"Reading Al Ortolani always feels like visiting a good friend who never runs out of stories to tell. Controlled Burn adds a new element to the alchemy, confronting politics more directly than in past books, but always with Al's characteristic wit and wisdom. From his career as a teacher back to his youth dodging trains, this is a poet who has lived a rich life in all the ways that matter, and the result is a collection of poems that matter. As he explains, "I sunk the spade like my father did, used my weight to lift the earth."
-Timothy Green, editor of Rattle, author of American Fractal
"Al Ortolani's Controlled Burn blazes across the landscape of a poet's everyday life. Here you will find poems about everything from COVID to cabbage soup, teaching to retirement, pets to Peter Rabbit, grandparenting to buying boots, and always with the poet's signature witty, cool, and humane voice. Unlike many contemporary American poets who pad their work with fanciful excess, Ortolani's poems burn with a language so clear, concise, and under control that it makes room for new growth."
-Clint Margrave, author of Visitor
"A poet, a real poet, observes--he sees through what is in front of him all the way into what it means or what it could mean. "Nine Holes at the Elks Club" is such a poem, deriving rich meaning and possibility from a moment remembered from his childhood, watching his father playing golf alone in the morning at the Elks Club before work. The poem begins with the boy's father pulling him along in a golf cart, and it ends beautifully and poignantly:
Soon, the day would become too busy for a father and son, his wing-tipped spikes holding us to the earth. This is poetry, made (as real poetry is) from whatever is at hand, and finding meaning there through the eyes of (in this case) a watchful young boy who would grow up to be a fine poet.
-Patricia Traxler, author of Paradise Notes
"Al Ortolani offers details of his childhood-- eating Tater Tots, chewing Juicy Fruit, swinging his father's cast-off golf irons -- to create assemblages of hope and regret. The sadness and cruelty of mid-century suburban America are revealed in chilling imagery: "the souls of cows, / if they have one, / are grilled / medium rare with cheese." Ortolani has a gift for raising anecdote to the level of legend. "
- Michael Simms, author of Strange Meadowlark
