Poetry, again.

I definitely would suggest Smith's "[Insert] Boy" though I do caution that just because I recommend it doesn't make it a pleasant read, rather it is more an insightful read, but one that for me, at least touches on aspects of my that I vaguely remember.  The section I just finished was that which dealt with his grandfather and the cancer that killed him, amongst other things.  It was powerful, perhaps because one of mine was similar, not in cause of death, but in how they lived their life.

On to something brighter, earlier today I also read a passage in "IRL" and the relationship the poet describes with his muse is truly something to read:

The influence of Muse
is not unlike being under
the influence, the way a poem
is spontaneously drunk
on Robert Graves.... (page 30)

Pico runs his lines into these incredible images, and these lines get to galloping along (almost galumphing, but not quite) stopping at unlikely places.

I am not finished with either book, but I am enjoying them, each for their own reasons, and there is probably a good chance I will have another poetry entry on my blog, though it isn't really all I read, just what has grabbed my attention lately.

Book Pile

While my kindle or iPad will both keep books a bit more organized than the chair I use for real books, I do rather enjoy sorting through to find what I want to read, and as you can see, this pile has everything from fantasy, to poetry, to Art essays.  I have always kept several books going at a time, though I think electronics allow that to get out of hand, since it is so easy to stop and start books there  and not realize how many you haven't finished.  If finishing them becomes a priority, perhaps I will do what a friend does and sort the electronic books with a "to read" category.

Poems being read

Over at FB, I tossed out enough junk to show my disapproval of Trump, who I really think is PT Barnum reincarnated.

Anyway, two of the poetry books I am reading right now, "[Insert] Boy" and "IRL" by Danez Smith and Tommy Pico, respectively, are both pretty incredible.  Smith does an gut punching job of connecting the reader with his reality, while Pico, his book being one long form poem, tosses so much to you, some you recognize, some not, because hey, I didn't grow up on a reservation, nor do I know as many dead people Jim Carroll (and Pico).  I have finished neither book, as each has me wanting to take a break, just to process, but both promise to be interesting, and perhaps I will manage to update when I have finished them.