Assaracus, Issue 1

Bryan Borland has certainly outdone himself with this collection of poets.  His absence from the blogosphere is missed, but if he is devoting that time and energy into corralling such a great group of artistic talent so that it can be shared with the masses, then, by all means, Bryan, please continue.

Sometimes, you have the misfortune of reading new journals promising to be the moon and stars of literature, only to find out they are a sorry ass collection of people nobody else wanted.  Unfortunately, it happens a lot.  Fortunately, this was not the case with Sibling Rivalry Press‘ inaugural edition of Assaracus.

When I read Assaracus, it rekindled my passion for poetry and reminded me why I devoted four years of my life to studying literature.  It is a collection of fresh voices with innovative craft.  Those that stood out the most to me were Christopher Hennessy, Eric Norris, Raymond Luczak, Stephen Scott Mills, and Gavin Dillard.

Christopher Hennessy has real talent for taking subjects as old as time and presenting them in a way that makes you think you have never heard of them.  My thoughts lingered on his words, for which he has a real knack, and, before long, I was identifying the emotions, hopes, and fears that are showcased in his craft.  His poems Plum, Sensorium, and Finding an Egg in Water were my faves.  Read this:

a mistake of embryonic petals

curling in its center.

See how he did that?  Now you know why it was hard for me to move beyond his section.

When I made it to the next section, I was glad I did, but I couldn’t help but revisit Eric Norris’ work.  The magic in Norris’ work is where he starts off taking the reader with A Life, Part 1. and where you end up in the second part.  It is the third and final destination, however, that left me in awe of his ability to underpin classic form and structure with both tension and modern day and ancient imagery.  The fact that Greek gods and goddesses, as well as others, make appearances probably (definitely) swayed me.

Following Norris up with Raymond Luczak’s poetry kept the momentum going.  It was sort of like getting two for one.  What I really enjoyed about Luczak’s work, though, was his celebration of the every day through the personification of taken-for-granted objects.  The Mop Haired Boy, Inevitability, 2005, In the Gun Section, and Cutting were all show stoppers, but White Pines is my favorite Luczak poem — and probably one of my favorites in the entire journal.  Flushes was another fave, but in it’s own right that sets it apart from Luczak’s other work in Assaracus.  You read all of them, however, and surely are not surprised when you find your postcard insert announcing that Luczak also has a book deal with SRP.

A close runner up to White Pines has to be the section committed to Stephen Scott Mills.  There is something about the subject matter and his use of words (not to mention how he starts a poem about open relationships with a Bible verse!) that really made me appreciate this experimental poet.  I was sad his series only felt like one poem broken down into smaller poems, though it/they certainly run(s) the full gamut of emotions.  It’s just that I loved his section but felt it lacked diversity in showcasing his talents.  Another one or two poems would have been great to, I presume, share the breadth of his ability.  Based on what I read here, he clearly has plenty to offer — and I was begging for more!

The last poet in the series is Gavin Dillard.  I have no idea who in the hell he is, but I am determined to find out.  His opening (Advice to a Young Serb) was wonderful.  It is the poem someone will probably find in a shoebox of my memories or pasted to the backside of some photo on my bedroom wall long after I’m dead and gone.  His collection of Aphorisms, though, really show you what he is capable of doing.  I think I tripped out on number 5 (the longest one) as much as did 7 and 3 (the shorter ones), but I loved them all equally.  The funny thing is that even though I lingered on each poem, they, together, built a momentum that propelled me forward.  The joy ended too abruptly.  Just as with Raymond Luczak, I was disappointed to turn the page and find there were no more poems — not from Dillard and not from anyone.

That is my only real criticism of Assaracus.  The poems collectively build a momentum that not only invites but demands the reader keep going, and every poem in a poet’s section continuously builds to a climax.  In some cases you think you have reached it, but then you go from a Norris to a Luczak and start to feel like maybe you’re climbing too hight too fast.  When you get to the end, you are not let down easy.  The energy and spirit of these poets plays powerfully off one another — only to break it off with you like a bad lover:  Suddenly, harshly, and unexpectedly.  Altitude is everything — and Assaracus is certainly hitting new heights.  Having read it, I am glad SRP has given it to the world.  I look forward to reading future editions and hope you will join me.