Please Book

Dear God, Please will hurt you - in a good way. It's a very physical and lyrical book of poetry that just goes right through you with one seamless poem followed by another. Think of an extended metaphor, music as the medium, in which we are allowed to experience the speaker's pain in bass; joy, with its fierce undying love, ("Sean"; "Betty Jo Jackson"; "Like Father") sung in soprano until you are spent; and, throw in nothing less than a beautiful voice laced with male eroticism, its bluesy, smoky undertones and you'll end up with poetry so fine it rises to operatic heights. Lastly, let's not forget the title, Please, with its loaded innuendos and you've got a compelling book that begs to be read.

What is the most interesting part of reading this book is the voice, how intimate it is with the self: i.e., I get the feeling the speaker is speaking mostly to himself rather than intimating to a perceived audience. Think of the word, "intimate" as a verb rather than as an adjective. These poems speak to some deeper core of existence - where the "you" becomes the "I" and the distance becomes neglible. Also, the poems' strengths lie in their immediacy - we cut to the chase with not a lot of build up, or false starts and bookend conclusions; immediacy is, in essence, what makes the poems strong and instantaneously rewarding - that "aha yes!" moment. In fairness, the weakest two poems are "Autobiography" and "Tin Man." These two poems read too much like lists. Aside from those two experimental poems the rest are tight and well executed. Pick up a copy of PLEASE and please read it so you can dispel the notion that most of today's poetry is dreck. You just have to find the good poetry and finding takes some searching - a little work on the part of the reader. I have done some of the work for you with Please.


Sample Poem:

Track 1: Lush Life

The woman with the microphone sings to hurt you,
To see you shake your head. The mic may as well
Be a leather belt. You drive to the center of town
To be whipped by a woman's voice. You can't tell
The difference between a leather belt and a lover's
Tongue. A lover's tongue might call you bitch,
A term of endearment where you come from, a kind
Of compliment preceded by the word sing
In certain nightclubs. A lush little tongue
You have: you can yell, Sing bitch, and, I love you,
With a shot of Patrón at the end of each phrase
From the same barstool every Saturday night, but you can't
Remember your father's leather belt without shaking
Your head. That's what satisfies her, the woman
With the microphone. She does not mean to entertain
You, and neither do I. Speak to me in a lover's tongue'
Call me your bitch, and I'll sing the whole night long.