Ambivalid

or

“Staggering Towards Virtue”

And

Back in the
Holy Bronx

by J.R. McCarthy

Serious Ink Press, http://www.seriousinkpress.com/

ISBN# 0-9796985-0-2, 46 pages, $8.00

In his first published poetry collection J.R. McCarthy reveals himself to be a teacher, philosopher and, of course, poet.  His book is divided into two sections, “Ambivalid or ‘Staggering Towards Virtue’,” and “Back in the Holy Bronx.”

Ambivalid comprises the bulk of this forty-six-page book.  In our postmodern society there is a challenge when trying to create poetry that addresses such topics as truth and morals.  In Ambivalid, McCarthy answers that challenge with verse written in a style somewhat reminiscent of the neo-formalists.  In poems such as “Haiku Invoked Against Vandalism,” he exhibits a personal moral compass without preaching:

"As far as I know
you will be all right if they
only break your heart.

It won't seem so at
the time, or any time soon,
because you don't yet

know what you must learn:
people who break things are mad
that they can't have them.

Continued

Writing each stanza in haiku meter suggests, perhaps, a hat-tip to the aforementioned neo-formalists.  Such structure may not provide the most advantageous line breaks for the content, but it does add an air of classical grace to the poem’s appearance on the page.

Not all of Ambivalid is metered as strictly.  In this excerpt from “Acedia Beat” we see some of the introspection that McCarthy uses to address philosophical questions without browbeating his reader:

“Now I do know:

It is better to be wicked than it is to be ungrateful.

It is better to be wrong than it is to be indifferent.

It is better to be misdirected than it is to be unmoving.”

If there is anyplace in the book where McCarthy exhorts his reader to take a corrective course, it might be found in this excerpt from “Compassion,” which is so genuine it makes a reader smile rather than wince:

“Live, and let the convicted live.

Keep your big fat thumb off the scale.

This is the bare beginning

of the practice of Compassion.”

After “Ambivalid” comes a separate poem, “Back in the Holy Bronx”.  McCarthy invokes the formal style of the sequence for this piece, adding a sacred tone fitting the beatific title.  I share the earnest, romantic tendencies McCarthy shows for the Bronx here, both of us being birthed in this borough. 

In a way, the manner McCarthy uses to treat his hometown reminds me of Carl Sandburg’s when Sandburg wrote “Chicago.”  Not the form, certainly.  There is none of Sandburg’s modernism in McCarthy’s sequence.  But the treatment of the material realistically addresses the factual matter that “dimly lit bodegas sell beer to minors,” or that “you kept your children out of your saloons: they shivered over cheap wine in the pits of your arcane masonry…” These lines do not attempt to gloss over the scars of the city or the failings of its people.   But like “Chicago,” the parts of this poem that are the most powerful are the lines of sheer joie de vivre.  Consider:

“Holy Bronx, you rock with reckless wisdom.

Holy Bronx, you damn cowards to invisibility.

Holy Bronx, you breathe history and

your rooftops are littered with homers.

Lilt of the Holy Bronx upon my tongue;

Bounce of the Holy Bronx in my walk;

All the way up Webster Avenue from now

until Yonkers, amen.”

And perhaps he shows a bit of his age when McCarthy queries,

“Holy Bronx, you are giggling like a school girl

at the thugs of the Third Millennium,

tripping on their clown pants, cramming

baseball caps on top of bandannas on top

of ‘do-rags.  What happened to satin-backed

singing marauders, to gangs with soul,

and soul with shape, and shape showing

up with her friends just in time to make you

forget you were mad?  Angry Young Posers!

What does it take to embarrass you?

Do the Knights of Columbus have

to brandish their swords before

you sit down and watch the movie?”

But McCarthy softens again:

“I am back in the Holy Bronx,

and I don’t know about you, Monsignor, but

I still see the grandeur of the Grand Concourse.”

and again:

“I am back in the Holy Bronx,

Wishing I could drop everything

and venerate the Stonehenge

gazebo off Allerton Avenue, or

fathom the terracotta hieroglyphics

of Parkchester, or leer like Leif

Erikson as I leap off my dragon and

claim City Island for Odin.”

Although “Back in the Holy Bronx” is only five pages long, I found it alone worth the book’s eight-dollar price tag.  Whether you’re from New York or anyplace else, I can recommend the entire collection.  You can read more excerpts from the book, or purchase a copy, from the author’s page at his publisher’s website: http://www.artistsilove.com/. 

Last update : 06-12-2007 04:50

Average user rating

   (0 vote)