The poems in Working Hypothesis celebrate curiosity. They revel in the discoveries of Natural Science as well as the hoaxes and scientific jokes that litter our history of knowing. These are the product of Charles Malone's rural upbringing and connection to the natural world, his family's passed-down bookishness, and his mother's work as a chemist. Poems like Beneficial Insects and Papilio Ecclipses look to the intersections of these ideas with our most intimate personal relationships. The poem About the River comes from Malone's work using poetry writing in the community to talk about the history of the Cuyahoga River. These pieces balance intellectual searching with domestic moments of childhood, marriage, and the making of a home.
Amid his wonder for the natural world, Malone's poems also grow from doubt. We have painted butterfly's wings to claim a new species, imagined animals that burst from the seeds of plants, and written of man-eating trees in the jungle of Madagascar. We have lied to and amused ourselves. We have made mistakes. Adecula Ridiculi considers the metaphors offered by a typo that bred a fake history of a temple constructed to mock Hannibal's failed siege of Rome. Jokes of Nature / Jokes of Knowledge and Truthfully catalog a cabinet of curiosities in the history of Natural Science, and The Man-Eating Tree of Madagascar imagines that lie as something akin to the way an older sibling might mislead a younger one.
The final section of the book, Experiments & Tricks draws from Robert J. Brown's 333 Science Tricks & Experiments. Brown's 1984 book offers up an abundance of ideas to bring science into the home. This infusion of metaphor and vocabulary invites us to consider the simple act of counting the seconds between lightning and thunder differently in How Far the Storm? This poem connects to the history of Malone's home town, Kent, Ohio, and the shootings on the campus in 1970. He writes, We can count the seconds between / explosions. / We can feel them in our teeth. / Even as one voice says / a storm is coming, another says it isn't. Other experiments inspire Mirror Tricks, Smoke from the Fingertips, and Ghost Light. In all, these poems encourage us all to follow our questions and our doubts. They invite us into overservation and to be childlike in embracing our curiosity.
How to extract wonder from sediment, especially if the sediment is vaguely toxic? This is the central question of Charlie Malone's Questions About Circulation. One answer is to dig--the literal trace of land use, the lateral spread of material history, the billowing field of childhood memory. These poems brim with glacial moraine, crumbling mills, wild blackberry thickets, and a big peaceful cement pond reflecting] tarnished copper. But it is aftermath that concerns the present, and these poems haunt the body's arterial connections: a vein is a way elsewhere, and part of a circuit. Tracing our entanglements, Charlie Malone's Questions About Circulation returns us to the ground of our senses: and slow down/put the o in close the boy has flown.
-Matthew Cooperman, author of Spool
Questions About Circulation is vivid and visceral and palpable. All the perks of James Wright and Wendell Berry, and lyricism all his own. The work is somehow softly abrasive.
-Erica Dawson, author of When Rap Spoke Straight to God