Poetry Book Reviews
- Kim Addonizio, Lucifer at the Starlite
- Kaveh Akbar, Calling a Wolf a Wolf
- Raul Alvarez, There Was So Much Beautiful Left
- Rae Armantrout, Versed
- Cameron Awkward-Rich, Dispatch
- Samantha Barrow, Jelly
- Jennifer Bartlett, Derivative of the Moving Image
- Jan Beatty, Red Sugar
- Hugh Behm-Steinberg, Shy Green Fields
- Robert Bense, Readings in Ordinary Time
- Stephen Berg, New & Selected Poems
- David Berman, actual air
- Linda Bierds, The Hardy Tree
- Jennifer Boyden, The Mouths of Grazing Things
- Anne Boyer, Garments Against Women
- Karen Brodine, Illegal Assembly
- Charles Bukowski, Love is a Dog from Hell
- Deborah Burnham, Tart Honey
- Anne Carson, Glass, Irony and God
- Joel Chace, Cleaning the Mirror: Selected And New Poems
- Jennifer S. Cheng, House A
- Chiwan Choi, the flood
- Billy Collins, Sailing Around the Room
- Brendan Constantine, Letters to Guns
- Christal Rice Cooper, gone sane
- Eduardo C. Corral, Slow lightning
- Bruce Covey, Glass Is Really a Liquid
- Nicelle Davis, The walled wife
- Jean Day, Enthusiasm: odes & otium
- W. S. Di Piero, Brother Fire
- James Dickey, The Whole Motion: Collected Poems, 1945-1992
- Matthew Dickman, Mayakovsky's Revolver
- Michael Dickman, Flies
- Ray DiZazzo, The Water Bulls
- Matt Donovan, Vellum
- Camille T. Dungy, Smith Blue
- joshua jennifer espinoza, i'm alive / it hurts / i love it
- Jill Alexander Essbaum, Harlot
- Jeanpaul Ferro, Jazz
- Sarah Fox, The First Flag
- Ariel Francisco, A Sinking Ship is Still a Ship
- Scott Glassman and Sheila E. Murphy, Quaternity
- Leonard Gontarek, Deja Vu Diner
- Deborah Gorlin, Bodily Course
- Thom Gunn, The Man With Night Sweats
- Shafer Hall, Never Cry Woof
- Joy Harjo, She Had Some Horses
- Duriel E. Harris, No Dictionary of a Living Tongue
- Marie Harris, RAW HONEY
- Terrance Hayes, Lighthead
- Bob Hicok, Words for Empty and Words for Full
- Edward Hirsch, On Love
- Catherine Imbriglio, Parts of the Mass
- Saeed Jones, Prelude to Bruise
- June Jordan, Kissing God Goodbye
- Bhanu Kapil, The Vertical Interrogation of Strangers
- Kirsten Kaschock, Unfathoms
- Rupi Kaur, the sun and her flowers
- Joanna Klink, Raptus
- Jennifer L. Knox, Drunk by Noon
- Tracy Koretsky, Even Before My Own Name
- Aaron Kunin, Folding Ruler Star
- Jane Rosenberg LaForge, With Apologies to Mick Jagger, Other Gods, and All Women
- Katherine Larson, Radial Symmetry
- Eugenia Leigh, Blood, Sparrows and Sparrows
- Lizzie Lee Lenson, Theatre of the Cow
- Teresa Leo, The Halo Rule
- Juliana Leslie, More Radiant Signal
- Tao Lin, cognitive-behavioral therapy
- Thomas Lisenbee, Kay Z. Myers and Bret Waller, Three From Osage Street
- Reb Livingston, Your Ten Favorite Words
- Patricia Lockwood, Balloon Pop Outlaw Black
- Eric David Lough, Pistol Whipped
- Cynthia Lowen, The cloud that contained the lightning
- Jackson Mac Low, Thing of Beauty
- Helen Macdonald, Shaler's Fish
- J. Michael Martinez, Heredities
- Bernadette Mayer, Scarlet Tanager
- Chelsey Minnis, Baby, I don't care
- Rosalie Moffett, Nervous System
- Honor Moore, Memoir
- Eileen Myles, Sorry, Tree
- Maggie Nelson, Bluets
- Mark Nickels, Cicada
- Kelli Anne Noftle, I Was There for your Somniloquy
- Alice Notley, The Descent of Alette
- Jena Osman, The Network
- Karl Parker, Personationskin
- Laurie Pollack, PeaceWalk
- Kathryn L. Pringle, fault tree
- Liam Rector, The Executive Director of the Fallen World
- David Ritter, The Memories I Keep
- Lisa Robertson, the weather
- Steve Roggenbuck, Crunk Juice
- Martha Ronk, Vertigo
- Diane Seuss, four-legged girl
- Prageeta Sharma, Undergloom
- Richard Siken, Crush
- Ron Silliman, The Age of Huts (compleat)
- Amy Small-McKinney, Walking Toward Cranes
- Brandi Spering, This I Can Tell You
- Eero Talo, Neoteny
- Amber Tamblyn, Dark Sparkler
- James Tate, return to the city of white donkeys
- Laura Theobald, The Best Thing Ever
- Jean Valentine, Little Boat
- Ocean Vuong, Night sky with exit wounds
- Rosemarie Waldrop, Driven to Abstraction
- Jack Walters, Saigon & other poems
- Jackie Wang, The Sunflower Cast A Spell To Save Us From The Void
- Phyllis Wat, The Influence of Paintings Hung in Bedrooms
- Hannah Weiner, Hannah Weiner's Open House
- Sasha West, Failure and I Bury the Body
- Philip Whalen, The Collected Poems of Philip Whalen
- Gail White, The Accidental Cynic
- Zoe Whittall, Precordial Thump
- Meir Wieseltier, The Flower of Anarchy
- Marc Williams, Our Grieving Eden
- Saul Williams, , said the shotgun to the head
- Suzanne Wise, The Kingdom of the Subjunctive
- Jennifer C. Wolfe, Somewhere Over the Pachyderm Rainbow: Living in an Elephant-Controlled 2010 Election Diorama
- Stephanie Young, TELLING THE FUTURE OFF
- Matthew Zapruder, Come On All You Ghosts
- Andrew Zawacki, Videotape
- Rachel Zucker, The Bad Wife Handbook
W. W. Norton and Company
2009
ISBN: 978-0-393-06852-8
Some poetry books are Christmas presents from your daughter read to the unsteady beat of rain and melting snow.
Some poetry books have tables of contents set with the gold-rimmed China and the polished silverware to raise your expectations.
Some poetry books run a straight and narrow path cut with a razor through the plains.
Some poetry books have a natural rise and fall like empires, Afghani foothills, or the side of a sleeping kitten.
Some poetry books are a poet's spearhand aimed fast for the soft spot at the base of your neck to rip through flesh and stop your breathing.
Alice James Books
2017
ISBN: 978-1-938584-67-1
I am going to be critical of a Good Book: the poems are wildly inconsistent in length and form; I have no luck relating them to their three titled sections with explanatory quotes; most of the poems do not stay with me long; I am not possessed. Still: each one in its own length and form seems correct as if left to find its own way across at most two pages, describing the unlikely to impossible as concrete hallucination; the themes of identity, religion, love, and alcohol resonate deeply; I will be reading PORTRAIT OF THE ALCOHOLIC WITH CRAVING as my Church Council meditation tomorrow.
boosthouse
2015
ISBN: 978-0-9960691-3-7
Thematically disjointed across four numbered sections, I found best the more paranoid-schizophrenic and/or brutal. The first part of "4", the "For God so loved the world" series, is brilliant. The "notes on joy" that follows and concludes the book did little for me. The long rambling bits about parents are interesting. "Make Me A Hootowl, Sweetheart" at the end of "3" is especially powerful.
Wesleyan University Press
2009
ISBN: 978-0-8195-7041-8
1
Words unintentionally remind
the Atlantic
against the Eastern seaboard
2
relentless sun sparkling on small
random Wildwood waves broken
by invisible rocks and visible people
3
or a certain someone diving
repeatedly
naked as a brown dolphin while
you watch huddled
under your Miami Beach umbrella
Persea Books
2019
ISBN: 978-0-89255-503-1
For a moment I thought I was walking a desolate downtown sidewalk on a cold-wind cloudy evening. Which has nothing exactly to do with the book, racial, gendered, a little end-times, being Black, being a man, having been a girl. The blurb and the notes talk about violence, but I read observational detachment, maybe even bemusement. The fault is mine. The structure (especially Everywhere We Look, There We Are, which is not an erasure, an explosion?) is fascinating. I wish the book were longer.
monkey/tiger alliance ltd.
2005
My ancestor Judge Word would surely be appalled by the material in this
very short book, but I would like to think that at some deep unspoken
level he would admit a grudging admiration for a strangely kindred
spirit of a poet forging a new truth across the wide open spaces of America.
As for me, I bear no grudge, and am compelled to stand in silent awe
before my slow rhythmic then raggedly faster clapping followed by deafening shouts of "Testify!" Yeah. Freaking incredible. Word indeed.
University of New Mexico Press
2007
ISBN: 978-0-8263-4133-4
Normally in the absence of a bookmark I will turn down the corner of the page,
but for this book, even a bookmark seems like an imposition.
It is not the beauty of the book itself,
though there is something remarkably pristine about its manufacture,
or that the words are spectacularly elegant.
I think it is that the book is the manifestation of poems rooted in
and aware of every day, ordinary physical reality,
sitting at a specific outdoor cafe, on particular library steps,
walking the edge of that lake so that the implied can all the more by contrast fly.
It both contains and represents the art of an artist
living in the limits of the physical and the unlimits of the soul,
grappling with the corporeal lines that divide the universal spirit into individuals,
the painful fuzzy boundaries of where each of us begins and ends.
I sit on the 125 typing this review on the tiny Blackberry keyboard,
in deeply respectful reverence.
University of Pittsburgh Press
2008
ISBN: 978-0-8229-5987-8
That was Dispossessed Combat Sex America drugged up and slapping you
around with an electric guitar while wearing a neatly tailored poetry costume.
No Tell Books
2007
ISBN: 978-0-6151-6133-4
I wear tribal emblems and private
humors. Carry a small mirrored
rectangular affinity for these seven
line but differently structured poems.
Untitled, gentle, natural allusions
to body parts. Tightly coupled
life, imagined for me "the risky light"
The Backwaters Press
2007
ISBN: 978-0-9785782-8-2
Instantly I lose myself in torn parchments of memory, fear, melancholy, individuality, loneliness, failure, the brief phrases of connected joy and random musings on the nature of existence. That I cannot always identify each referenced experience, or have not lived those I can identify is immaterial. The simple words are material enough, well constructed, comfortable to live in. It is not exactly my life, nor exactly how I express my life poetically, but close enough, in the reading, that it could be.
Copper Canyon Press
1992
ISBN: 1-55659-043-1
Something must have happened off screen between pages 121 and 122, or perhaps the visit to "the shrink" on page 120 caused a delayed breakthrough, because a book that had previously presented itself as watered-down James Dickey (the same obsessions with place, family, violence, death, weather and the recurring characters of sun and moon, but without any of the joyful exuberance or linguistic flair, and with no obvious trace of the author - the most personal poems being those written in the first person as someone else) suddenly made itself Real and persisted enjoyably as such until page 197 and the poem about the poet going to a Halloween party as an effeminate cross-dressing Hitler in what may have been intended as self-deprecation/anti-Hitler but which struck me in its use of image, language (one violent but hardly isolated slur in particular) and simile (which are, after all, tools of a poet, and not to be dismissed in a poem as incidental) as both anti-gay and denigrating women who socialize without underwear, leaving me with the highly unusual thought that while this really could be high art social commentary with deeper irony that I'm missing (in which case I'm sorry, but even if it is, it runs the risk of being turtles all the way down) perhaps a little less real emotion would have been more than adequate, and
while the text poems that followed weren't bad and the run-on-text poems were technically interesting, by then I'd just stopped caring.
Open City Books
1999
ISBN: 978-1-890447-04-5
I thought I was eating unadvertised flarf. But it's more cohesive than flarf. Not lumpy, but not constructed exactly either, unless the random details, sudden changes of subject, bizarre metaphors, stunning observations, and out of nowhere vocabulary choices in the midst of what might be stories are Gothic architectural references. Then there's the "froms" (Cantos for James Michener: Part II, and Guide to the Graves of British Actors) with their non-contiguous Roman Numeraled stanzas. Are these actual excerpts? Were the originals really that long? Is there a Part I? It's all questions, confusions, inversions, and if you come out the other side in doubt about the nature of reality, I suspect that was intentional, "confessing our devotion to resemblances on the yellowed breakdance charts that we studied by candlelight, like toys caught reading their own directions."
Copper Canyon Press
2019
ISBN: 978-1-55659-576-9
This book has a healthy obsession with Alan Turing, and so I cannot fault it. Mostly narrative and descriptive on the surface with references to war and encoding and Turing's own tragic end, I can read without effort but find myself drowning if I am even briefly distracted, unsure of what I was reading about exactly, if I ever knew at all, especially those poems that slip in and out of the second person. Several of the poems are Centones, borrowing whole lines from a long list of poets and the unpublished writings of Turing. Even though I have made extensive use of source texts in some of my work I was unfamiliar with this particular form. I have also never seen a poet do an erasure of their own work, Part Three consisting of an interesting textual description of a memorial to the Magna Carta and then an erasure of it. Also notable are two pieces that invite alternate readings: “On the Somme”, which is sort of written in two columns, and “Identity Matrix, Alan Turing, 1952” an 8x8 grid of words. I am enhanced.
The University of Wisconsin Press
2010
ISBN: 978-029923514-7
Such very pretty poems, constructed from fruit, and flatware, and the mad urgent rushing onward of clouds and critters, and sometimes scattered humans who seem insignificant and rooted by comparison. This is a book of unexpected verbs and startling adverbs of poems starting always, significantly, on the right hand page, over, and again, pulling me through from cover to cover, reading the world drift quickly by.
Ahsahta Press
2015
ISBN: 978-1-934103-59-3
If these are not facts stated plainly, such that individual meanings rotate counter-clockwise, illogically separating surface from substance, then I am conclusive with meta-examples: "the story went on, for the most part, with a kind of lovely unease, spending days in bed, claiming I was a nun, painting abstract farm scenes." My capacity abruptly inferred, "it only appears to be nothing."
Hanging Loose Press
1980
ISBN: 0-914610-17-1
Confessional chaos stuffed every which way into stanzas of varying sizes, imagery bursting out all over the room as I read: metaphor, dreams, memories, rural childhood poverty, Marxist-socialist family, life as a lesbian-feminist poet, teacher and worker in 1970's San Francisco. "Response to L-A-N-G-U-A-G-E" is interesting, you don't often see inter-school poetry critiques in the form of poems, though of course Language can't fight back. Fantastic, but yet so real. Out of print, but you can find one.
HarperCollins
1977
ISBN: 9780876853627
lines from the life
I dreamed when I was 13
and he was past 50
now I am past 50
and
dreaming again
but
I have memories now
from back in the days
when I lived there too
with my second brain
Resource Publications
2018
ISBN: 978-1-5326-4480-1
This book was more seizure-inducing than I anticipated, having heard the scanning image creation of selected readings and the answers to questions about the self-classification of schools, thus knowing in advance the subject matter and intentional accessibility of a projected audience. But what I failed to gather from that reading preview was the overwhelming relentlessness. By which I do not mean style or form, each of these poems having found its own form within a consistent approach of professionally crafted gently rhythmic naturalistic metaphor that in a few poems I found wildly creative. It's the relentlessness of 54 poems which, while divided into 4 chapters, are all about frequently distant marriage, focusing in varying degrees on the erotic joy of togetherness, the loneliness and anticipation of absence, and the fear of permanent loss. "Two Aprils", which extends the relationship backwards to an imagined 1969 was my favorite, and I have to give credit for the use of Richard III's scoliosis as a relationship metaphor. That the poet does not classify her work as confessional confuses me slightly, but I think I will agree for reasons left unexpressed.
New Directions Publishing Corp.
1995
ISBN: 978-0-8112-1302-8
This book is wildly uneven. The four page Introduction seemed much longer (can't the poetry speak for itself? Does it really need this much explanation?). The first poem, The Glass Essay is one of the most incredible, richly layered, highly personal pieces of writing I've ever read in any genre. The Truth About God is a series of smaller poems, at worst good and interesting, at best astounding. Even having read the introduction I could not make any sense or find much art in the next two sections: TV Men, also a series of smaller poems, and The Fall of Rome: A Traveller's Guide. The Book of Isaiah is weird and wonderful, intoxicating in its imagery, makes sense, doesn't make sense, creates its own sense. And then finally The Gender of Sound which is really more essay than poetry, and as identity in general, and gender identity in particular are personal issues for me, both fascinating and riveting cultural anthropological analysis. But her assessment near the end of Playboy as an agent of ancient cultural oppression misses the subversive power of chaos bottled for male consumption, and the complexity of moving a male-dominated culture beyond repression and self-control into Universal Consciousness.
BlazeVox
2007
ISBN: 978-1-934289-58-7
BlazeVox proclaims / poetry
books come in many forms / Last night's mare waiting for
***
themselves a publisher of weird / poetry books
come
in many forms / her at a different train station delayed
***
little / poetry books come
in
many forms / delayed and then there ignoring boarding a
****
books and I cannot / poetry books come in
many
forms / helicopter previously unnoticed parked
***
argue, / poetry books come in many
forms, / inside the station leaving me shouting,
***
disparate threads conspiring to push me back in to
whirred blades of desperate sleep.
Omnidawn
2016
ISBN: 978-1-63423-023-6
Three long multi-part works written around the elusive definition of house and home,
both in word and structure including fragments scattered throughout that resemble partial dictionary entries.
I appreciate it more for experience related by the multi-layered complexity than for the familiarity I find only in the first section,
"Letters to Mao", in which each page begins "Dear Mao" and some repeat that phrase internally, describing life in the architecture of Texas.
In the second section, "House A; Geometry B" I am lost despite or because of the 26 lettered subsection headings and interspersed technicalities.
The third section, "How to Build an American Home" begins each page with a picture or diagram not obviously related to the words.
The architecture and craftsmanship of House A are admirable, but I feel intentionally unwelcome.
Tia Chucha Press
2010
ISBN: 978-1-882688-39-5
right boot propped on
the bare metal seat support
late afternoon december
28 eyelids heavy
as the bus slides clockwise
around conshohocken curve's black
boulder wall blizzard already
forgotten into tiny rivulets
half way down the 124th
page of meticulous depression
close and are jolted
wide again by the woman
in the annoyingly cheerful
hat yelling about christmas
and her idiot brother past
and across me to a
nameless faceless friend
in the back who will die some day
at the foot of the wissahickon
where my savior walks on warmer
days and i used to bike the gravel
drive with both my parents my mother
is gone and my father no longer
rides but the kid on the left
side of the aisle has possibly 3
2 mothers with random facial
piercings, one blonde, one puerto rican, and a tall thin ethnically
ambiguous father in blue and white
north carolina swag i worked
9 years in north carolina my wife
visited the outer banks with her brother
watched the wild horses and bought us home
obx hoodies for christmas. my daughter
gave me this book to read and it is
exhaustingly linguistically impressive
even with all the numbers and the latin
and the senseless death
Random House
2001
ISBN: 0-375-75519-5
It's formulaic story telling with a twist (metaphor becomes reality, reality becomes metaphor, the most abstract concepts are anthropomorphized to humorous conclusion, the poet shifts perspective and/or person at the end, the ambiguities clearly marked as to be unambiguous) but so very pleasant, and it makes me smile.
Red Hen Press
2009
ISBN: 978-1-59709-138-1
The introduction and the actual letters to guns, of which there are 8, achieve a level of artistic dementia that makes me proud to be the kind of person who would receive this book as a belated birthday gift. The rest are generally very good, but give the strong impression that they would be more comfortable in a magazine, representing the poet on their own, and not crammed together in the pages of a book, displaying wildly divergent styles and speech patterns, and generally failing to live up to the unrealistic expectations set by their thematically consistent, firearm-toting siblings.
River King Press
2011
ISBN: 978-0-9650764-4-9
I don't know what to make of this book. At first I was afraid the entire thing was going to be illustrated free verse celebrity bio poetry, a genre whose existence I had not previously contemplated. I am not a fan of free verse in large doses unless it really sings, and the references to the lives of celebrities, especially when accompanied by what look to me like pencil drawings from photographs, is a cheat against the words. The Kennedy family poems were at least poignant, but it's already a poignant story, and hard to tell whether my reaction is to the words on the page or images I already have based on the names alone. The literary reference poems were interesting, but also derivative. The Enola Gay poem was an improvement but, again, I have my own mental images of Hiroshima. The Hitler poem was good, also a little more creative, though I'd just watched Inglorious Basterds the night before. The Holocaust poems were OK, the contrast between the two girls at the concentration camp a fine execution of poetic split-screen technique. But the spiritual heart, possibly the point of the book, are the domestic violence poems: the viewpoints of men who hate women, the women they hate, and the children who grow up in violence, with the Ted Bundy, Sharon Tate, Jim Jones, and both oddly similar Nicole Simpson poems wandering back to celebrity territory. So to recap, I'm not wild about the subject matter, not particularly impressed by the poetic use of English, and actively annoyed by the whole support system of illustrations, introductions, footnotes and quotes. But even as a body of wounded parts, the book speaks with a clean strong voice, refusing not to be heard.
Yale University Press
2012
ISBN: 978-0-300-17893-7
In San Diego, the work done, we
argued immigration law and orientation vs.
attraction, identity, and behavior while drinking
or driving somewhere to drink I read
this book sitting on the plane with one
air conditioner broken, the pilot warning
of thunderstorms and heat waves back
home, this book of border crossing gay
Mexican sex poems shimmering
haphazardly in the heat; I know
not whether it would have snuck me
here without help or left me buried in
the desert, the exhuming coyotes fighting
over my Rockports and well-worn Union cap.
No Tell Books
2010
ISBN: 978-0-9826000-1-6
san-serif, 1.5 line spacing, alphabetic
section numbers, & digital section
notes self-contain a typographic
universe clear & in sections One
& Two impenetrable, alien,
science-math-vocabularied, could
the poems survive outside breathing
our air? Section Three liquidifies
expands or drowns with still dense but less
academic erotic physicality, food & by
section Six relational melancholy even
landscape grid & circle poems become
natural to inside particle participant
citizen what follows
the final wondrous notes?
Red Hen Press
2016
ISBN: 978-1-59709-725-3
I don't know how to write about this book. What is language, structure, conjecture, self? How much of the poet is built in? How much am I? How much are all of us? Write your own review. Jesus.
Adventures In Poetry
2006
ISBN: 0-9761612-3-0
I'd like to buy a context please? Beautifully composed words leap effortlessly from the tongue. It's definitely a poetry book, as opposed to a book of poetry; I love how in Romantic Fragments the titles of the individual poems both start the poem and finish the one before, or at least appear to. But I don't fundamentally get it. Which may be what she's alluding to in the opening "The mania for explanation..." or maybe not. The source notes at the back are mostly to other art, so perhaps the point is art for art's sake, though others do not seem to share my difficulty of understanding; it may make perfect sense to you and even if it doesn't, you will have had the pleasure of reading it to yourself.
Alfred A. Knopf
2004
ISBN: 0-375-71049-3
This is one on those poetry books that make you see things with lists of words:
birds, families living in their cars, a girl waiting on the El platform in November, growing up in South Philadelphia,
the extrapolated life of a jazz saxophonist, the last stanza of "What is this" a metaphor for all the beautiful rest:
"the scene veiled somehow
by sand and fluid pearl
I know I've been here too
and felt crushed shell
shifting in my heart
inside image life
vagrant still doubtful
promise of what's there
in a lost unknown place."
Wesleyan University Press
1994
ISBN: 0-8195-1218-4
And yet it works, intoxicatedly arranged and later accented words meaning precisely something else jaunted at the encircled subject like Dr. Yadav's chalk marks until the image, a half recovered memory of some stranger's trauma, is almost with you and you realize too late that the poem has already risen from the deck of the page, the falling gunner carefully adjusting you with violent clarity in his sights.
W.W. Norton
2012
ISBN: 978-0-393-0819-0
I did not like this book. Technically, it's not bad. The poems are a little long for my taste, the word choices running from uninspired and repetitive to sometimes brilliant, but they get a rhythm up and keep it going, driving you through the poet's psyche-damaged Northwest contemporary landscape with enough flair that you can recognize the art of his driving. But here's The Thing: I understand writing poetry out of loss. It's a great motivator. It was my original motivator to write poetry regularly. I could have taken 92 pages of poems motivated by an older brother's suicide, even 92 pages of speculation on where did he die, how did he die, what was he thinking when he died, who was with him when he died, what did they think when he died? What I couldn't take was "Elegy to a Goldfish." There is no excuse for poetry glorifying the psychological torture of a young girl, even if she is your sister, even if you dedicate the poem to her at the back, and even if you dress it up in some Weird Christian Substitutionary Atonement metaphor.
Copper Canyon Press
2011
ISBN: 978-1-55659-377-2
Flies is a sparse scatological matrix of loneliness and loss, snapshots of random details ("a bag of piano keys", "The cigarette ash falling into the sink") and memories of childhood, dream interactions with dead family members, an obsessive confusion with body parts, and flies, recurring incessant flies, the white space reinforcing isolation even better than the words. But I am haunted by the words, "staring out the window as if the playground were on fire."The Water Bulls Ray DiZazzo
Granite-Collen Communications
2011
ISBN: 978-1452863733
This book has a strong sense of self, from the Poetry as Art introduction to the interspersing of Poems and Art. I appreciate the effort to see the book as its own construct, but it didn't work as well for me as the poetry alone. The small non-poetry grey-scale semi-abstract art doesn't seem like an equal citizen, though I can understand the portraits and self-portraits as social context and in that role they pull the rest of the art along with them. The poems are technically incredibly impressive, especially when DiZazzo is capturing moments of transition chaos: Summer Storms (El Paso, 1967) (not rain to rain) or Kestrel (stationary to flight to killing dive). The birth/death/decay/food imagery is powerful - so many packed so tightly in one volume borders on Monty Python. But all of the poems succeed individually in what they were trying to do. I experienced them.
Houghton Mifflin/Mariner
2007
ISBN: 978-0-618-82212-6
It's not a bad book. I'm just puzzled. The core is list poetry with some action interspersed or commentary on the side (literally in the case of Montezuma's Painters, list on the left, commentary right justified in italics). "What I Mean When I Say Blossom" includes the words "Odd, how I'm reluctant to give up on this list". The other two elements are 1) art history, sometimes accessible and sometimes depending that I already know or stop reading and go look it up, these aren't nonsense references, what isn't list is narrative, I am both puzzled and educated and 2) the violence of boredom and/or art history (many examples, but a detailed description of Audobon killing birds to make them look lifelike for his art is maybe the most extreme).
Southern Illinois University Press
2011
ISBN: 978-0-8093-3031-7
An American living with sex, loss, romance, death, consumerism, parking tickets in these end of days, illustrating with words about flowers, ice, and birds, and some disturbingly ambivalent graphic violence among dogs in Since Everyone Can Never Be Safe. But really it is all ambivalent graphic violence and the inevitability of human entropy. Or so it seems at first. My reading interrupted I reenter at page 55 and am less able to engage with the last 7 poems. The section headings "X" (of which there are three, separating the first and last poems from the rest and the notes from the poems) add to my vague discomfort with the exercise as a whole, which does not detract from the power of the individual pages.
boosthouse
2014
ISBN: 978-0-990691-1-3
fifty pages of lowercase untitled confessional poems written with words
"i don't have to go back to college to understand"
that perfectly capture the universality of gay human angst-ridden joyful erotic interactive experience,
phrase after phrase after memorable phrase:
"the way gloves live / is how i feel about this", "my muscles are forgetting things",
"it's quiet in my heart / i'm taking better care of my teeth now",
"pools of light come apart between us / all queer and laughter / all gay and uproar / all insane and growth".
if you don't read contemporary poetry or relate to queer anything,
start here. no matter who you are or how you identify, or what you normally read,
this book will supplement your personhood.
No Tell Books
2007
ISBN: 978-0-6151-6131-0
She dares speak truth and I who have known several like and wondered at
many more feel closer for the reading. Beauty out of pain (a phrase here and there
perhaps a little too forced to be clever and at times unintentionally repetitious for
a poet who has seduced English to her whims)
and I was sorry when it ended feeling self-referentially used and abandoned and
having enjoyed almost every second of our explicit spiritual experience.
Honest Publishing
2011
ISBN: 9780956665867
This book didn't excite me. These are the kind of poems I would write if I were less formal, longer winded and more death obsessed, in that most are addressed to the absent second person, that familiar i/you/we construct of relationship poetry. The individual words are nothing to write about, except for some sudden changes in tense that I mostly found jarring. But in the collective words of ideas, there is a strongly implied underlying rhythm of brushed snare drums, random piano notes and minor sax riffs half-heard as you sit at the dimly lit table in the back corner, alone, of course, snapping your fingers unconsciously.
Coffee House Press
2013
ISBN: 978-1-56689-326-8
I think somebody must have drilled a hole in my head and pulled out my structuralpoetry analysiscenter y'know?
I mean I get that it's like a whole book
(with illustrations, including black and white photos of deer parts and human placenta
and one chapter with grey-scale lithographs as background, which is visually way hard to read)
which seems to be an obsession with the realities of human female physiological existence in a male-dominated world,
selfimage as a collection of holes (entrance, egress, containment) and the carrierproducer of placenta (the first flag)
alternating between the slangy conversational and the heavily footnoted found language seasoned with Germanic word invention,
I cannot tell if this is confessional or accusational in its second person reaching unresolved for clarity.
Is she a DES baby? Is the fathersurgeon figure fact, and what is his maybeimplied protected secret?
Burrow Press
2020
ISBN: 978-1-941681-62-6
I think I first encountered Ariel Francisco's work with a copy of DRIVING TO WORK, I STOP SUDDENLY TO LET AN ALLIGATOR CROSS THE ROAD on Twitter, which I read as a meditation at a church council meeting. That poem feels a little less majestic in the context of this book, more about Florida than the alligator, the book as a whole reading in a vein of Billy Collins, Liam Rector, and James Tate, which I’m sure someone will tell me isn't really a vein, but definitely isn't a bad vein: easy interesting language, serious, with a twist, a little surreal but also much more focused, specifically on Florida and the rising polluted oceans, the end of maybe not all that impressive human civilization, all of which are topics I can relate to and care about, having been to Florida 5 times, and having preached a sermon about the imminent end of humanity. So worth reading, and if you can read both Spanish and English, this is a parallel translation edition, the Spanish on the left hand pages and the English on the right, and while I can only vouch for the English, it might be even better if you read all the pages.
Otoliths
2009
ISBN: 978-0-9806025-1-7
Grammar-cloud stanzas rain words to dance the streetlight meteorologist-reviewer (shaman) fretting to forecast wind passage, density, spirit explosion debris distribution lines in reference book warehouse, sidestepping twisted yellow forklift remains, failingly sussing the rum-drunk thumbprints of creation. Stand heavenward, move as moved by the gleeful left behind wreckage of English, meaning and purpose until you collapse with exhaustion (276 pages [approximate] of a single[?] flarf[?] poem being way too much of a good thing), only to awake, dazed and confused, in a jungle that may or may not be whispering to itself in a conversation you will never understand.
Autumn Press House
2006
ISBN: 1-932870-07-5
Early evening geese speak without emotion of ethereal
concrete fragments spun together half awake, my
mother, the banks of the Schuylkill after a flood,
this book. Fugue state overtakes me as I read,
carries me in its cool embrace - nothing is completely
here but I cannot quite nuance what is missing just
around the bend of reality, nor do I
matter,
surrounded by the flowing broken lines and branches.
White Pine Press
1997
ISBN: 1-877727-71-7
To the sinewy, tall, possibly bearded young man headed home from Hampshire College who inquired prematurely across the Vermonter aisle what I thought of this book by one of his professors as it waited patiently in turn on the white plastic tray table before me: I love this many-poemed ode to corporeal identity and Rae, who presented it, wrapped in newspaper, before his graduation.The Man With Night Sweats Thom Gunn
The Noonday Press
1992
ISBN: 0-374-52381-9
I finished this book in one morning commute, the first few poems read on the first bus annoying me with their rigid rhyming such that I kept looking at the back cover hoping that the glowing reviewers quoted there had actually read the same poetry. But by the third vehicle of the morning, the Norristown Trolley, I found myself too easily, painfully, dreadfully relating the rich dark Agnes Irwin girls making non-uniform use of orthodox plaid in the interest of new social conventions with 1980's San Francisco and realized how a beautifully understated communication of something new and alive and lost in the later poems had worked their way into my head.
No Tell Books
2007
ISBN: 978-0-6151-4140-4
I've spent enough time in Texas and New York City without actually living in either that I can see how moving from the one to the other might do this to your brain. The poems, like New York City, barely order chaos; each divided in to stanzas within the confines of a single page, but with no consistency of size or structure within or across those boundaries. The language moves like New York City, with a unique sense of ambiguity, juxtaposition, reuse, recycling, invention and compounding of words and ideas and references to events and people unseen (Who is Amanda, and why is her briefcase not with her?). And yet I have this nagging sense, reinforced by the graphic-novel-like illustrations and title fonts that it is all a massive joke of disproportionate scale, that the land is supposed to be flat and empty.She Had Some Horses Joy Harjo
Thunder's Mouth Press
1983
ISBN: 0-938410-06-7
Deceptively simple vocabulary songs of a poet people trapped in superimposed place names, woven in to the voices from the neighbor's backyard randomly climbing through my study window, dreaming of their own Earth, referencing their own memory of personal and cultural violence, body and spirit, beneath a sky that refused to rain today.
Nightboat Books
2017
ISBN: 978-1-937658-64-9
I liked the poems in this book. I liked them better after I read the Notes, which is one of the most extensive notes sections I've seen yet. I'm not entirely sure what to make of the book itself. I like a certain consistency in theme, in style, in presentation, something. And even after reading the notes if there's a theme here I'm not a sophisticated enough poetry reader to discern what it is. Maybe it's an intentional protest against the homogeneity and conformity of poetry books. There's a poem before the table of contents that's referenced in the table of contents. The table of contents uses slashes to separate the titles from the numbers, which for me sets a violent tone for the rest of the book that's consistent with much of the language. There's the poems presented as cubes, each page a different side (explained in the notes). The bits in Arabic (which are translated in the notes). Two poems with very fancy calligraphic titles. The poem on a centerfold. The song lyrics, presented with musical notation. The poem in Spanish (translated in the notes). I think my favorite in the book is "He who fights with monsters" which opens with two quotes, one from Nietzsche in German (which is not translated in the notes).
Alice James Books
1975
ISBN: 0-914086-09-X
Four very different sections: HERBAL, WIVES, RAW HONEY, and INTERSTATE. I liked HERBAL, each poem seemingly about the properties of a different herb morphing into some back-referenced commentary. I'm not entirely sure what's going on with WIVES, and something certainly does seem to be going on in these otherwise disjointed poems, an inconsistent thread perhaps of discontent and disappearance (this is not such an original thought, the last word of the last poem, "Alewife", is "disappearing" after all)? RAW HONEY a collection of single page observational/confessional/nature poems my favorite, "October," beginning and ending with geese behind black clouds. INTERSTATE runs like a forlorn version of James Brown's "Livin' in America" and I wanted it to keep running. It's an odd set of poems over all: sharp, detailed, a little witty, kind of sad.
Penguin Books
2010
ISBN: 9780143116967
Thrillingly original in both form and content. Formal, confessional, meta, black male cultural experience reference, the very best of it structured as Japanese business presentations. "My night is careless with itself, troublesome as a woman wearing no bra in winter."
University of Pittsburgh Press
2010
ISBN: 978-0-8229-6077-5
Amazingly intricate, intimate treatments of largely larger issues: unemployment, cancer, climate change, coal mining, the Holocaust, war, serial killers, spree killers, Noam Chomsky, interrupted by the Virginia Tech shootings by a one-time student of the poet, and somewhat random more personal less intricate poems about the shootings, the poems after the shooting poems a peculiar mix of war, economics, the environment, religious conflict, and human interaction, more experimental, direct, first-personal, emphatic of connections and the need to share. All (except, maybe, for Backward) quite good and worth reading.
Alfred A. Knopf
1998
ISBN: 0-375-40253-5
I suppose this is an intellectually ambitious if somewhat disjointed book. Divided in to two chapters, the first, simply "1", 15 poems being more about nature, some portraits, mostly autobiographical with a couple of references to music of the late sixties, the last, Husband and Wife, intense. "2. On Love" is a series of poetic essays on love written from the viewpoints of 25 philosophers and writers. Without reading the works and biographies of all 25 (and I did at least look up those I didn't know on Wikipedia), the references don't make much sense, and given that the title of each poem is the name of the person being emulated, I suspect that we are supposed to get them. The poetry itself is OK, a little longer than necessary in most cases, with heavy reliance on repetition and reversed word order, e.g. Pulling hats out of a rabbit. Good work, but I found it a struggle to get through.
Burning Deck Press
2007
ISBN: 978-1-886224-81-0
I realized around page 12 that I was going to have to read the rest of the book out loud. Which would make reading it on the bus impossible. Even though I think the people on the bus with me should hear it. Everyone should hear it. Obscure names of birds: Obscure names of plants: Obscure names of human body parts: Some misuse of English parts: Some Invented English (wwwdot): intentional confusion with Latin (the Mare Ibrium, the mare's nest): The abuse of punctuation: made recitation difficult. Automatic points are given to reimaged rewritten Christian texts, especially including the opening of the Gospel of John and the salting of unrelated sources. Above all, the celebratory nature.
Coffee House Press
2014
ISBN: 978-1-56689-374-9
The imagery is strong with this one. On page 57 I am shocked by the relative banality of an anthropomorphic tree because every line until then has been a new adventure e.g. "strobe-lit and slick with music I set my hair on fire so you can find me on the dance floor", Structurally autobiographic, confessional, homoerotic and above all relationally TENSE, as in "I was a cross-legged boy in the third lifetime, empire of blocks in my lap while you walked through the door of your silence, hunting knife in one hand, flask in the other." Make it yours.
Anchor Books
1997
ISBN: 0-385-49032-1
Wow. A little much angry here and there for my taste, the angry still
entertaining and not to my mind misdirected
(Operation Rescue, war mongers, supremacists, Clarence Thomas,
not that I claim any authority over the
legitimacy of anyone else's anger
even when I am agreeing with them) just a little less personal and
overwhelming the art where the other
emotions seem more in tune with it, but perhaps that's the poet artfully
illustrating discord, and the art in these sequences of mostly very short lines
is in the contrast between lines, within lines, between poems leaping from the
very personal to the international, even the international personal, focused on
the people and their struggles so that I am in Baghdad, Belfast, Lebanon, as much
as feeling the poet's loneliness and the poet's joy as though it were my own.
Kelsey St. Press
2001
ISBN: 978-0-932716-56-9
It is both conceptual and confessional? That matters, whether it is the confessions of the poet or the confessions of others, changes what the concept is, the repeated questions, the unrelated answers, a romantic narrative? ignoring imposed constraints? the conflict interesting? My youngest sister-in-law, that is a long story, invited us to hear the orchestra play Sibelius’s 5th Symphony, Esa-Pekka Salonen waving the broad sweep of the strings unresolved until questions and answers suddenly match. The man behind me says “Oh my God.” Staccato.
Slope Editions
2003
ISBN: 0971821933
How do we choreograph words to some quote or life event? Deep ephemeral: to dive and then forget somethings about Italo Calvino and cities, identity and corporeality, the shedding of skin and the puncturing of spacetime. "Doubles" I will remember, the careful placement of objects followed by explanation.
Andrews McMeel
2017
ISBN: 978-1-4494-8679-2
I will start by saying that even though this book proudly proclaims itself to be a #1 New York Times Bestseller I had never heard of Rupi Kaur before I was given copies of both it and "milk and honey", and was therefore not aware that she was controversial in poetry circles. As someone who took 40 years to get over childhood trauma, and who knows several women who have survived trauma, I am in favor of any book that helps large numbers of girls, especially those who have experienced trauma or have body image issues, to feel better about themselves, even if the book is ragingly hetero-binary-specific. But despite the marketing, it's not a poetry book. It's a very brave self-help/inspiration book that's been sort of arranged like a poetry book illustrated with line drawings by the author. It's not linguistically unique, creative, rhythmic, rhymed, formally structured, or ambiguous, and in the cases where the author didn't think it was obvious enough, there are titles, in italics, after a block of text, just to make sure you got it. The one piece in both books that I read as an actual poem was the untitled
i am made of water of course i am emotional
My best hope is that if you are an unambiguously heterosexual female person who has suffered from sexual violence, bad relationships or self-image deficiencies that you will find this book healing/empowering, and then you will maybe read some of the actual poetry books that I have reviewed here.
Penguin Books
2010
ISBN: 9780143117728
She strings images like beads from a rocking chair bereft.
Bloof Books
2007
ISBN: 978-0-6151-6355-0
Remember flying down toward the bay hanging on to the outside of the cable car by the strap like in the commercial only much, much faster,
so fast you can't parse the curves of Lombard Street on your right or the excited cries of tourists who've never seen a simile dangling from a metaphor, cars zipping by inches from your feet, the only thing standing between you and certain death the brakeman ready to drop that giant bolt through the hole in the floor if anything goes wrong, only he isn't really between you and death at all, he's way in the back and for all you know he isn't standing and possibly not even paying any attention and when it finally does come to a stop you're already figuring out how you can get back up to the top
of the hill to do it all again? It's that good. Seriously. Go buy a copy. Now.
ragged bottom press
2009
ISBN: 978-0-9841242-0-6
I just want to sing these poems, or join in the singing, because I think they're singing themselves already. Somebody is anyway. You know that film shorthand for ghosts, where they either never show you the whole ghost, just the flitting by, or they show you the whole ghost, but it's never in focus, so you can tell it's the image of somebody who was real? Angels are dead people too, right? And if you look at them directly in their natural form you'll go blind, just like you're not supposed to hear the actual voice of God. So either this is what it sounds like when ghosts sing out their relentless pain, or maybe what I'm hearing is the Metatron of the poem, and if I heard the actual voice of the poem my head would explode.
Fence Books
2005
ISBN: 0-9740909-8-0
At what unit of
linguistic measure
is metaphor birthed
or boundaries blurred
into suggestions?
single words, precise
observations freed
from context outside
stanza, poem, book
(misled by?) preface
explanation, the
reading (written) life?
With Apologies to Mick Jagger, Other Gods, and All Women Jane Rosenberg LaForge
Aldrich Press
2012
ISBN: 978-0615677002
I cannot lock my front door in the morning without testing it at least three times, because of my OCD, each time with a different hand position, incantation or dance. Otherwise, because of my senility, all the mornings of the last twenty plus years I have lived in this house merge together, and after walking a block and a half, arguing with myself, over whether I remember, I lose, and walk back to try again. Nor can I leave without a 226 Press or Philadelphia Union cap, because of my light sensitivity. And even with the hat, after all the handle rattlings, mumbled obscenities and shuffling jigs, I have to wait on the sidewalk, visually parsing the street because of my schizophrenia, until all the colored lines and polygons assert themselves as rowhouses, stores, trees, badly parked cars, and commuters waiting for the buses in various stages of age and distress. Reading this excellent book of poems constructed from grammatical sentences was like walking straight out of the house to the corner, my head bare, the front door probably open behind me. The structure is English, the route across and down the page simple and expected, but the words, the nouns especially, are twice removed from normal, the people are intemporal, I am uneasily convinced there is something between the words I have forgotten that needs checking, and I am squinting as I read. "It is youth that keeps you pale and concerned about the smaller buzzing parts, the soil and the pinecones there, and the grace between fists and teacups."
Yale University Press
2011
ISBN: 978-0-300-16920-1
A constantly shifting metaphoric microscope
revealing exquisitely beautiful details from
seemingly unrelated events: cranes and earthworms,
a bus ride through Ireland, mussels for dinner,
snow, Saturn, caterpillars, magnolias,
a doll factory, doves, the works of Gauguin and Rousseau,
the ingredients of bouillabaisse,
the Curie's laboratory, Galapagos tortoises, eels, sharks,
squids, driving through the Arizona desert drinking tequila,
astronomy, a leper colony, Perseus and Medusa, a market in Mali,
a hospital in Belfast, Leningrad burning, monks and onions,
Rachmaninov... Patterns emerge on the periphery of consciousness:
the sea and food, cancer and death:
It ends "In A Cemetery by the Sea: One Definition of a Circle."
I did not read the introduction by Louise Gluck. I have learned that lesson.
Four Way Books
2014
ISBN: 978-1-935536-49-9
I want, and do not want, to quote every poem ("I want to know what my mother stuffed into her purse the night she left our father and forgot to take us") unable to reconcile the picture of the smiling young poet with the depth of Christian parent-child language violence inside, so many ordinary words sequenced so "year after year after day afternoon;" places, body parts and inanimate objects arranged to form "family tradition" ("A friend watches me spoon a soggy chunk of my childhood and fling it somewhere between my Brooklyn sink and California"). It would be my one lifeline in this quiz show of poetry book reviews. But you must read for yourself, and survive into truth.
Factory Hollow Press
2013
To presume such a solid subject as the cow. To stand around it in various columnar shapes. To recall. Life relationship metaphor I cannot prove or hold having read this book three times my eyes sliding off the page. Not time consuming, a small book, hand bound, copy 21/150, no ISBN. If you find one try to stay awake, ask it refined poetic questions.
Elixir Press
2008
ISBN: 1-932418-25-3
The book was returned to the Post Office undelivered without any notice
where it sat for two weeks alone in its box needing desperately to be read
on the family room couch hands furtively grasping the pages each
word even the slightly overused ones a new but well remembered song which ends
in sleep among the cats in smiling dreams of intertwined and curled pasts
of illicit midnight stalking and the peace of my catharsis. This is art, this is life, this is poetry, and I am still too blissed out to rave adequately.
Letter Machine Editions
2010
ISBN: 978-0-9815227-4-6
Still life imposed color geography and grammar reference word problems inconsistently structure light and wing myself gently pried near "Human beings are never as big as the water they carry" to briefly ingest without question the otherwise unfathomable "of the long-wave extreme in the visible spectrum".
Melville House Publishing
2008
ISBN: 978-1-933633-48-0
a creative table
of contents makes me laugh with
appreciation for a poet who understands
book as a pink and green
artifact of the creative process; and this one
made me laugh and read it and the poetry
that followed out loud (including "the line
with the tweezers") to the annoyed family around me even if
it is a book whose primary protagonist-poet may or may
not be a frustrated depressed self-referential anti-capitalist vegan
hamster with a giant hallucinated floating head.
AuthorHouse
2008
ISBN: 978-1-4343-8932-9
Of, from and about a different time. A three person memory of the three thousand person Girard, Kansas, mostly written in subtle variations of quiet, gently rolling Midwestern style that doesn't completely read poetry to me. Still it has its poetic moments of metaphor by placement, and I enjoyed it as historical/anthropological artifact in which the introductions, biographies and long captioned photographs seem more comfortably at home.
Coconut Books
2007
ISBN: 978-0-6151-6182-2
Read half way through the giant painful Jackson Mac Low's which isn't fair and I try not to do but necessity. Another thing I try not to do is compare similar but after Harlot and The Halo Rule it will be hard not to, especially with Livingston acknowledging Jill Alexander Essbaum's influence. This is an awesome erotic book, a little less personally in the poet's emotional reaction to the moment than those two other differently great but so well expressed of the intellectual reaction ("Never have I believed in polygamy more...") and more in the moment itself while never saying exactly in a way that I leave best unanalyzed what tricks she's playing with my language centers to recall besides the urgent most obvious in "What There Wasn't Time to Mention" and the sense of identity in crisis throughout both explicitly of the words themselves not quite normally used.
Octopus Books
2012
ISBN: 978-0-9851182-2-8
An unassuming work (which, in some municipalities may be called "a poetry book" by ordinance or mayoral decree) deliberately stretches without puncturing the outline of what language can describe and you can imagine, folding time into new axioms like a linen napkin bird in a fancier restaurant you assume for yourself. Near the end (CHILDREN WITH LAMPS POURING OUT OF THEIR FOREHEADS, THE FATHER OF THE FICTIONAL ALPHABET, and FIG. 1), indoctrinated and delirious, I intuited typeset meaning.
Wasteland Press
2008
ISBN: 978-1-60047-241-1
consistently inconsistent
pluralization and tense distracts
me or the woman in the seat
before me
behind me
we are ridden backwards
on this trolley of relatives
tinted glasses clear
marking insanity
she excuses her
self suddenly to say
prayers finger left
to right a cross
down between
sharp breasts sharp face
bowed
up left return
to malfunctioning vindictive
consciousness stream
I like that word
malfunctioning.
It reads much better the second
time
at night
on the way home
another day on her knees
sympathetic
needing drunk
for alive
University of Georgia Press
2013
ISBN: 978-0-8203-4564-2
Inversion of order. Prying apart the resistant inviolate.
Filling the vacuum of structure. Fused juxtaposition.
Removal of hair. Domestic violence. Decision above reality.
Choosing who will die. Almost without forethought.
The book, the poems, the lines carefully arranging
unassumed objectives in the path of the shockwave.
You are the arranged, the arranger, the wave, and the Oppenheimer.
"The self casts a shadow of the self moving in opposite directions.".
University of California Press
2008
ISBN: 978-0-520-24936-3
The bagpipe is primarily a military instrument, used with the drum to strike fear into the enemy and bring courage to the clans.
In North America in its traditional usage, the bagpipe is most played by small bands ranging in size from five to perhaps twenty pipers with from one to four drums, with the larger bands being led by spectacularly dressed majors.
All bands play the same few well-known tunes but each, being its own small culture, plays them slightly differently.
Imagine yourself as a small lad of vaguely Scottish descent, in the first days of the great warming before anyone realized that something had fundamentally changed, sitting in the stands at the Devon Horse Grounds after wandering the Games for the first hour browsing through the kilt shops and watching the women dance their precise steps and the burly men compete to see who can throw a claymore the furthest or flip a telephone poll in the straightest line, waiting with the crowd for the highlight of the day, if not the year, the massed pipe bands.
Outside the gates there is the shuffling of feet, the soft odd bang of a randomly struck drum or the bleat of a piper tuning, then silence a shout a wailing to make the blood run cold as each band begins to pick up their own version of All the Blue Bonnets Over the Border and the drummers of each join in at their own pace almost coalescing as the gate swings open and five tall men in tall fur hats with long great sticks come strutting in with the mad screaming of over a hundred and fifty pipes and some twenty drums behind them.
This book is a massed bagpipe band of poetry, a huge, unwieldy, strangely familiar, wildly unrhythmic mixture of fear and courage that should be experienced once in every lifetime, that ends suddenly with the same quiet dignity of a single piper playing Amazing Grace at a funeral.
Atlantic Monthly Press
1997
ISBN: 978-0-8021-2463-0
Literally the thickest pages I have ever encountered in a poetry book. At first I could see the poet skipping across the natural landscape, perhaps with a companion, stopping every now and then to take in the local architecture, read a newspaper or watch television, a constant stream of free association narrative descriptive poetry filtered at times through an Old English Dictionary splashing out in whatever form seemed appropriate at the moment. But on page 59 with Don Quixote and then even more so Hitman.doc the mood shifts, the poet stands absorbing and commenting on randomized source texts I gather still denser words. Thereafter until the end place returns, more introspective and commenting than purely observational the last, "letter to america" the best, which is to say, my favorite.
Louisiana State University Press
2010
ISBN: 976-0-8071-3643-0
This is the most self-aware poetry book I've read yet, from the opening untitled "Margin is the whiteness in our silence..." to the ending untitled two line poem after the notes: the references to parts of speech, foreshadowing, and embellished language, the Spanish snippets, the clever hyphenation, the "you said...I said", the backwards references, the way the poems take over the page.
New Directions Books
2005
ISBN: 0-8112-1682-2
OK. Which is not an adequate response to a book with so many words. I will try harder. The epigrams did little for me. Of the sonnets and such that follow I enjoyed the collaborations most. ‘THIS IS A PROBLEM SOLVING DREAM WHERE THE GROUP ATTEMPTS TO BECOME THE LANGUAGE” has a Quotemarkless Descent of Alette feel wandering from room to room until it isn’t, English, combinations of bold large font RGBW, an explanation of picture tubes and an assaulting worth by itself the whole book. The poems after more enjoyable than those before. Bad translations. No I’m serious, there’s a series of poems intentionally translated into French and then back into English badly pages 73-77. House and Bernadette a dialogue between H and B followed by more generally observational and word list poetry until the end. I really don’t know what to make. It is engaging.
Wave Books
2018
ISBN: 978-1-940696-72-0
Let me describe this book to you before you decide to buy a copy.
First of all, it is an odd size: six by eight and three quarters of an inch thick.
I don’t know how I feel about the all-white cover with the title in big wide-but-skinny-san-serif font.
There’s a much smaller font for the author’s name on the front, bio on the back, publisher, and dedication, all italicized, with serifs, set maybe 15 degrees off vertical.
The title is sprawled large across 12 pages of front matter, which I’ve never seen done before.
III sections of poems.
Each poem consists of 5-10 five-line stanzas, two per page unless the number is odd. Which it frequently is.
The title page per poem contributes to the ¾ inch thickness.
Addressed in the second person to a man from a woman wanting more.
Is it sarcasm? Satire? Confessional or conceptual? Mostly consistent in its mostly repetitive tone?
HarperCollins
2019
ISBN: 978-0-06-293021-7
Unique and beautiful in form and educational in content, two poems, “What the Mind Makes” and “Nervous System,” the first one page, the second seventy-one, divided into untitled subpoems of one or two pages, the first lines of each recorded like [editorial comments] in the table of contents, introducing subjects and then weaving them with unvexing vocabulary into three line stanzas, except where the final stanzas of the subpoems are sometimes more abrupt. The subject matter is difficult, but I can bind to some of it as a dyslexic with seizure disorders whose mother died of Alzheimer’s and whose father once spent several months in and out of the ICU and rehab with nervous system damage which makes not having the potential for motherhood and having no scientific experience with spiders or growing up in a canyon less of a barrier to being absorbed.
Chicory Blue Press
1988
ISBN: 0-9619111-1-5
Section I of this book 9 numbered confessional poems living under the threat of Nuclear War. I remember when that was the biggest fear for many of us. Before Covid, SkyNet, Environmental Collapse, and the reemergence of fascism. Poem 6 now an eerie precursor to 9/11 “if men carried knives in airplanes” and “they say buildings will fly apart, that / I will be crushed by a concrete buttress”. Section II includes “Cut Outs” a poem of separation; two poems with art credits, a Manet painting of his wife, and a Louise Nevelson retrospective, as a pair moving from one love to another; and a series of romantic erotic confessionals with both men and women, in “Cleis” a reference back to I via a bumper sticker “NO NUKES OR WIFE ABUSE”. III begins with another artistic reference “on hearing Adrienne Rich lecture on Emily Dickinson”, then more romance, two more references, a memory of sexual abuse at 5 or 6, some poems about a brother, a sister, mother, grandmother I’m guessing, and finally Memoir, about a friend who died of AIDS. They’re all interesting poems, good use of language, varied in structure. I think I liked most of them. The structure of the book itself clearly confounded me as it often does. The work as a whole is very much of a particular time and a particular person and yet somehow detached and impersonal.
Wave Books
2007
ISBN: 978-1-933517-20-9
This book has a pronounced element much like the dental floss, yogurt cup, coffee bottle and dirty spoons that sit between me and the monitor that appeals more to Rae who loaned me this book and is thirty years younger and much smarter than me and makes me smile with his intellectual and emotional reality of randomness. Personally I like my poetic chaos slightly more organized and now with less vomiting but I must admit, cat meowing pitifully outside my study door, that the work works for what it does well.
Wave Books
2009
ISBN: 978-1-933517-40-7
A book about a woman not writing a book about the color blue in the form of 240 sequentially numbered short text poems, a project she describes in number 64 as "heathen, hedonistic and horny". I had myself by that point reached the phrase "spiritually raunchy" but however you choose to describe it this is a wonder filled memory trigger that is less as it darts about the metaphysics of color and more a series of questions about how a poet lives with the loss of profoundly erotic complex relationship. Easily one of the best for me.
Rattapalax Press
2000
ISBN: 1-892494-22-1
So many thoughts. The first being to simply skip what falls or lies between pages 19 and 86. Which is harsh, I know, and you might well find something you like in there. But it starts with such bold, almost antagonistic promise, the second, Saudade a yearning for a more complex, less uniform, simpler and yet more dangerous time and then in The Waterfall Effect what sounds like a manifesto "A poem is a record of the way the world rhymes with itself" that is realized at the ends. I who have thrown in German, Japanese, French, Hebrew, Scientific, Technical, Obscure Theological, and Invented vocabulary am a fine one to talk, but I found myself slogging through all the Western Civ references, wondering if they were supposed to be adding some particular color to my experience, thinking that pure reference does not constitute rhyme, until Cicada the title track, stormed over the horizon and pelted me, page after page, with words I did not need to understand, flashing fleeting lightning images of life.
Omnidawn Publishing
2012
ISBN: 9781890650599
This book is about sentences. Sometimes fragments. You will read about sea slugs with footnotes. And sex. You will read about sex, sex with people, and sex with sea slugs, and footnotes. But most of the words are sleep disorders. The sentences cut from the words look like they have mostly been molded in to ordinary paragraphs, discussing one single thing except they lose focus and wander off, or maybe they were really talking about that second subject, which is usually you, or relationships, or memories or paintings of memories. Also painting techniques, like poetry, like sleep disorders, the diffusion of light and parents. I have to like a book that uses Hypnagogia, because I used "Hypnagogic" in my last book. You, the second subject, may also, but possibly for different reasons.
Penguin Books
1992
ISBN: 978-0-14-058764-7
"I must respect" "an important work" "with vision, structure" "and methodology consistently applied" "too long (my brain
learned" "to ignore the quotes" "which" "despite their stated purpose" "hinted at disbelief or" "sarcasm" "and while every
image was" "compelling" "I am not sure they were required" "for the telling of the story)." "The story" "I think" "is to
make a point" "about being trapped in" "stories, visions, structures," "methodologies," "respect, and" "work," "important work."
Fence Books
2011
ISBN: 978-1-934200-40-7
If for no more than the audacity of scope.
The interview with Ron Silliman, the Mummer's parade, the brief biographies of comic book characters.
The innate humanness of inhumanity, the lies of maps, selected timelines, and etymology charts.
The blindness of tribal allegiance.
Commercial and military history, chemistry, subjugation and religion, esp. slavery and the development of Manhattan.
Lead poisoning, mercury poisoning, nuclear testing.
What to make of the second person narrative at the end, or the italicized Gibsonesque story of the woman, the three boys and the guard?
"you are surrounded by this mist, and it becomes denser, like a fog."
No Tell Books
2009
ISBN: 978-0-578-01872-0
I never knew it was possible to chat
so congenially about God
only knows what the effect like children
with fireflies on long Summer evenings who
sometimes poke holes in the lid and othertimes
don't while casual Etceteras, and So Ons and Things
Like That cavort alongside darting in unexpected
to tack themselves to the ends of already
violent constructions like extra nails
in the cross of inverted Subject-object
relationships and reversed tense.
ALSO, I FEEL EXPERIMENTED.
DID I MENTION THAT BEFORE YET?
PoemsNotBombs Press
2007
ISBN: 978-0-9796-8110-3
Most of these poems I hear in my head read aloud at rallies, the weather too cold and windy and the words whipping away so that it becomes necessary for a naturally quiet poet to shout. Scattered among them are the sadness of 9/11, the small warm observations, and my personal favorites, the not exactly off-topic humor thrown in for relief and perhaps context (I'm especially fond of Erica's Exes and To Friends Who Want to Submit). The art and consistent voice are not so much in the language as in the observation, in the contrast of images, celebration of the different, the unique, the simple good diverse inclusive things in life, the art and the poet warmly visible through the shouting.
Omnidawn
2012
ISBN: 978-1-890650-70-4
"it is in moments like these that language is just noise
which is to say that language is noise"
which you must consume in one sitting
or risk finishing before you begin
to comprehend anything footnoted
with drug descriptions and English
Blaise Pascal translations without
table
which would have imposed sequence
were you still alive.
The University of Chicago Press
2006
ISBN: 978-0-226-70604-7
The unpleasant larger elements of life: despair, loss, abandonment, addiction, prostitution, cancer, suicide, dance trippingly across the neatly ordered triplets of the page, pausing briefly on each to turn a phrase so startlingly daring and unexpected that you need at least to read it twice if not start over from the top.
Lulu
2012
ISBN: 978-1-105-91932-9
The subtitle of this book is "Poems and Stories for Common Folk," though the four "stories" mixed in with the poems are closer to short autobiographical essays. The introduction decries "complex imagery with flowery words, metaphors, and similes that most people don't understand." I guess "Common Folk" are people who believe poetry needs to be understood, and who like poems that are mostly 3/4 to a page long, mostly divided in to 4 line stanzas, mostly in the 7-12 syllables per line range, and mostly with an ABCB rhyming scheme. Common Folk may also be of a single particular religious bent, as at least five of the poems have references to Personal Friend and Savior brand Jesus including one in which Jesus speaks in italicized AABB rhyme. As there are more brain/language/reality-violencing poetry books being published than I or any other human, common or uncommon, can possibly consume, I fail to conceive the value add in conformant aspiration.
New Star Books
2001
ISBN: 0-921586-81-7
Beautiful. “To the first week of seriousness, just so fucking beautiful: to the end of admonition. it’s in you that we shall speak.” To the poet, a single poem. Beautiful. Sectioned by day: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Normally I am ambivalent to repetition. Meaning is superfluous. Each day in two parts, descriptive prose, a blank page and then more confessional with line breaks. Saturday’s second part has a name and distinct verses. The book is distinct from all others. The book is a poem of words. The words are repetitive. Meaning is superfluous. Beautiful. The sound. My hands move to the beautiful sounds.
2012
Steve Roggenbuck is an origamil froce of absurdist happy.
The first review i got of my Volume V was from stevenallenmay,
who hates POD books and couldn't understand why I put on the back cover a quote from somebody who refused to review Volume IV.
So on Volume VI i wrote my own scathing blurb that ended "Not recommended."
Which has nothing to do with Crunk Juice expect I wonder what stevenallenmay would say about
it's back cover which shouts THIS IS WHERE BEAUTY GOES TO DIE, and then goes worst.
Inside Rogenbuck folds tweets and Facebook comments in to happy little ungrammatical misspelled trees
(yes that is a Bob Ross refrence)
arranged on the page like flowers in a vase or rocks in sand for samurai contemplation:
"Eating shredded wheat and screaming while watching extreme couponing."
Buy this book even if it is public domain and today it is very hot and not raining.
Recommended.
Coffee House Press
2007
ISBN: 978-1-56689-205-6
I'm sorry to say that sitting down to write this review
a day after I'd finished the book,
I realized I was left with almost no direct memory of what I had read.
Which is kind of what the poems are like.
When the feeling of anticipatory anxiousness before the storm
and the emptiness and possibility after the storm
are the subject and the object of metaphor,
the near-death lightning strikes of humanity or nature are assumed
but never spoken of unless portrayed in a picture which is then itself,
its very pictureness, exquisitely described,
all of this indirection creating emotional distance through intellectualized
and to her credit reasonably evocative word play.
Graywolf Press
2015
ISBN: 978-1-55597-722-1
How does she write breeze-tossed nostalgia from squalor, addiction, and death ("Are you still mainlining amnesia, that downer, or nostalgia, double-downer?") with varied structure, with rapid changes of subject, with details hollowed by the passage of time or the reader preferring not to acknowledge them solid (with many exceptions, e.g. "kissing each other so deep some might call it brain surgery")? Strength, fine art, self-awareness, survival?
Fence Books
2013
ISBN: 978-1934200-67-4
I just. I can’t. I don’t. OK. Look. I have comments on almost every page and that would be ridiculous, so I will attempt to summarize I count 45 poems in this book, of which at least 17 make explicit reference to poems, poetry, or poets, and more about language, “IN OUR SHARED RAGE”, for instance, speaks of fonts, parenthetic sighs, the sphere of dialogue, aftermath of… against nature poems, in “WILD LIFE”, “the sheer velocity of certain kinds of poems with their orphic will turning you into nothing, a poet as humble reader of occasion.” All of the poems use some form of confessional language, first or second person, singular or plural but what there is of narrative or anything concrete seems metaphoric, and then suddenly “A SITUATION FOR MRS BISWAS” 9 pages of confessional narrative, and no impression of anything but reality. But what to make of “POETRY ANONYMOUS” (“Are you included? Are you the ‘you’? Or are you a suggestion? Are you partially included as a suggestion?”) I was not, out of first reading, able to resolve the blurbs, though “How it knights itself with the grandiose: the majestic snow of simulated faces, the whiteness that surrounds me, and the quiet that follows” I can see as “the intellectual life that is covalent with the micro-aggressions that accompany it.” Over all it seems more a manifesto on what poetry should not be, than a working example of what it should.. I am not an academic poet, reader, or reviewer and if I received “I DIDN’T SEE IT” as a critique of my own work I would have no idea what to do with it. I like confessional, I like obscure, I have limited use for narrative and nature poems, I’m all about the poet’s personal experience of the occasion, as is this review, and maybe the book. I’m just not the “you” in this one.
Yale University Press
2005
ISBN: 978-0-300-10789-0
The overly long foreword by Louise Gluck (hey, I recognize this poem, I read it in the foreword) makes a strong case that this is a beautiful book, an important book, a book that walks the line between narrative and chaos. I have some favorite quotes too: "I'm not the dragon. I'm not the princess either. Who am I? I'm just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future", "You see I take the parts that I remember and I stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back," and "The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell. Unfortunately we don't have that kind of time." She's right. It tells it plain and simple like it really is, if you live in a reality in which hearts have breakable bones, hands turn into birds, meaning is fixed to the landscape with pegs, cows fall out of the sky and land in the mud, and parentheses click shut behind you. But that's the thing about this book, the thing she doesn't say in the foreword, the thing that depresses all the beauty: it's crazy sad, explicitly born out of the childhood trauma in which people you love try to kill you for loving them. Not only is the poet living out his trauma like me and so many people I've known who've experienced violent reactions to love and violence masquerading as love (and this, by far, is worse), he's surrounded in the book by an entire population of men rebelling against and recreating that same violence like "a different room, another hallway, the kitchen painted over and over, another bowl of soup."
University of California Press
2007
ISBN: 978-0-520-25016-1
The first section kept knocking me unconscious because my brain couldn't take it. The second section made me laugh. The last section I related to the best. I don't know if those were the intended reactions.
This book keeps asking, both explicitly and implicitly, whether or not it is poetry, plus the larger questions of the role of poetry in language and the role of language in reality. As an academic exercise it does a very good job of examining, if not exactly answering, the two larger questions.
But is it poetry? I can answer positively in the negative. It's literary, and it's not any obvious form of prose, so I don't know what else to call it. It certainly possesses a rigor and a beauty of language. But personally I think of poetry as finding exactly the right words and the right form to communicate the poet's insane experience (including, where appropriate, the doubt, uncertainty, and ambiguity) of a spontaneous moment in a way that touches the reader, reminding them at least vaguely of their own lives, and hopefully dragging them along even if they're not sure what it is they're experiencing.
The Age of Huts is almost the antithesis of all of that. It's the right words in search of a form, used again and again in many forms. The poem is the experience. It's very carefully thought out, not just
in the communication, which I expect, but even the section I liked best is still the result of a planned exercise in writing. I don't feel dragged into the poet's insane experience so much as assaulted by the poet's insane worldview.
But that's what makes it good at examining the larger questions and for what I liked about it, I recommend buying a copy.
Glass Lyre Press
2016
ISBN: 978-1-941783-29-0
Linguistically creative pleasantly naturalistic confessional poems about breast cancer. Also possibly spousal depression and/or dementia. A little weird,but worth reading.
Perennial Press
2021
ISBN: 9781734127614
I met him briefly once. He left a strong and good impression, maybe because we were of a like mind on the topic at hand, but I think it was something more in the man. I read the 170+ pages of the book straight through, maybe because of that slight connection, or because some of the pages have very few words, but I think it was something more in the writing: compelling, discoherent, a newfangled form of unreliable narrator memoir poetry that should be taking place in the 1940s, but is here with us now, unbidden. Something is happening. God only knows what. Pay attention.Neoteny Eero Talo
Monica Seldow
I started off thinking it was not even trying to sound like it means something but then half way through at page 50 it becomes a little more structured a little less flarfy, possibly pretending a narrative. I quickly decided there was no way to read it in more than one sitting, pushed myself through it before it could glitch me, noted a couple of references I have made myself in poems: “Trenton Makes the World Takes” a rugby game, and different real people. But let us converse the structure. The cover, black and white iconic art, the title and author on the back in superimposed light orange,100 folded single sided pages, mostly but not all numbered. I am not a book binder. I do not know if this technique has a name. I have never seen it before. Most pages with varying amounts of text, some 2 page spreads with more art, pages 92 to 100 have pairs of icons in the left margin of each line of text. 100 copies bound in total, no ISBN or even year, the probability of you being able to enjoy this book or judge the accuracy of my review are slim, but folks, we have a winner.
HarperCollins
2015
ISBN: 978-0-06-234816-6
I feel like Diane di Prima's foreword does a disservice both to this book in particular and poetry in general. There is, as Rae said when he gave it to me, "a lot going on", but it is still just a poetry book, a darn good poetry book that happens to have different colored pages and illustrations and starts out as celebrity biographies of tragic women and then morphs half way through into a book about writing the book with autobiographical commentary, all of which are elements of poetry books previously reviewed here, but they are all done well, it all hangs together, and I found myself repeatedly thinking "wow, this is a cool book" between looking up biographies on Wikipedia as suggested in the foreword.
ecco / Harper Collins
2004
ISBN: 978-0-06-075002-2
109 masterfully written pieces of surrealist sting fiction accidentally mislabeled as poems
by a secret society of three and a half foot tall communist ferrets in pointy hats or in
the drawer of the nightstand on the other side of the bed hidden under a stack of decade
old tax returns, a single book-length poem about the absurdity of life and its classification
systems structured to look like a series of unrelated stories. "I cannot tell which, George," I say to myself repeatedly while shaking my head sadly, even though my name isn't George, "I cannot tell which."
boosthouse
2015
ISBN: 978-0-9960691-4-4
i smiled almost all the way through and laughed a few times. it's a tiny book. with 16 poems written like this review on an iPhone. only she used autosuggest to help pick words and i think that would make for an even less accurate review than usual. anyway. it's funny. not only because of the poems but like the whole concept and the pages unaccounted in the contents that have excerpts in a much bigger font of best lines or something. hopefully when i tweet the url for this review she'll follow me back.
Wesleyan University Press
2007
ISBN: 978-0-8195-6850-2
Radioactive emotional subject
matter handled with obvious care from
the spacing and punctuation: choices I may
not understand but can process anyway to the non-obvious plays
on concepts ("trade for" in "The Artist in
Prison" for example) and the unexpected little details that solidify
a joy to read.
Copper Canyon Press
2016
ISBN: 978-155659-495-3
Reminded me strongly of Saeed Jones "Prelude to Bruise" (relationship with a violent father, finding and losing your self in another man) with added echoes of the Vietnam War, immigration and identification with his mother. The words are beautiful even when the subjects are not. Seventh Circle of Earth is appropriately structured entirely in footnotes. I especially liked Notebook Fragments, The Smallest Measure, and Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong.
New Directions Publishing
2010
ISBN: 978-0-8112-1879-5
Death in Iraq is a constant in these poetic essays juxtaposing the history of empire and the development of abstraction in music, painting, mathematics, philosophy and economics. The reduction of language and war to classified information and alphabetized vocabulary, artistic construct and agent of destruct, the imagination of the body and the substitution for breathing living human touch, the power to name, rename, and make nothing: a, abstraction, agent, alphabetized, and, artistic, body, breathing, classified, constant, construct, death, destruct, development, economics, empire, essay, for, history, human, imagination, in, information, Iraq, is, juxtaposing, language, living, make, mathematics, music, name, nothing, of, painting, philosophy, poetic, power, reduction, rename, substitution, the, these, to, touch, vocabulary, war.Saigon & other poems Jack Walters
Spuyten Duyvil
2005
ISBN: 1-933132-03-5
With the nature of a man clearly long comfortable and versed in English Walters illustrates moments, mostly from his past, some from imagined others, in the thin places skillfully imbibing them with the swirling context of history and culture. Unfortunately to my reading while I both appreciate and relate, the poems never quite cross over from illustration to art, perhaps because the overwhelming single emotional note is bitterness with a faint supporting echo of melancholy.
Still, well done, and better having read than not.
Nightboat Books
2021
ISBN: 978-1-64-362063-7
I had high hopes based on the first blurb referencing the end of our days, and the Walter Benjamin quote, and was immediately absorbed. But at some point the dream sequences descended into The Descent of Alette with less structure and oddly Thurberesque illustrations (I found myself in this place, this is how it looked, this is who was there, someone did or said something). Somewhere around "Being Is Without Shelter" or "Masochism of the Knees" it started speaking to me again, more confessional, more commentary. It would have been a much shorter book with a big chunk ripped out of the middle, but I would have enjoyed it more. Which is not to say you will not enjoy the middle, possibly only the middle, or see the middle as an integral part of some cohesive dramatic arc that is lost on me. The Influence of Paintings Hung in Bedrooms Phyllis Wat
United Artists
2007
ISBN: 0-935992-36-7
We must admire the polish on this many-legged
hyperbolically curved angle-planed existence
furniture admire the polish
reflecting what
exactly and focus on the tangible to
make some semblance resemblance
of the familiar dark of the cover
creamy white of the page numbers
centered large at the bottom
published in New York a few poems
in directed particulate: Report,
Fifth Column, Sophisticated Traveler,
Indian Rope Trick, Dear Dennis.
Kenning Editions
2007
ISBN: 978-0-9767364-1-7
Several poems in voices heard over right shoulder speaking words not on page - weapons-grade poetry, specifically
designed to disrupt logical thought [1] forms to mind an imagined story of a poet putting out a general call for those interested in exploring new
methods of communication [2] answered by some disgruntled Oppenheimer equivalent in a black budget psy-ops Manahattan project
(paper cranes and candles float downstream memorializing those lost in the mass insanity of the deadly haikus unleashed on Hiroshima
and Nagasaki [3]). Poetry non-fashionable correctly applied is virus, understood, applauded, used to inject new socially changing
disruptive ideas through natural order order structure order social construction order defenses no disagreement. Once past the defenses HIV attacks
the actual defense mechanism itself, the entire logical structure of the immune system, rejecting the host as inconsequential, irrelevant,
and too dangerous to be worth saving. Despite appearances of academic re-examination [4] and the use of found vocabularies [5] this is not
Language poetry in the same vein as Ron Silliman [6] masterful intentionalfuckingwith the basic building blocks of the brainmind encoded
schizophrenia you supply [7]
1. Fully acknowledged by the poet on page 161
2. Trans-space Communication, page 54
3. Originally a Monty Python skit with a deadly joke, Germans all die laughing, HA HA.
4. The Fashion Show Poetry Event Essay, "Theater is a fictional representation of something that supposedly happened...", p. 58
5. Code Poems, (Romeo and Juliet, Want Men) are by themselves worth the price of the book
6. See review of The Age of Huts (Compleat), referenced page 111 ("Ron Sillimannother letter") and quoted page 131.
7. ending/warning/moral
left
to reader exercise, may wish to fill to the right margin, or not.
Harper Perennial
2013
ISBN: 978-0-06-227343-7
At first it showed me Coen Brothers movies: Blood Simple, No Country for Old Men, Fargo, Barton Fink, The Big Lebowski.
Out of the movies there emerged a reading of me, my Volume IX ["people of the screen, not people of the book"] and Volume X [punctuation, lists, "Redux", similarities to Chapter 25 I read into "I Tell Failure the True Story of the Corpse"].
But somewhere along the road, in or between the many motel rooms, either I lose my grasp, or the words, despite the preponderance of dead bodies, lose their corporeality.
"Failure's Accounting of Influences" confounds me as much as "Failure's Accounting of Titles" amused me.
So many influences in 108 pages of poems woven in to what almost works as a single accounting of plot.
Slightly over much of a very good thing.
Wesleyan University Press
2007
ISBN: 978-0-8195-6859-5
A cat appears
Barb: a cat appears
Chris: that sounds like stage direction
After finally finishing the book, being ready as I neared the end of the poetry to react to the content, I could only conclude that the poetic content had been overwhelmed by the structure, 800 pgs. of poems and works I am more inclined to characterize as random scribbles and/or drunken rants (found subject matter such as broken ashtrays and being unable to find anything worth eating in friends' refrigerators, sometimes reproduced as originally written in longhand, with the words all over the page, sometimes typed but with doodles ) followed by appendices consisting mostly of autobiographical discussions on the why and how of writing written over an equally long time. There were bits I found brilliant, (the use of geometric vocabulary in the early works), chunks I empathized with greatly in technique and intent (the poems written in Japan, the later commentary), but mostly I found it a huge incoherent self-contradictory mess, and probably not in a good way. Some poetry belongs in books. Some poetry was written for books. This poetry, this book, not so much.
The Accidental Cynic Gail White
Prospero's World Press, Inc.
2009
ISBN: 978-0-9822028-0-7
The masses will identify and recognize this book,
this work (if they had not previously forsook
the art of reading poetry) as collected
poems, rhymed, versed, metered, on long neglected
literary and hormonal subjects written
with explicit Ogden-Nash-like wit in
emulated styles (I liked the Robert Frost
"traveling with cats on a snowy evening") crossed
current and self-referential observations
about poetic life, the absurd relations
between poets and consumers, the economic
past and present, on post-Christian verse, tragicomic
tone throughout, a hint, I sense, of some resentment
towards more-my-kind-of-thing but still, a fine presentment.
Exile Editions
2008
ISBN: 978-1-55096-115-7
Every poem is very different and the language is mostly uncomplicated, raw, subtly descriptive ("An outline of her body walked up the stairs, paused to light a cigarette and walked up Ossington like it was last Tuesday, next Thursday, whenever.") Not counting the 3 sheep poems, which I fail to reconcile with the rest of the book, the EMT vs. pathological liar lesbian relationship confessional with multiple choice lists and excerpts from psych texts bind it into an entertaining narrative.
University of California Press
2003
ISBN: 0-520-23553-3
The translator, Shirley Kaufman, refers in her introduction to the poet's mastery
of Hebrew and the difficulty of translating Hebrew poetry into English. I am
left wondering in the English then how much is poet and how much is translator. But
the imagery, the rhythm and the experience powerfully overcome the inherent cultural
barriers of language while placing you in the streets and buses among the dogs, cats, and
people of a very specific very conflicted place and time.
Our Grieving Eden Marc Williams
2011
ISBN: 9781463553647
0n the back cover Marc Williams hopes
readers will find his book "meaty." I find
it large,raw,bleeding blocks of
typographic/linguistic hamburger set
in courier with spaceless commas and
split line possessives,each and every single
letter tapping out its own explicit Christian sex
and violence grammar. With which I have two specific
quibbles: a) as a confessional poet I am confused by the
use of the fictional third person "I" in poetry and b) while I love
invented English for effect, Williams uses "alembical" so often
that I fear he believes it's a real word.
Pocket Books
2003
ISBN: 0-7434-7079-6
I am a yes to this theopoem's question in all its multifonted madness, have been consumed as described, how does this poet know me? How will this poem be you without reading? To whoever left the small blank piece of paper between pages 50 and 51, I agree completely.
Alice James Books
2000
ISBN: 1-882295-23-4
My father, on hearing that I was experimenting with German in my latest volume of poetry, asked me if I didn't think my poetry was confusing enough already. A month or so later I got this book for Christmas, which includes three poems with lines appropriated from texts written for teaching German speakers English and vice versa. While I don't doubt that Suzanne Wise's work works well in anthologies and literary magazines, the book as a whole ended up reading to me like a series of disconnected grammar exercises. Which, to some degree, all poetry is, but I like a strong consistent voice, a sense of self, and a continuity and flow of experience in a single-author book. I'm OK with obvious meaning and purpose when artfully presented. I'm fonder of the absurd. My favorite poetry is absurdity based on some underlying structure of meaning and purpose that attacks the subconscious. This book falls in to none of those categories, and I am reminded of riding shotgun on a new section of the autobahn that the British accent GPS didn't know existed. Somewhere Over the Pachyderm Rainbow: Living in an Elephant-Controlled 2010 Election Diorama Jennifer C. Wolfe
BlazeVox
2011
ISBN: 978-1-60964-057-6
If you're an anti-fascist who equates fascism with the GOP you may find this book fun.
If you're not obsessively anti-Republican you may find this book, at 123 pages, a little too much fun (I lost count of the Palin/Crosshair references).
If you're picky about your poetic technicalities you may find yourself wondering at the difference between Political Poetry Musings and Political Commentary Formatted Kind of Like Poetry, though the poem not actually titled Take The Last Train to Kabul was strangely artistic.
If you're picky about consistency in subject matter you may be confused by the Woodstock/Bob Marley/Aging/Reality Television/Amnesty International poems or the one that admits that US Foreign Policy has been consistently problematic.
It is what it is what it is, and I survived reading it.
TELLING THE FUTURE OFF Stephanie Young
TOUGHER DISGUISES
2005
ISBN: 0-9740167-4-8
This book despite paperback
nature is hard
to describe: a glass ball suspended in mid
thought overflowing with CAPITALS, italics,
Cassandras and unexpected
page breaks "Blue as a piano truck
of anecdotal evidence" concentration is
complicated imagery triggers ( "I'm organizing my anxiety around the direction
our bed faces.") and distracts ("Half the house is solid
and the other is for talking on the phone")
Copper Canyon Press
2010
ISBN: 978-1-55659-322-2
About half way through the book, already anticipating some imagined copy of my self writing a review, I realized I was running low on superlatives. I went to the corner store to see if they had any. Kate looked behind the counter through all the strange and wondrous free-associating meta-objects they keep back there, but none of them were quite what I was looking for. They did have diet coke, in the back, in the cooler, which I don't drink, because I'm phenylketonuric, a word that Word does not recognize, but may in the future, but the diet coke reminded me of The Prelude, which is the poem near the front that convinced me this was the right book for me, and it also turned out was the poem that Rae opened to first when he decided this was the right book to buy for me, being as it was about (diet) Coke and chocolate, except when it was more about wandering around the city and something about Wordsworth. Chocolate is sold in the front of the store in a small rack until the summer when they put some of it in the cooler with the pineapple sorbet in front of the cash register so it won't melt. Which I recommend as a personal practice, along with buying, and perhaps reading, Come On All You Ghosts, which is the book this review is about.
Counterpath
2013
ISBN: 978-1933996349
Descriptive language in constant motion, panning, invented and fragmented words through page arrangement and wildly indiscriminate hyphenation displaying flyover and trackside country from the 747 and the Amtrak train interspersed with technical vocabulary including a bit of BASIC code and some smatterings of French, all inside a unique structure, the center spread double title pages, the alternating Track A and Track B formats, Track A meaningfully scattered and headed with pause symbols, track B running tight across the bottom. Un livre de poésie étonnamment excellent.
Wesleyan University Press
2007
ISBN: 978-0-8195-6846-5
Looks like a children's book,
hardcover, oblong, dustjacket
a picture of the title in red ink on
slightly crumpled paper.
Twenty-three poems of exquisitely obsessive
metaphorical structured lists of
anti-monogamous adjectives my hand
pushing my hair around
to expose my brain, wishing the world
silent that these words be all.
On first reading the three twentyish page poems (Squirrel
in a Palm Tree, Annunciation. The Rise and Fall of the Central Dogma)
about motherhood that follow are a
jarring transition, the second weaving
in and out of ruminations on Mary's
relationships with God, Gabriel and Jesus
and the third with Darwin, biology, genetics, and religious practice.
I long for the "oh my" moments (and there are many) of the first section.
But on the second reading, my transitional difficulties and disappointment
in seeming subject shift behind me, I can appreciate these as related,
noun-focused works of beauty.
And then Autography, twenty poems about being a poet writing these poems
as wife-mother. Not as exquisite, but very real dancing with angry, just a little.
Strange form book. Powerful quite. Will read again later.
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