Through These Eyes/C. Allen Rearick
The Fucker Inside/S.A. Griffin
$6- Tainted Coffee Press 1417 Southlyn Drive Kettering, OH 45409 www.zygoteinmycoffee.com reviewed by Christopher Robin (with additional commentary provided by Debbie Kirk)_
On one side of this split chap we have veteran L.A. wordsmith Griffin, who provides seven erotically tinged poems that have all the charisma and style of his previous poems, but more bawdy, sexual in nature, and it totally works. Of course Griffin does not want to be considered an “erotic” poet, as the piece, ‘Cunt Pussy Dick Cock Fuck Poem’ will attest. Like his predecessors the Beats, Griffin is not afraid to find the erotic, or holy, in the mundane: “I am always suspect of anything that dares to call itself/erotic…bad television &a/ t.v. dinner can be/erotic…..honest poverty/a crusty towel by the side of the bed….” In ‘I Ate Fig Newtons Until I Puked,’ Griffin describes gluttony from food to sex, childhood till now: “We binge and purge/&it hurts so fucking good/that I don’t think I can stand to go/thru it/again/until the next time.” ‘Long Distance,’ is a dialogue poem about separation coupled with very hot phone sex. I read it a few times to try and understand what the characters actually meant to each other, it seemed to be more of a sad story, one the reader might want to follow further, and with lines like: “I want to stick a cordless power tool up your butt” (from ‘You Could Measure My Passion with A Stick,’) he proves he is still a writer of great depth, and also not afraid to poke fun at himself and human relationships in general. I don’t think I’ve ever read a poem of his that didn’t stick in my gut, his lines weaving in and out of my mind like only the best poems can do. If Griffin fucks like he writes, and I might assume he does, he is at least double threat, and triple if you consider he is one of the truest outlaw poets writing today. Always with a bullet, never missing. The poetry in this chap, is humorous, profound, and unlike a porn movie, totally believable
On the other side of this chap we have a poet who is still making his bones in the poetry world, and the work is nothing short of amazing. ‘Eating Hotdogs with My Cousin’ is a beautiful tribute to an old world institution, the Woolworth’s lunch counter. Sensitive and poignant, it brought back my own memories of childhood and simpler times: “My body slipping slowly into sleep, satisfied with/the idea that a simple memory/of eating hot dogs/with my cousin while in Woolworth’s/would be enough to fill/the aching in my/stomach.” In Rearicks recollections, he brings much sadness to his poems, for things in his life, losses not always named but illustrated very clearly. He stirs more memories with his vivid verse in: ‘As I Enjoy the Here and Now:’ “I pondered the scent/of old, used books, pages tilled worn and sallow/by dead fingerprints/of former thought.” These sentences brought to mind Brautigan who also had a way of carving out the smallest gems from memories and distilling them into very tight, imagistic lines like Rearick does here. And in this book, we also see he is influenced by Raymond Carver, another excellent storyteller. Many of these poems are filled with longing, like William Taylor, Jr’s work, and Rearick, also a philosophical, drinking poet, strings sentences together that are very deep and satisfying to read: “I can feel a curiosity/written deep/in awkward cursive longing/it separates our lives/like semi-colons/locked within a fight for independence,” (from ‘So the Story Goes’). This poem is definitely one of the best in the book, but all of the 24 poems are worth reading more than once. Since Debbie Kirk was originally asked to write this review, I’ve included an additional paragraph from her: “C. Allen has knocked it out of the park. He makes fellow poets scratch their heads in awe…even the academics would piss on themselves to get their claws in him. But C. Allen is no scenester. Casey makes words his bitch, only when they leave in the early morning they in fact leave HIM a tip. He soars over me and all of us to form his own seraphim poet. Yet, there is not a sign of pretense in his writing. His Mohawk can’t hide his blue collar. And what better way to affect and change the system than from the INSIDE, right? Him being a main operative in the Guerilla Poetics Project is on the beginning. He takes words and creates anarchy and peace. Chaos and understanding. Then he rolls it all into a big ball and throws it at you. If you are lucky enough to catch it…you are left holding all the answers and wondering what the questions are! Viva La C. Allen. Lead us to a poetic revolution dude. I’d follow his words anywhere. I am saying I believe all of us dirty, broken, struggling, starving and angry poets get behind C. Allen and march.
Instead of writing him and asking if you can swap chaps with him, support the small press. This is a mere $6.00 and well worth it. Thanks to Tainted Coffee Press for noticing true talent!” Debbie Kirk www.tntkirk.com
