Billboards in the Wasteland

"In Jacob Johanson's latest book of poetry, Billboards in
the Wasteland, two strong poems reach out from the
middle of the book that illuminate Jacob's reckoning
with the legacies of two late masters he admires, Kell
Robertson and Lew Welch. Sure, they're formidable
presences but their influence has never overwhelmed
Jacob's journey as a poet. His tributes to them are
substantial and passionate. Jacob writes from the
burial grounds of the Shawnee, the Kansa, the Osage.
In one short powerful poem, a haiku almost, Jacob
imagines the Lakota admitting the violated spirit of
Tamir Rice to their circle. In another poem, he "saw
an oncoming storm/divide the desert/into before and
after/just to learn/the importance of now." There are
long drives across an insensate America he assures us
with vibrant, plain-spoken language, that its wrecked
and beautiful mythology is still intact, that wastelands are in the eye of the beholder."

-John Macker, author of The Blues Drink Your
Dreams Away, Selected Poems
1983-2018 and Atlas of Wolves.

"There's something in the waters of the Kansas / Missouri
borders these days, and Jacob Johanson is drinking
freely of it, which is to our benefit. He is the man of
early middle age, realizing regrets, well entrenched in
daily routine, with lots of time ahead to contemplate.
His poems can be read as, "...old constellations on old
stars," familiar territory explored with new eyes. There
are the women, just out of understanding, to tango
with in minefields. There are the Shawnee sages, as
well as an exchange with our friend the Moon, no sage
at all in these pages. Johanson, writing in, "... an era of
forgotten atrocities," expresses the fears, hopes, and
memories of those often without a voice. In Billboards,
the signs are there for all to see, and to find a kindred
spirit."

-Cheryl A. Rice, author of Love's Compass

"Jacob Johanson's poems are tiny billboards illuminating
the consciousness of Americans in the early 21st Century
with quick hit, short lined, revelatory poems full of
humor, hope and horror. His poems unite the rational
and the surreal. A man finds god on a small square of
paper that melts on the tongue another is moved to
write by an angel thankful there's enough change on
the dashboard to make it home. Reading Jacobson I
find myself angry and laughing sometimes simultaneously.
For example, open this book to page 27 and read Blowing
Out Headspace, Move Along. Despite the craziness of
our culture, he ends the poem with these tender lines:
"close your eyes/and you can feel/I promise/ individual
blades of grass/pushing between your toes." That's
soul brothers and sisters. That's soul."

-John Knoll, Black Mesa Blues (Spartan Press, 2020)