Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Review--"Sky Dreaming" by Gary Cummiskey





It isn’t often that I am taken by surprise with a chap in the small press…especially one that I didn’t seek out myself. Subhankar Das, editor of Graffiti Kolkata, recently sent me Gary Cummiskey’s “Sky Dreaming”. I had never heard of Gary prior to this and I set to reading it short bursts rather than put it on the pile to read which is ever growing.

“Sky Dreaming” is a healthy mix of touching observations scattered between prose poem pieces that leaving you wonder exactly where you have been, or maybe better, where the author has been. They aren’t so bizarre you cannot relate, yet they make you feel like an uncomfortable watcher. The poems that grab the most are sparse of word, but heaving on feeling and meaning.

The opening poem “Immortal” sets you up for the entire collection, as an opening poem should, by gripping you with a sense of infinity and finality at the same time:

“Last night, feeling suicidal,
I leapt over the balcony
and landed flat on my back
in the garden below.
Lying there, I looked up
at the sky and saw how empty
it was, apart from a few
insignificant stars.
Now I know I am immortal.”

Gary touches on other subjects like the juxtaposition of science and religion in poems “Animals” and “I telephoned God”. He explores a visceral strangeness in “Alien” and the ragged endings to an old nurse in “Moon woman”:

“She has thin, pointed breasts and a rose in her hair, as the crescent
moon slides into her mouth like a hard cock.”

Cummiskey dabbles in his own brand of love and sexuality in poems like “Afterwards”, “Intimate Lives”, and “You Lead Me”. This last poem feels like an enticement to a lover….a calling to bring them back by telling them all that they have given or shown him:

“You lead me
Through letters smeared with caresses and sperm
Through the music of lonely politicians’ pipes
Through a landscape where you and I are alone

I want you to touch me
I want you to feel me.”

If bizarre and surreal are your cups of tea, then be sure to check out the poems “Alien”, “Summoned”, “A day at the races”, “Meat” and “In chains”. Gary Cummiskey also makes comment on the life of African-American Beat Poet Bob Kaufman in the poems “Between floors” and “Sinclair and the Great Dane”.

The poem that touched me the most and really drew me in was a prose poem entitled “Takeover” and it was one of those works that makes you sad and frightened and angry at the same time…the emotions swirled together in a subversive way that leaves you unsure of how we survive the disparity of our humanity. “Takeover”:

“Five years old. The parents take him to the hospital. He doesn’t
know what hospital is. The parents leave. He watches a child in
another ward get an injection in the head. Both scream simultaneously.
A nurse calms the new arrival and gives him ice cream
and comics. The next morning they take him to the operating
theatre. He wakes up sick, without tonsils. There’s blue vomit in
the basin. The parents are not around. Something else has taken over.”


This collection of poems, “Sky Dreaming” by Gary Cummiskey”, has a little bit of everything for whatever your tastes. You can purchase this from Graffiti Kolkata which is based out of India. Check out this title and others at: www.graffiti-kolkata-chaps.blogspot.com

Take a leap on this one. You won’t be sorry.

Review by Aleathia Drehmer

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Rough Travel by Jeffrey S. Callico

Beyond the mundane lies the secret prompts of an eternity. They allures us as little agent provocateurs in soft, almost silent voices to tear us away from what is every day, routine and filled with murky humdrums.

Call of an eternity or the gloom of the daily life, to say which of this is more obscure, is undoubtedly the enigma that mankind desired to solve forever in human history. Poetry is one of those forms that run foremost in attempting to solve this puzzle.

But there is a catch here. Infinity is often found in a battling position with the daily. Moments fight against non-moments, what is eternal goes up in arms against the immediate. Love is palpably an obscure emotion we normally associate with eternity. In love we long to associate. Hatred is recognizably momentous. In hatred we strive to dissociate.

What better place can there be to experience this inherent violence of this two way journey that fumes, blasts, disintegrates in a fury but then again echoes with the sweetest sounds of longings, than what we call ‘home’.

Jeffrey S. Calico, in his recent collection of poems, Rough Travel, touched upon this theme of domestic alienation and pathos in all its subtle nuances but with a certain disenchantment that only a bio-lab’s scalpel has for a corpse on the table.

In one of the most beautiful short piece in this collection, he says,

Inferred

The talk we had

The other day was

Not worth our breath

You keep to yourself

I keep myself to you

Jeffrey, I believe, has that rare talent of speaking a sea even when he is only talking about a dew drop.

And to slightly add on to that I would say the poet in Jeff can truly work miracles with the most ordinary objects and behavior found in any household as such. In his poems they break away from their known relations and fondles into other unknown ones.

Gravity

The sound I make
Rising wakes the

Kid then the house
Is in its fullness

There is no escape
From the television

The cathode nipple
Still needs sucking.

Use of cathode next to nipple opens up a port that spills drudgery, boredom and something violently erotic at the same time.

Thanks to Graffiti-Kolkata for bringing in such a beautiful collection to us.



Review article : Sarbajit Sarkar