Jack-Gener as a fantasy from the future Travolta
If you can reduce the book of poems, complex, overflowing fuzzy, blurred in the air, to one, main, theme, the rod of the leitmotif, on which the leaves of the sheets are collected by a hut, then it turns out that the “tornado behind the forest” of Leo Oborin is all about time, elusive physical, historical. And indeed about a tornado, twisted, directed not only forward and backward, but also in the sides with spread hands.