| Saint Vitus Press & Poetry Review The web's premier site for OUTLAW POETRY |
Information on Booking Todd Moore for a Poetry Reading : Todd Moore co-founded the genre of writing now recognized as Outlaw Poetry with fellow writer Tony Moffeit. Moore is also responsible for coining the phrase "Noir Poetry" that refers to dark, edgy writing with a hard boiled feel to it. During his 40+ years of writing poetry he has published over a hundred books and is responsible for the most famous long form poem known to the small press world: DILLINGER. Todd Moore is now available for booking opportunities to hold poetry workshops and/or do a poetry reading at your venue, gallery opening, etc. ANYWHERE within the USA & Overseas as well. Click on the link below for full details including pricing info, etc. SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY PLEASE. CLICK HERE TO DIRECTLY CONTACT TODD MOORE FOR BOOKING ENGAGEMENTS |
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| SLEEPWALKING IN THE VOID CRUDELY MISTAKEN FOR LIFE. By Wolfgang Carstens. a review by Tony Moffeit CRUDELY MISTAKEN FOR LIFE is a book of poetry that uses darkness to get to the light. More than that, it is one of those rare books in which the darkness is the light. The power of darkness gives us the other side. Hank Williams said it best when he said, “There ain’t no light.” Then he gave us through his songs a darkness which transcended darkness and light. A new kind of light found in a darkness in which you no longer want the light. Wolfgang Carstens writes with this same kind of transcendence. In a poem about his father, “happy birthday, mr. cool,” Carstens gives us a shuddering portrayal of a darkness so powerful that the only ending can be one of emotional ice. And yet...and yet...there is a primal strength that is expressed most vividly in the stark honesty of the darkness. The lead poem of the book, “fragments of a dream remembered,” unveils the theme: my nightmares of late mirror reality and are increasingly more difficult to abandon in favor of returning to the sad drama of flesh. perhaps that’s how we know the hour of our end approaches - when nightmares are more joyous than reality, and passing from one dream to another is as easy as never again opening our eyes. The metaphor of sleep as a prelude or substitute for death is again marvelously honed in the title poem, “crudely mistaken for life.” The setting is the back room of a funeral home “where bodies/lie dreaming on shiny metal tables” and: humans spend one third of their living in preparation for a morgue drawer, beds are staging grounds for graves, slumber is dress rehearsal for death. But again, Wolf Carstens gives us something else. Through the darkness itself, there is a breakthrough. In response to the mortician asking if he has ever seen a corpse prepared for burial, Carstens answers: yeah, i say, i’ve seen corpses prepared for burial the streets are full of sleepwalkers with eyes stapled shut, lips sewn shut to the magic and mystery of blood and bone living; drained, emptied with no sign of a pulse, the stench of death seeping from their mouths sleepwalking from cradle to grave with only brief dreams in between - crudely mistaken for life The power of this passage is remarkable. Line builds on line, metaphor builds on metaphor, to reach an incredible ending which yields a line so strong it becomes the title of the book. Death, mortality, memory of the deceased, abandonment, suicide, and grief are all themes in this book. But rather than evoking hopelessness, Carsten evokes a deepening, a transfiguration. He also evokes an intimacy, for how better to know a person than to experience the immediacy of that person’s darkness. Here is a passage from the poem I mentioned before, “happy birthday, mr. cool”: sadly, apart from his toughness, his only other discernable skill in life was drinking it was incredible how he poured vodka into a tall glass, adding a splash of Kahlua and guzzled it down in one uninterrupted gulp. he went from cold stone sober to shitfaced in 30 seconds - you could actually watch his eyes glaze and cross before his empty glass hit the table. the last time i saw him was Thanksgiving 1995. i hadn’t been there more than 20 minutes and he was already trashed beyond repair. after falling and destroying a glass table he tumbled down steep basement steps and couldn’t climb back up - when i went to help him his third wife Janice screamed, “don’t fucking help him! if he can’t get up the stairs under his own steam then he doesn’t deserve to fucking eat.” so i left him down there in the dark bleeding from his nose and mouth, crumpled on the cold concrete floor like a wet, dirty towel. This book is stunningly evocative. Be careful when you pick up this book, you might not be able to put it down. CRUDELY MISTAKEN FOR LIFE Wolfgang Carstens epic rites press 01 Mar 2010 Price $15.50 Paperback epic rites press: "because all our fingers are middle ones"™ Epic Rites Press 240-222 Baseline Road Suite #206 Sherwood Park, Alberta Canada T8H 1S8 http://www.epicrites.org http://www.spdbooks.org any press is only as "small" as its thinking. |
