"In Nowhere Now Here by Charley Springer an ordinary event easily turns surreal, the narrator's sentences rushing us into a dream world, where a man shoots the breeze with a porcupine, where icebergs roll into mainstreet, where you find pigs snorting in a pile of potatoes in your front yard, where dust bunnies come alive and where there's a big new world right around the corner, but you never noticed it before. Springer reports on the farout daily experiences and fantasies of a community of characters in Stubbornville, Ohio or Main Street, USA. The flash stories in Nowhere Now Here are playful and ironic, magical and surreal, and a delight to read."
- Barbara Henning
"There is a way of talking about what is real, exactly as it is, so to make it seem implausible, and this without relying on dreams or surrealism, symbols and myths. It's a very narrow path and few poets walk it, but Charley Springer is one. The book's title underscores how unlikely it is, the strangeness of our situation, this having come here from nowhere, out of nothing. In the opening poem, 'Day at the Beach,' a truck spills beach balls into the loose nebula of redwing flocks and traffic, and the collection, as arresting as it is free and playful, expands like a miniscule cosmos from there. I loved this book; I admire this poet. His remarkable knack for the prose poem-such a sense for endings, such an ear-is the dark matter that bonds together all of our orbiting, crashing, seemingly separate worlds."
- David Keplinger
"Springer creates here an absurd world filled with engaging characters and unpredictable events. His prose poems are delightful streams of consciousness, inviting the reader to enter a surreal setting where reality is turned on its head. His poem 'About Faces' opens with 'Ted and Alice keep a closet full of faces. They hang on little hangers next to shirts and trousers.' It is a masterful poem offering an elaborate play on words. There are plenty of twists and turns, as in 'Pine Tale,' with a hardwood floor 'remembering about its early years' and wondering what had become of its fellow timbers. Sometimes the absurdity can break your heart, as in 'Sent from Above,' with its poignant last line 'the crow was right there behind him.' In 'Middling,' Springer turns the adjective into a verb and a reason for being; while the dialogue in 'The Race' reminds me of a scene from Beckett's absurdist play Waiting for Godot. The poems are divided into six sections, set off with pithy ironic headings such as this: "John's sense of wonder became heightened at the 'Museum of Ordinary Things.' In Nowhere Now Here, you don't always know where you're going, but it's sure to be a fun ride."
- Gene Twaronite
WARNING TO POTENTIAL READERS: Just holding Charles Springer's book of prose poems Nowhere Now Here kicksyou to the brink of the bottom line and it won't be anything you were expecting. If you take this book home, prepare before choosing a place on your shelf or nightstand. Move all vapid material, printed or otherwise, to the shed or donate it to your local political party. Never place your electronic devices on or beside it-there have been reports of jumblings, sparks, and occasional shocks. Most importantly, if you thought the very kernel inside every childhood question should stay bound to daylight, never, ever read Nowhere Now Here just before bed. It is an unchained gate midway through your field. Open it and release the Carnival. Nothing will ever be the same.
- Rebecca Kinzie-Bastian
