Counting to 100

Chris Knight is managing editor of the Canadian HR Reporter.

If someone said the number 76 to you, it might not strike any particular
memory or chord. But Alan R. Wilson has taken the numbers 1 to 100 and
crafted a thought or attached a personality to each. Some of his poems
grow out of association, as in “89”: “the still hands of the
pianist— / their slow roll up the keyboard / suddenly ended.” Others
mix mathematics and an imagined character. “81” reads, “What
hidden pride. / To take outcast 3s / and multiply them / into something
fresh, / acceptable.”

All of the poems are brief, the longest little more than 50 words. In a
sense, they are often too brief; they tick by almost like seconds,
sometimes seeming to sacrifice the possibility of greater depth to a bon
mot. The longer verses tug at deeper things; there are echoes of Yeats
in “66” (“a beast with a chilling shape / that squats at the
zenith / like an unwelcome constellation / and does not move”), and of
Eliot in “99” (“night slips into the lane / like a newly waxed
car”).

On the whole, these poems succeed as light, fun distractions. Readers
will find them especially pleasing when they realize the connection
between the number and the verse. (By the way, 76 reads, “Such a
parade!”)