TONGUE FOR FOLIE by Janice Brabaw

Janice Brabaw’s new book is unique. I say this, because she has managed to blend the thoughtful with the emotional in a way that is not only poetic, but artfully so. Almost immediately one can tell that Janice is not just writing from an honest place, but is using sound conventions to convey meaning. In a world of often times talented, but scattershot poetry, this is a refreshing change. Her common themes of insecurity, doubt, self-deprecation, and ultimately small hopes are crafted in such a way that instead of feeling pity for the author, the reader feels empathy. In my estimation evincing empathy might be the highest goal of any writer. Her poems do this through a careful, measured sense of rhythm, word usage, and innate skill. A prime example is her poem, “off”:

I wake up with yesterday in my mouth

and thus begins the list of failures and faults.

I should've brushed my teeth instead

of falling asleep on the couch watching cartoons.

I should learn to hide my phone from myself -- 

No more insecure dialing on a Sunday night.

And while I'm at it, I should simply grow up

and stop being the fucked up girl that I am.

Not sure why I hate myself today --

Perhaps nothing a shower and slap can't help.

My orientation is misaligned 

with your magnetic north.

I hate moments when I am today and yesterday

at once.  I see only this in my tealeaves.

I am at the bottom of an endless, dry well.

I look up and there is just one way to go.

This is where I put myself

once again, once again.

But yet I blame it on a vertigo, a push,

not a careless and practiced fall

not my unsteady footing, or my propensity

to give in to gravity when challenged.

I like this poem, because I know this woman. I have met her in my life and seen the hurt, tenderness, and hope in her eyes, sitting in a café, the subway, on a park bench. There is universality to the self-deprecation and a fine sense of tooled introspection to the verse. Almost all of the poems share this commonality and thus take the reader through her mind one emotion at a time. To a large extent, it is very satisfying.

However, if the collection has any flaws, it is that we immediately get to know the poet within the first ten pages. After that we are listening to roughly the same story, just set in different scenarios. Although never trite, boring, or pedantic, the collection does have a sameness that could have been spiced with a few poems about the defiant victories we want to see in any anti-hero. In fact, it needs the minor victories we crave to re-affirm our own hopes. Also, the poems tend to be on the long side. (the above quoted is one of the shortest) So, if you plan on reading one poem at a time, sitting, pondering, and coming back tomorrow for more, you are perfectly suited to this accomplished collection. But, if you are like me, and want to read the whole book straight through, you might be there for a while. Yet, that is just a matter of reading style, not quality.

The quality of this work is undeniable. Brabaw is a talented writer and it is refreshing to see some truly thoughtful, palpable poetics out there. Beyond the mere cathartic, rough-and-tumble poetry of the post-Beats, this book is an uncomfortable, yet endearing companion. A keeper.

Opinion: Good Read

-review by GJ

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130 pages

Perfect bound

ANGLES of DISORDER by Zachary C. Bush

Right now I feel disoriented, I feel like I’m on an elevator to Hell that could drop into a pit of daisies at any moment, and while this is nothing new, it’s rare when it’s a book that takes me there. Zachary C. Bush’s Angles of Disorder is such a book.

Let me start off by saying, that I had heard of Mr. Bush before sitting down to read this morning and as is the case with most authors, small press or otherwise, I was prepared to hate EVERYTHING, I was prepared to savage words with words, but I can’t do that here because Bush’s book is a rare find in the world of publishing, it is actually interesting.

Bush’s words, are they poems or fiction? I couldn’t really tell, but then who cares. Angles of Disorder isn’t a book that exists to offer its readers any answers, but it does leave plenty to think about. I will say this, from the very beginning of this carnival ride, I call it that, because that’s what it feels like, a sense of permanent deja vu sets in and just refuses to leave. Bush’s pieces are more than just fucked up slices of life, or prose paintings turned sideways, they are glimpses into an alternate reality, they are our dreams turned inside out, honest, they exist without an ounce of pretense.

All of this said, the book’s title feels like a soft lie. There is an order to everything in the universe of this book, a carefully crafted sense of memory, with an almost narrative structure. After all, the book’s tales offer images that could happen every day and in fact I’m sure they do.

I know very little, if anything, about the author’s past collections, future aspirations, or how one leads into the other to help form the words in Angles of Disorder.  In the end though, none of that matters. The hardest part of having to review this book is that I can’t tell you that you will like it, whether you will think it’s good, bad, or even downright amazing. I can only say that my gut tells me that the writing inside is strong, and I think that’s as much as Zachary C. Bush himself could or would tell you.

Go with your gut. Would I recommend picking a copy? YES. But don’t expect flowers or soccer mom musings strait out of the pages of Ploughshares. Something about this book left me freaked out and hoping that I don’t run into Zachary C. Bush on the street, though maybe I already have, maybe that is the point after all, I’d like to think so.

Opnion: GOOD READ

96pgs. 

Published by BlazeVox Books, 2009.

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Review By: JD