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Nice Fish: New and Selected Prose Poems
"The title of the play . . . . comes from Nice Fish, one of the books of poetry written by Louis Jenkins."--Nice Fish newsletter, Spring, 2013, Guthrie Theater
"To imagine what it means to be another human being is an act of love. These are poems written by a great lover of the world. Everything in it that stands alone, unobserved, and luminous. Solitary people with their solitary destinies...If there's a native, archetypical American solitude, Louis Jenkins has given us its flavor."--Charles Simic, The Boston Review
"To imagine what it means to be another human being is an act of love. These are poems written by a great lover of the world. Everything in it that stands alone, unobserved, and luminous. Solitary people with their solitary destinies...If there's a native, archetypical American solitude, Louis Jenkins has given us its flavor."--Charles Simic, The Boston Review
- GenresPoetry
70 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1995
2 people are currently reading
64 people want to read
About the author
Louis Jenkins
29 books12 followersLouis Jenkins was an American prose poet .He lived in Duluth, Minnesota, with his wife Ann for over four decades. His poems have been published in a number of literary magazines and anthologies. Jenkins was a guest on A Prairie Home Companion numerous times and was also featured on The Writer's Almanac.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
March 30, 2020
I probably didn't give this one the attention it deserves.
I found this thing out with The Onion. You know, that newspaper that used to be funny and then it mostly just started saying things that really happened because that's easier than making up jokes.
Oh, my favorite Onion headlin? "God Answers Little Boy's Prayers: 'No,' says God." Classic.
Anyway, because I lived in a small town, you couldn't just pick up the Onion when you were out and about the way you could in the city. You'd have to go somewhere like Denver, get one, then look through the entire stack to see if there were a couple older ones underneath, maybe last month's issue wasn't all that hot.
So what we got instead were those books that collected the Onion in bound form. And the thing is, you'd get Onion Fatigue. The first couple are hilarious, then you start skimming, then you barely get a chuckle. It's why most stand-up sets are like an hour. After an hour, you'd have to be so funny to keep making it worthwhile.
What you gotta do is pick up that book, read a couple, then put it down. Pick it up the next day, read a couple, rinse, repeat.
I think a lot of poetry collections are like that, and I didn't give this one that kind of attention. I plowed through it. It's fun, and at times it's great. It just didn't blow my balls off.
I found this thing out with The Onion. You know, that newspaper that used to be funny and then it mostly just started saying things that really happened because that's easier than making up jokes.
Oh, my favorite Onion headlin? "God Answers Little Boy's Prayers: 'No,' says God." Classic.
Anyway, because I lived in a small town, you couldn't just pick up the Onion when you were out and about the way you could in the city. You'd have to go somewhere like Denver, get one, then look through the entire stack to see if there were a couple older ones underneath, maybe last month's issue wasn't all that hot.
So what we got instead were those books that collected the Onion in bound form. And the thing is, you'd get Onion Fatigue. The first couple are hilarious, then you start skimming, then you barely get a chuckle. It's why most stand-up sets are like an hour. After an hour, you'd have to be so funny to keep making it worthwhile.
What you gotta do is pick up that book, read a couple, then put it down. Pick it up the next day, read a couple, rinse, repeat.
I think a lot of poetry collections are like that, and I didn't give this one that kind of attention. I plowed through it. It's fun, and at times it's great. It just didn't blow my balls off.
March 19, 2025
Mostly funny in a sort of deadpan Midwestern way, but with a few heartwrenchers thrown in for good measure.
March 23, 2023
I’m easily swayed by sentimentality, so it’s nearly impossible for me to separate my read of this book of poems from the circumstances under which I came to read it. Then again, I’m also quick to roll my eyes at poetry. So which impulse won? This time, sentimentality, by quite a margin - owing still in part to Louis Jenkins’ dry, observational prose style (if ever I’m going to like poems it’s sure to be ones like these), but also to Jack, who, on a terrible day, brought this book over along with everything we needed for a home-cooked dinner (which only he did the cooking of), and instructed to read one or two a night before bed. Thanks to both.
Stray observations - some favourites:
- "First Snow" (p. 7)
By dusk the snow is already partially melted. There are dark patches where the grass shows through, like islands in the sea from an airplane. Which one is home? The one I left as a child? They all seem the same now. What became of my parents? What about all those things I started but never finished? What were they? As we get older we become more alone. The man and his wife share this gift. It is their breakfast: coffee and silence, morning sunlight. They make love or they quarrel. They move through the day, she on the black squares, he on the white. At night they sit by the fire, he reading his book, she knitting. The fire is agitated. The wind hoots in the chimney like a child blowing in a bottle, happily.
- "Walking Through Walls" (p. 30)
Unlike flying or astral projection, walking through walls is a totally earth-related craft, but a lot more interesting than pot making or driftwood lamps. I got started at a picnic up in Bowstring in the northern part of the state. A fellow walked through a brick wall right there in the park. I said, "Say, I want to try that." Stone walls are best, then brick and wood. Wooden walls with fiberglass insulation and steel doors aren't so good. They won't hurt you. If you wall walking is done properly, both you and the wall are left intact. It is just that they aren't pleasant somehow. The worst things are wire fences, maybe it's the molecular structure of the alloy or just the amount of give in a fence, I don't know, but I've torn my jacket and lost my hat in a lot of fences. The best approach to a walk is, first, two hands placed flat against the surface, it's a matter of concentration and just the right pressure. You will feel the dry, cool inner wall with your fingers, then there is a moment of total darkness before you step through on the other side.
- "Out-of-the-Body Travel" (p. 34)
Body and soul are linked as in a marriage, a sort of three-legged race team, and are usually comfortable with this arrangement. If the soul is forced to travel alone it does not wind its way over wide water, does not fly skimming the tree-tops. No, the soul shuffles along like any body, eating at lunch counters, listening to conversation in the bus station restroom... "Fifty cents? I think I can get fifty cents...," riding the bus all through the dark night, watching the distant, singular lights go past, wondering all the while if this trip was really necessary. Meanwhile the body sits, inert, staring at the t.v., needing a shave, a nail trim.
Stray observations - some favourites:
- "First Snow" (p. 7)
By dusk the snow is already partially melted. There are dark patches where the grass shows through, like islands in the sea from an airplane. Which one is home? The one I left as a child? They all seem the same now. What became of my parents? What about all those things I started but never finished? What were they? As we get older we become more alone. The man and his wife share this gift. It is their breakfast: coffee and silence, morning sunlight. They make love or they quarrel. They move through the day, she on the black squares, he on the white. At night they sit by the fire, he reading his book, she knitting. The fire is agitated. The wind hoots in the chimney like a child blowing in a bottle, happily.
- "Walking Through Walls" (p. 30)
Unlike flying or astral projection, walking through walls is a totally earth-related craft, but a lot more interesting than pot making or driftwood lamps. I got started at a picnic up in Bowstring in the northern part of the state. A fellow walked through a brick wall right there in the park. I said, "Say, I want to try that." Stone walls are best, then brick and wood. Wooden walls with fiberglass insulation and steel doors aren't so good. They won't hurt you. If you wall walking is done properly, both you and the wall are left intact. It is just that they aren't pleasant somehow. The worst things are wire fences, maybe it's the molecular structure of the alloy or just the amount of give in a fence, I don't know, but I've torn my jacket and lost my hat in a lot of fences. The best approach to a walk is, first, two hands placed flat against the surface, it's a matter of concentration and just the right pressure. You will feel the dry, cool inner wall with your fingers, then there is a moment of total darkness before you step through on the other side.
- "Out-of-the-Body Travel" (p. 34)
Body and soul are linked as in a marriage, a sort of three-legged race team, and are usually comfortable with this arrangement. If the soul is forced to travel alone it does not wind its way over wide water, does not fly skimming the tree-tops. No, the soul shuffles along like any body, eating at lunch counters, listening to conversation in the bus station restroom... "Fifty cents? I think I can get fifty cents...," riding the bus all through the dark night, watching the distant, singular lights go past, wondering all the while if this trip was really necessary. Meanwhile the body sits, inert, staring at the t.v., needing a shave, a nail trim.
December 20, 2025
If you lie quietly in bed in the very early morning, in the half-light before time begins, and listen carefully, the language of crows is easy to understand. “Here I am.” That’s really all there is to say and we say it again and again.
May 8, 2017
I've never spent much time with prose poetry before, and was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked these. Weird, sad, and often very funny.
June 27, 2025
So long, and thanks for all the "nice fish" presented in this collection.
February 22, 2016
My second foray into Louis Jenkins' prose poetry. Just read the NYT review of the play of the same name - http://www.nytimes.com/2016/02/22/the...
Would love to see it in person but will settle for reading Jenkins poetry which is certainly growing on me.
Would love to see it in person but will settle for reading Jenkins poetry which is certainly growing on me.
March 20, 2009
Just because it's called a prose poem doesn't mean it shouldn't have condensed language...so much extra, unnecessary here.
June 21, 2016
Really amusing and clever work. Makes me wish I'd seen the Mark Rylance-directed play all the more.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews