The theme of John David Muth’s
Misanthropes Rarely Procreate is summed up in his poem “He Assumed Incorrectly,” when an obstetrician cousin suggests options to change the state of childlessness of the poem’s narrator and his wife. Keen observations forged into razor-sharp social commentary make up this collection’s poems that frame the contrarian response to the doctor’s unsolicited advice. The collection is a life cycle of stirring tales from the poet’s own family tree to his own desire to remain childless and upon his passing become a tree pod urn to “. . . become fertilizer / to propel its growth. / Can you see us now / as a fully grown oak or elm / bursting green every spring / for decades?”
—Tony Gruenewald, Author of The Secret History of New Jersey
If you write in the margins when you read, as I do, you will have picked up for yourself a two-for-one acquisition for your library which contains these wonderfully humorous and piercing poems, topics ranging from getting through the birth canal and beyond, gifts we are supposed to give each other across the years that say “I love you,” such as the less than dramatic cotton and leather, a first christening after a trip involving the Long Island Railroad and comparing Babylon, Long Island to an incomplete hernia scar. He covers aging teenagers who should have stayed home on Halloween but couldn’t resist one more round of trick-or-treat and, all the while, I’m jotting down things in the margins like Very smart stuff. I should try that.
—Bob Rosenblum, Author of Reunion, first-prize winner in Ginsberg Poetry Contest, 2017
When John Muth invites you into his world, he hands you a mirror at the entrance. Once inside, you are transported on a sweeping journey from ancestral origins, through his life as a dedicated curmudgeon, all the way until after his demise. People annoy Muth, especially young people and most especially the folks who produce them and inflict them on others. Yet in all this distaste for much of the human race, there is a paradoxical streak of brightness named Glenda, John’s godchild. She is “the only person under twenty-five that doesn’t annoy me.” He would take his godfatherly responsibilities with surprising seriousness, if her parents should happen to “murder each other over child support payments.” Glenda accomplishes his redemption. Now, look into that mirror and see your bolder self in Muth. He’s speaking the truths that you have realized but were too polite or timid to proclaim.
—Ken Griggs, Pushcart Prize Nominee, cheese maker
