Gently weaving through trees and fog, every piece is a winking, now-here-now-gone facet of the human experience. The separate sections, shifting address and styles morph seamlessly, and demand thoughtful attention.

Thanks to NetGalley and University of Iowa Press for the ARC!

Aaron McCollough’s "Salms" is a confounding collection that invokes biblical psalms without truly evoking them.

I think some poets show their strengths through careful brevity, placing so much weight on each word, whereas others are better-suited for crafting dense, knotty landscapes. While "Salms" contains both, the poet’s voice feels far more distinctive in the latter form. In particular, I think the majority of “A Mirror,” a chapter of several interrelated poems, is mesmerizing and richly textured. McCollough buries several mystical aphorisms within each piece, and it reads well.

The trouble with "Salms" is that it’s difficult to find a thematic core across each of its chapters. Each one is wildly different, and while they might work on their own, they feel like they are competing for the poet’s attention because their constituent poems seem underdeveloped and draft-like. Whenever it feels like McCollough is beginning to explore an interesting idea, he quickly dismisses it with a poem comprised largely of tropes. Even the titular chapter, which is arguably the book at its strongest, treats its source material as a gimmick instead of a form, using religious iconography for little more than the vibes.

It’s disappointment because it feels like there could be a great book in here if more time had been spent on any one idea. Thankfully, poetry is subjective, so don’t put too much stock in my personal tastes here. If the description of the book sounds appealing, it’s worth a read.