Thursday, October 09, 2008
"For All These Wretched, Beautiful & Insignificant Things So Uselessly & Carelessly Destroyed." (Poems) by Hosho McCreesh
"For All These Wretched, Beautiful
& Insignificant Things So Uselessly
& Carelessly Destroyed." (Poems) by Hosho McCreesh
P.O. Box 911
Buffalo, NY 14207
Hosho McCreesh © 2008
Review by Mike Amado
If Morrissey, back in the days of his former band The Smiths,
were to inspire poets to explore the beauty of long titles, and
then grade them, "For All These. . ." by Hosho McCreesh
would receive an A-plus. But McCreesh ups the volume with
these terse, yet full and rich verses of "For All These Wretched,
Beautiful& Insignificant Things So Uselessly & Carelessly Destroyed."
It great to have a title that's a part of and is one with the poem.
It's refreshing to read a collection that has a long title itself,
(as opposed to having a title consisting of only one word,
which is a current thing to do). These first line-ish / titles provide an
expansive foyer to a familiar structure.
"What We Want Is a Nice Bottle,
A Little Music & Some Humble Place
To Host Little Celebrations of Living -
...maybe a decent potato soup &
a few bucks left over
after covering our nut.
But there's nothing for it,
not in this kind of world . . ."
Embedded within the images and simpleness of the everyday is
a longing and a search to reclaim, remember and birthe these
celebrations and beauties once again. A sort of repairing of that
which was dismantled. These are words of loss, sadness and
In the same vein, "Full Moon, Half Sun . . ." dwells with a
"Long Shadows Draped
Over Dusty Backroads -
A Train Whistle Cries Out
Across the Rio Grande Valley -
for some place
that cannot be
Poet, artist and prose writer Hosho McCreesh was first introduced to
the word through music. And a music gently flows in the voice of this
chapbook, singing standards of a new age.
On the covers and festooning the inside pages of "For All These. . ."
are the illustrations of Kevin Charles Kline. Basic drawings of skeletons,
body parts and all sorts of anatomy scatted about so "Carelessly",
driving home the books premise.
McCreesh performs some dismantling of his own in the poem "It Was Paris . . ."
Leveling Paris' legendary assumptions into ordinary truths, that, Paris is
after all like "anywhere" and "everywhere" else.
Describing the fabled city as, "Vibrating With some Kind of Romantic,
Sad Song . . .", the speaker desperately walking the streets,
"Lonely as a weeping trumpet," only to find at that moment,
"a flash of angry movement" - an empty dog food can thrown in the Seine.
"Suddenly the day went cold,
went painfully, typically
McCreesh also pays a lament to Vincent Van Gogh in
"This Dizzying, Senseless Place . . ." asking:
what if his beloved would have, "just/ taken/ the/ ear"
and accepted it as:
"a gesture, an offering,
a talisman of something
deep & honest & true."
"For All These . . ." takes the reader from Paris to the American
south west and down to the lonely depths of the human condition.
A world where " . . . we ask too much of life.", and rue how even
the insignificant can be taken for granted and lost even to itself.
*Mike Amado is a reviewer for the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene
and the author of "stunted Inner Child Shot the TV" ( Cervena Barva Press).