing comes out of my eyes in emotions, but that would be a disservice.
He captures so much in one object, one pause. The poems wrap the reader up in the quilt of his words until it’s your favorite blanket and you refuse to sleep without it until it’s committed to memory.
Do yourself a favor and hear Jack read his poems to you. They are out there in cyberland... Read every poem he has written, because it’s obvious they are extensions of his being.
If poems were alive, Jack has the secret to giving them breath.
He captures so much in one object, one pause. The poems wrap the reader up in the quilt of his words until it’s your favorite blanket and you refuse to sleep without it until it’s committed to memory.
Do yourself a favor and hear Jack read his poems to you. They are out there in cyberland... Read every poem he has written, because it’s obvious they are extensions of his being.
If poems were alive, Jack has the secret to giving them breath.
March 21, 2017
Nothing really stuck out to me in this collection
January 16, 2013
I really liked the tone of this book. It's quietly meditative, very lyrical, and I enjoyed his responses to everyday events. It's a nice, contemplative book of poetry, partly because of his nature as a person and partly due to his religious motivations I'm not religious but I think he wrote about religion well. It's a good read for those who say they "don't get poetry."
January 14, 2008
Jack was one of my teachers and I'm still learning from him. This collection has a quiet tone to it and the poems shift in unexpected ways that leave you in the right place, but which you had no idea you were heading toward.
December 19, 2007
my uncle is a very well known poet.... a few years ago he was honored with an award that is similar to a pulitzer but for poets. obviously im partial, but this is a must read.
February 29, 2008
One of my college poetry professors, a former circus clown, and a native of my adopted love, Pittsburgh.
March 1, 2017
I was lucky enough to attend a writer's retreat with Jack a few years back - what a wonderful man and talented poet.
January 20, 2019
these words got me through a hard time, so thankful someone thought of me when they read these words.
Displaying 1 - 13 of 13 reviews