At only 76 pages, Dervish by James Mirarchi was a quick read but is a prime example – I’ve pointed out many here at LLBR – of an author embracing self publishing to truly capture his creativity. The book sells itself as a collection of poetry, but actually opens with a brief one act play and ends with a short story, reminding me of the editions of the “Concise Book of Literature” from college English courses, still adorning my bookshelf today because they contain some of my favorite short stories and poetry.

The one act play takes place in a beauty salon and is called “MakeUp.”  It’s a conversation between a beautician named Bridget and an older customer of hers named Alexandria. The two trade compliments and insults as Bridget attempts to “beautify” Alexandria, but Alexandria believes there is no hope for her aging face.  Their dialogue is a bit Victorian, but does contain such gems as this from Alexandria:

In my twenties, lacquered men would kneel at the altar of my chest and drink from my nipple chalice. Now, only the homeless and derelicts flock to me for charity. Ohhhh, I beckon every soap opera equestrian, every Renaissance stud to frolic on my Harlequin stage, where a spotlight of my blood shall woo them.

And this from Bridget:

God has switched careers – he is no longer a baby dispatcher who assigns placenta posts, but a magician for the
“deformed.” I can’t believe my eyes!

And I couldn’t resist this line from Alexandria either:

Has your hair dye seeped into your head and colored your brain sinister?

Only fourteen poems follow, and while I usually try not to compare poetry of one poet to another poet I’ve reviewed, I have to admit that Mr. Mirarchi’s verse is a bit more refreshing than others I’ve read lately.  He’s also a word artist, taking full advantage of the white canvas which is the page in front of him, spreading his words out, playing with position and form, and giving the reader a few new images that were definitely new to my brain. Here’s one of my favorites from a poem called “Tornado:”

Once
When the heavens were brawling
I looked up in the sky
And saw Destiny
Naked and bored
Sitting at his barometric sewing machine
His foot dancing on pedal

His sewing machine is life, its pedal thunder, its needle lightning, its thread
ornate clouds ….

Mr. Mirarchi also has a talent for presenting a brilliant and detailed character study in very few words, from a glimpse of  selfish Victoria strolling amongst Christmas litter in a poem called “Remains,” to a dandelion named Sally and a bee named Rambo in “Bumblebee;” and in another holiday poem called “The Gift” where a young boy receives a baby alien from his father.  The poet abandons tedious verse and rhyme and tells a story in short lines that definitely leave you eager for more detail, but after a second or third read you find that everything you need to fulfill the story is right there in the two dozen or so lines. They are indeed fascinating story poems.

My favorite out of all the poems is called “Propaganda” and tells the story of two bands headlining at a club: lesbians with shaved heads who call themselves The Mothers and a group of heavy metal male skinheads called Smashfist. It’s a grapevine soap opera of sorts that goes well beyond the conflict between the two bands and becomes a story about ghosts attempting to save a pair of roommates from their apartment’s handyman. Weird? Absolutely!  But so odd and in-depth you can’t help but read it again and again.

The short story at the end is called “Lips” and is sort of a “Day in the Life of” piece following an angry boy named Eric.  It reads like the stage direction of a play, and in short choppy sentences almost like it might have started out as a poem instead.  I actually think it would have worked better as a poem rather than being arranged into paragraphs to become a short story.  It was my least favorite of the anthology.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this short collection from James Mirarchi and wouldn’t have minded it being a bit longer. Both original and extraordinary, and a bit bizarre at times, I found Dervish to be quite a refreshing read.

You can check out a preview and decide for yourself at Lulu.com.

In reading just the back of Richard King’s collection of poetry, one will see that the book was inspired by many things: karma, reincarnation, transmigration, destiny, devotion, vegetarianism, attainment, the human form, love, morality, heaven, hell, the inner regions, justice, the nature of this world, illusion, deception, success, money, the Pendulum, the struggle between this world and the higher worlds and much, much more.

Wow!  That’s quite a list of unique and interesting topics, some of which I’d never dream I myself could write a poem about.  At first glance, some might think some of these subjects are a bit heavy and the poems will probably just seem preachy or forced.  I have to admit that 99 Poems of the Spirit is not such a collection.  As I’ll discuss in this review, King’s use of images and words may shock you, but it is apparent that the themes and subjects are all things he, as a man and a poet, are well versed in.

Just the word “inspiration” tends to become a bit flat when using it to describe writing because we each find our own types of inspiration in different works.  Some work may inspire you religiously.  Some may inspire you to lose weight or take up a new hobby.  It’s obvious to see that at the root of “inspiration” is the word “spirit;” both words originated from spīrāre which means to breathe.  And in reading King’s poetry, you’ll discover that with each poem he set out to awaken (or inspire) your inner spirit.  Here’s one example from a poem called “Incarnation’s Game:”

Life to life our faces change.
Likewise do our names,
gender, form and personality–
Incarnation’s Game.

Craving spawns attachment.
Attachment pulls us back
We could not be a prisoner
without a sense of lack.

And another from a few verses of “From the Flame:”

Consumed is man with caste and clan;
false status rests in name and fame;
thus, ignorant is he of The Plan -
all men spring from the same Flame.

How then can there be class distinction
when all are born and will remain
ever reflecting identic Life,
Children of the Changeless Name?

I also appreciate King’s poetry because there aren’t a lot of words on the page.  The ability for a poet to say so much using so little is true talent. King obviously possesses a vast knowledge of words because I discovered a lot of new word use and word play in his book that I have not seen much of since reviewing poetry for LLBR. His simple rhyme schemes of ABAB and ABCB also make the poems flow off of the tongue easier if you take the time to read a few of them out loud as they should be. There’s just a touch of rhyme in the right places to help the poem flow and to keep it interesting, but not too much to make the poems sound too sing-song.

If you are searching for some good food for the soul, I highly recommend King’s 99 Poems of the Spirit.  The collection is very different and refreshing, and not repetitive.  There truly is something here to inspire everyone, like Poem 99, one of my favorites, entitled “Yours is not the Earth.” I’ll close with a verse from it because its an excellent note to end on for this review and the poetry collection:

Yours is not the earth.
It is the universe
and everything beyond.
It is the sky which lies beyond
the realms of distance run;
it is the light which emanates
from a live, yet unknown sun;
it is the sea which rolls and roars
in another universe and time;
it is the undiscovered passages
beyond the corridors of Mind.

Read a Sample of 99 Poems of the Spirit here.

Poetic Reflections: A Compilation of Poems

Having used self-publishing to create a chapbook of my own poetry three years ago, I can appreciate any other poet who does the same.  Poetry can be very personal, and often goes under appreciated in the publishing world.  Many readers will admit they don’t understand poetry. So any poet choosing to put their words out there in front of others, whether it be at an open mic reading at a coffee house or in a small book on Amazon.com, is often revealing a lot about themselves as a person, their emotions, their feelings, their beliefs.

There are different rules to poetry, if any rules at all are followed because poetry is often experimental.  The rules are a bit more relaxed than they are for fiction writing, particularly when it comes to phrasing and punctuation.  Candace Gillespie’s book, Poetic Reflections, is a good example of one such poet who does not abide by a traditional format and I can appreciate that.  Her book begins with a simple preface as to when and why she started writing poetry and what types of poetry you’ll find in her book.

This is followed by an acknowledgements page, a dedication to her son and nephew, and a lengthy table of contents.  I don’t really like a table of contents for poetry unless the book is divided into chapters of different types of poems. Candace’s table consists of every title of every poem in the book so the table is five pages long. There is no copyright page, but I can forgive that.  If Candace’s audience is made up of mainly friends and families and that is who she intended the book for, no problem.  However, since the book is being sold on Amazon.com, she might want to consider adding a copyright page just to protect her work from possible plagiarism.

I have one major complaint about Candace’s poetry itself which I’d like to get out of the way immediately.  I call it the magnet list.  We’ve all seen those boxes of little word magnets you litter your fridge door or filing cabinets with so people can create clever poems and phrases.  Often, people will cluster three or four adjectives or nouns together because they sound good.  It makes a nice list of “impact” words, until you put them into a verse in a poem.  In a poem, it just sounds like the poet overused their thesaurus a bit.  Many of Candace’s poems open with a magnet list in the first verse.  Here are three examples of this from three different poems…

There is so much madness in the world today.
Many people have no morals or values.
People are raising their children
to hate. Atmospheres filled with anger, hatred,
and violence plague our country.

In the beginning, you were different-
gentle, humble, kind, and loving.
As time passed, you changed.
You became almost like a stranger,
very different in your actions and attitudes.
And I began to miss the first you.

In life, we endure many hard times.
It is not about social, racial, or
educational status. It is just a
normal part
of life.

As you can see, the words themselves might sound good in a speech or by themselves, but in a poem its as if the author is summing up a thought rather than using the poem to really spell it out.   And as I said, this is really my one sole complaint about Ms. Gillespie’s poetry.

Beyond that, the poet begins by exploring quite a few thoughts and complexities on love, being a woman, and relationships with men.  Mind you, these are not tender love poems you’d find in greeting cards, but rather poems where the narrator is seeking out something better and questioning the moments in life she has been presented with instead. Here’s a verse from a poem called “At Any Given Moment” which presents a harsh truth for many women…

At any given moment, whenever there is a
disagreement my name becomes one
I was not given at birth. Only a short time
before that, I was darling or sweet cakes.
When anger ensues, my name
becomes one filled
with obscenities.

But these are not all bitter poems of heartbreak.  The poet balances out the hard times and good times with other verse about hearts skipping beats and romantic times that might even make the reader blush.  She explores arguments she’s had with her loved ones, and even the hardships of having to say good-bye, whether it be for a short time or forever. Many of her poems read like daily affirmations that are simple, but to the point:

My mistakes are others gain.
My triumphs are others sickness.
My goals are attainable, measurable,
and possible.

When it comes to visual style, all of the verses are centered just as I’ve presented them here.  I would have liked to have seen Candace play with the placement of her poems a bit more just to make the book a bit more interesting to the eyes.  Small verse leaves a lot of white space on the page and if you aren’t using pictures or drawings, aligning the poems differently throughout the book can at least make it a tad bit more appealing and give the poems movement. But overall, Poetic Reflections is a nice simple collection of poems Candace should be very proud of.

I was a poet long before I was a novelist or book reviewer.  My first self-published book was a pop up book of poetry which was literally assembled by hand in the 4th grade for a young author’s grade school event.  In college, I continued to write poetry and fell in love with the words of Frost and Dickinson.  Having only recently rekindled my affair with Miss Emily’s words, I was eager to read more verse and from a fresh new voice.  I’d had much success with the poetry I’ve reviewed here on the blog to date, so I knew Lulu was the perfect place to start.  I didn’t have to look far.  Poet Harry Gilleland, Jr. had quieried us some time ago with his third collection of poetry entitled Poetic Musings of an Old, Fat Man.

Based on the title alone, I was expecting a book of humorous limericks and rhyming political commentary, and while there are a few of those within the pages, Gilleland offers much more than that.  I was completely amazed at his vast but thorough range of subject matter.  From a poem about the candiru fish (which is known to lodge itself inside someone’s urethra) to another about a pack of vicious ankle biting chihuahuas, Gilleland treats his subject matter with the utmost seriousness.  The rhyming technique, verse, and pattern  which he uses to craft his so-called “storoems” (story poems) is so unique that you almost forget the humor just for the appreciation of his word use.

The book is divided into four styles of poetry: rhyming and storeoms, limericks (of which there are only two), acrostic poems, and free verse.  Gilleland has broken up the candid poems with other verses that are indeed of a more serious subject matter such has having to put a pet to sleep or a child dealing with the divorce of his parents.  But his crisp style remains tight and to the point throughout.  There are no wasted words, as one of my college professors used to say.

One of the true purposes of poetry for a reader is not just to discover what the poet was intending to convey, but to find how you relate to the poem.  Gilleland does a superb job of presenting an array of poems that are easy to understand and will certainly capture the attention, and the heart, of every reader.  Some of his well-known subjects came right from the headlines such as the tiger attacks in the California zoo or the effects Hurricane Katrina had on New Orleans.  Like conversations we share with old friends, these are events that each of us know in a different way but it’s still nice to take the time to listen to someone else’s view point.

I particularly liked the sections where Gilleland spends two or three poems on one specific theme.  There are two poems about his dogs near the beginning.  One is a cheerful poem while the other is very sad.  There’s another about a soldier having to leave for war, followed by another poem about the soldier in battle, then one about a soldier’s death and another about Memorial Day.  Each poem can stand completely on its own, but together they capture a nice vignette of words and thoughts.

My favorites were two poems about Hummingbirds.  In one, Gilleland ponders the thought of the birds leaving for winter and how he anticipates their return because it means warmer weather will be returning with them.  The next poem is about a daughter promising her dying mother she’ll continue to feed the hummingbirds after she’s gone.  The appearance of a white hummingbird becomes the vision of hope and healing after a tragic event.

At 63 years of age and an old Southerner, Gilleland also ponders how the world and technology has changed our social interaction with one another in magnificent poems entitled “I Remember When” and “The Pleasure of Old-Fashioned Letters.”  His good nature shines in fun verse about women obsessing over their hair, and in another play on words about a man wanting to rub cream on his wife’s hard and cracked “pair” in a poem called “Can’t Touch Them.”

Verse after verse, this poet is to be commended for his true talent with words.  I dog eared a dozen pages to possibly quote in this review, but the book must really be experienced as a whole.  But you don’t have to take my word for it.  Just read the number of reviews of praise Harry’s books have already received on Amazon.com before me.  Even if you don’t like poetry all that much or find it hard to understand, Harry Gilleland, Jr. writes with such heart that there is truly something here for everyone. I will leave you with one verse that still resonates with me long after I closed this book…

If humans were able to see their soul
while alive, it would become certain then
that all the virtues they would extol;
the world would be filled with better men.

I’ve been a reader, writer, and lover of poetry all my life. Many many years ago, I self-published a pop up book of my poems back in the 6th or 7th grade with some pieces of cardboard and pretty contact paper for a class project. Two years ago I used Lulu to self publish a book of every poem I’d ever written. So, since beginning the LLBR in March, I’ve been on the look out for another inspiring poet. I found one in Kevin King.

Based on his author profile in the back of the book, Mr. King is a well traveled man. He grew up in Louisiana, went to school in Texas, and did mission work in Ecuador. He’s worn many hats: a sign language interpreter, a robotics engineer, and a database programmer. His varied life has obviously played a huge influence on his writing, and his voice is indeed one worth listening to. He even has a poem about it called “Please Listen.”

Please listen to me
Not just to my words
But listen to what’s inside.
My feelings are there
Within my eyes hid
If you ask I will confide.

For those who may also be well read in poetry, I know what you are thinking…Eh, that’s nothing special. It’s probably nothing new you haven’t read before. Well, as poets we all have poems like that which only convey their true meaning when spoken aloud. There is no rhyme, no real pattern, just a plain personal verse that remains lifeless on the page unless spoken. And there are a few of Kevin’s longer pieces that are indeed like that. But that’s the beauty of poetry really. Like art, it’s left up to interpretation. But then there are some of Kevin’s shorter poems that stand up at attention and just pop out at you, showing his true talent at word use and rhyme. “In Memory of a Poet” is a prime example. Here is the entire piece…

An echo down the halls of time
Where dead men speak in metered rhyme
The poet’s soul imprinted there
Throughout all time his thoughts to share
The man is dead but is not gone
In fiery verse his heart lives on.

Some of the poet’s lighter verse reminded me of good old Shel Silverstein and the black ink drawings that often accompanied his published work. Although there are no illustrations in Kevin’s book, I almost wished there were. I printed out the download and found myself inspired to add my own pencil drawings in the margins of some of his “fact-of-life” poems. One of my favorites was actually a poem about artistry called “Please, Draw me a Sheep.”

Paint me a vision
Draw me a dream
Swirl me in acrylic wonder
For the world seems gray
As untouched canvass
Is it dead, or is it waiting
For you to give it life?

Kevin writes of the topics every poet is often inspired by: life, love, passion, art, youth, philosophy, religion, nature, the list goes on and on. It is his unique use of words and imagery that give these topics new meaning. Here’s a vivid verse about abortion from a poem called “The Children Cry:”

Shining white lab coats and razor sharp steel
A heartbeat unheard as a soft saddened sigh
Unplanned and unwanted, not too young to feel
A cruel choice to silence the children’s cry.

It’s been months since I wrote a poem myself, and years since the evenings I spent standing between a microphone and a barstool in front of latte lovers reading angry verse out loud in coffee shops. Mr. King’s book was a nice trip down memory lane for me. There is indeed a poet of some type in all of us, and those of us like King who can capture that essence and purity on the page deserve the spotlight. When we can pull back the heavy curtain that hides our inhibitions and express ourselves so personally, it’s almost like good therapy. I commend Kevin King on such an excellent collection of his poems that succeed at just that! The last verse of his poem, “Life,” says it all quite perfectly:

The spirit yearning to be free
Struggles ever against the flesh
Make your choices daily.
This life is more than what we see.

]]> http://llbookreview.com/2008/04/review-6-fire-and-souls/feed/ 0 http://llbookreview.com/2008/02/review-2-intriguing-entrekin/ http://llbookreview.com/2008/02/review-2-intriguing-entrekin/#comments Sat, 01 Mar 2008 04:23:58 +0000 Shannon Yarbrough http://lulubookreview.wordpress.com/?p=18 Entrekin
by Will Entrekin
Copyright: © 2008

I was expecting

to eat myself small

and drink myself huge

but didn’t realize

I was already just the right size.

The day my letter comes, I’ll be expecting to open that envelope and find it addressed to Author. But it won’t be. It will say Dear Mr. Entrekin (that’s me)…

Somewhere, somewhen, there is a letter, and it is addressed to me. I just worry that all the rest will be addressed to ‘Author’, and I’m tired of opening the mail.

My crummy little Jersey City apartment. Baldwin Avenue. Near Journal Square. Mohammed Atta, one of the 9/11 hijackers, lived less than a mile from me.

The sometimes poet, the editor of the literary magazine: everything short of the tweed jacket with the elbow patches, basically.

I wonder if my breath caught the World Trade Center and won’t let it go.

It is getting more difficult, then, to separate the wheat from the chaff.  Google can sometimes help, but not always.