Centennial Press 2007/13.95

Charles Nevsimal, editor
c/o Centennial Press
P.O. Box 170322
Milwaukee,WI 53217-8026
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REVIEWED BY DEBBIE KIRK

     It was no surprise to find advance praise on the back cover by two other remarkable poets John Sweet and Brian Morrisey.  Charles and Deborah did a bang up job with this book. Aesthetically, it’s one of the most beautiful books I own ( I still haven’t broken the spine)  This is an almost complete works of his chaps to date as well as new unpublished poems, and it’s about time!  Broken into 5 chapters, this book chronicles Taylor’s early work from as early as 1997, and as I mentioned a huge chapter of new poetry. 

     William Taylor Jr. is one of the best poets in the small press hands down.  I’ve read this collection 5 times.  One of the things so great about his poetry is his ability to write about a variety of themes, some of which are dark, and not once whine.  Some common themes in these poems are: The death of his father, struggling with mortality, isolation, the disenfranchised, the homeless and forgotten, love, prostitutes, hotel rooms.

     William finds the beauty hidden in the cracks and crevices of an ugly unforgiving world.  He is very sensitive and aware of all that is wrong in the world, but he gives us brief respite in the beauty in his words and always seems to have unrelentless   hope. He writes about love, sex, beauty, and is strongly rooted in truth.  He knows we are but people on one huge spinning planet.  But he finds ways to give us slices of laughter, empathy and beauty.  He not only welcomes, but accepts the spontaneity of life and I believe that is the main thing that makes his poetry so awesome.  He doesn’t paint a pretty world.  He doesn’t dwell in darkness.  Rather he finds his own niche somewhere in the middle and with words he is able to take us all there with him.  I appreciate that, and I’m thankful for the small laughs I let out when reading poems about a half empty glass world that always has room for acceptance and even love. 

    This book is so powerful that finding poems to quote was quite difficult, as they were all equally as good (How the hell does he do that??)  But here are a few of my favorite poems so you can see firsthand that I ain’t just talking pretty without warrant and what the fuss is all about:

     From the first chapter “Death to the beautiful and The Sad Dumb Beauty of everything” I chose this poem:

The Sad Dumb Beauty of Everything

it is there

in a dream

the moment

before the waking.

It is there

in a smile

from a stranger

burning

in the same fire.

It is there

as you sit naked

on the floor

smoking cigarettes

at 4. a.m.

as crazy as a flower

in a graveyard.

It is there

in the empty space

your body once

filled

where your memory

still remains

left behind

like a pair of earrings

forgotten

on the bed

so sad

and dumb

and beautiful.

From the second chapter “I Gave My heart to the hawks and They Ate it and Any Abyss will do” I chose this poem:

We Would Fall

Come away

from the window, love,

wishes are not

for the likes of us.

If the stars should fall

down from the skies

they would only

make great

holes in the ground

and we would fall in.

From Chapter 3:  “Scrapbook of Fatal Accidence and knowing Most Things Break”

You

You create poetry

by simply standing

in the

afternoon rain,

cigarette dangling

from a crooked

smile.

Some of us

have to work

harder

at this kind of thing.

 From Chapter 4: “The Bones of Things and So Much is Burning”

I chose

The Sound of Her Breathing

The four walls of a room

momentarily

holding the ugliness of the world

at bay

enough to drink

until the dawn

the warmth of a body

pressed against my own

a few moments of living

wedged in

between the drudgery  of mere existence

there is nothing else to ask for

the sound of her breathing

is all I need of poetry

I offer no explanation

no definition

for this last moment in time

I like the feeling of my hand

upon her belly

and that is enough.

And from the final chapter entitled:  “The New and Uncollected” I  chose

In Between

On a greyhound bus just before the sunrise

headed toward this town or that

an address or a phone number

in the pocket of your coat

nothing in particular waiting for you

when you arrive

just trading one sad place

for another

but for the moment there is at least

the chance

for a bit of peace

if not exactly hope

the people around you stretch and yawn

and the bus rattles as it

takes you along

it is good to be in between

people and places

lost in the timelessness of travel

big wheels spin beneath you

and for a little while

you can try and tell yourself

you are going somewhere.

     It’s about time someone put out an almost complete collection of his works.

This book is not only recommended, but necessary.

Debbie “TNT” Kirk

Last update : 21-08-2008 16:20

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