Book Review John D. Robinson- Always More: New & Selected Poems (Horror, Sleaze, Trash, 2020) 170 pages

 

This is English writer, John D. Robinson’s latest full-length collection of poetry. The book consists of 112 poems which were selected by Arthur Graham, the editor and publisher of Horror Sleaze Trash. Robinson first published a few poems as a young man and after a hard life of heavy drinking & drugs he decided in his early 50s to again get the shit down.  Since 2016 he has published over a dozen books and chaps. The most notable, which I have read so far, include When You Hear The Bell There’s No Where To Hide (Holy &intoxicated Publications, 2016), Hang in There (Uncollected Press, 2019) and The Barbed & the Beautiful, a masterful collaboration between Robinson and the Dutch artist Marcel Herms (Petrichor, 2020). Always More: New & Selected Poems provides general readers with an overview of Robinson’s work to date in the hope that they may perhaps pursue more of his incredible work. 

 

In a recent interview on Bold Monkey, Robinson says of the process of putting together the book: “Arthur Graham was a complete joy to work with: he is an editor that has a good idea of how he wishes for the finished product to look like: Arthur is open and approachable and the ride was a smooth one: I initially selected some poems from all of my chapbooks and full collections and forwarded to Arthur: He came back with some additional poems that he wished to include: From the cover and the title and the layout, sequence of poems, Arthur had his kindly pulse on the beat: I am extremely pleased with this collection and Arthur Graham is a wicked fellow with an editorial talent that is quite something else, let alone his own quality poetry.”

 

In Always More the reader will quickly be injected with Robinson’s manic spirit, his cast of sad, fucked-up, often drug-addled acquaintances or clients, his snap-shots of tender but fraught relationships- some dredged up from memories distilled over decades and his humorous & scathing take on the poetry world. 

 

Robinson writes mostly narrative/confessional poems which carve down the left side of the page dagger-like every 3 to 5 words. What is most remarkable about his work is his honesty and his revved-up drive to get the word onto the page. There is no elaborate, wanky art here. No pretence. Just continuous clear, hard lines cascading down page after page. Sometimes the words are deeply sad. Sometimes wickedly humorous. Sometimes horny. Sometimes totally mad. 

 

In a 2019 BM interview, Robinson says of his poetry, “I guess it is mostly confessional and for sure is based on true events that I have been witnessed to, experienced or they are stories given by the people I meet, sometimes only very briefly, but sometimes that is enough to sense the sorrow or the joy and I try and capture this with a straight forward direct delivery, I think any other approach would not possibly have the resonation, the clarity and depth that I am reaching for.”

 

At first glance, the title of the book Always More appears to refer to Robinson’s daily knack of settling down after dinner, opening a bottle or two of red and then getting it onto the page. This is reinforced by the book’s front cover, designed by Graham, which shows a bottle of beautiful red being poured into a glass.

 

The title poem ‘Always More’, a third the way into the collection, suggests there may be a further meaning behind the book’s title. In the poem, Robinson telescopes the life of his friend Julian who suicides after his latest partner dies of AIDS. The last stanza concludes that “there’s a lot more/ to this story…but for now/ for Julian/ this will do” inferring in Robinson’s rich fount of experiences- there is always much, much more to be told. 

 

The poem is characteristic of Robinson’s simple free verse writing style and his use of lurid subject matter:

 

 

ALWAYS MORE

 

Julian was tall and skinny,

too skinny perhaps, and

he was gentle, creative,

articulate and very

effeminate in his

mannerisms

and manners

 

When we first met

he was kicking heroin

and for 3 or 4 days

I witnessed his

withdrawal and I held

him and he clung to me

and then he found

God and fell in love

with a friend of mine

who had also recently

been reborn

 

They married and had

2 sons, the marriage

lasted perhaps

several years, and

then Julian split with

God and his wife and

children and found

a male lover and moved from town

to city

 

His sons visited

a few times and

returned with tears

and cigarette burns

and bad dreams

and they never saw

their father alive again

and neither did I

Later, his lover

died of AIDS

and Julian had

the same diagnosis

 

He committed suicide

and I remember Julian

one time telling me

of blowing truck drivers

in midnight deserted

car parks and that

he would have done

anything for a push

of heroin but God 

had saved him

 

There’s a lot more

to this story

as there will

be to yours,

but for now,

for Julian,

this will do

(all poems in this review are posted with the permission of the poet)

 

As you may now know, Robinson often explores the seamier side of existence- alcohol & drug use, mental illness, suicide, domestic violence and sexual assault. He knows the low life. He’s been there -either through his previous life as a pisshead or druggie, or vicariously, through his decades of working as a housing officer for the disadvantaged. Robinson is typically the speaker of his poems or he records from memory the voices of the depraved & the dissolute he has encountered.

 

Robinson says candidly of his young adult life, “I was an alcoholic by the time I was 17 or 18: I drifted, never had any ambitions of any kind, just wasn’t interested in anything else except getting drunk and high: Hash has been forever present: speed, cocaine, amphetamines were party pieces : Heroin scared me, I had lost half dozen friend’s to heroin: Codeine: Valium or any ‘downers’ was my choice.”

To Robinson, writing is a kind of exorcism for him and he never deliberately creates a poem for its shock effect or to offend anyone. He says of his writing in the more recent BM interview, “I would like to think that it has remained honest, direct and humorous and passionate, insightful: I would like to think that any subject can be written about, no matter how dark or depressing it may seem: writing is like an exorcism: if something needs to be expressed then so be it: I have never deliberately written a poem or short story for the ‘shock’ effect: that is bullshit: truth hurts but it also enlivens and informs and creates a different space, not always comfortable: I have never deliberately written a poem to offend/attack: that is bullshit also: ultimately poetry is about love, it is always about love and that will always be a good starting point: I shall never lose sight of this.”

Gently pressed about his favourite poem in the collection, Robinson is quick off the mark, “This would have to be ‘Consultation Room 1’: “I have been, amongst many other things, obsessed with cats from a very early age: I cannot ever remember a time in my life when I have not been around cats: Souly was the most charismatic and lively and entertaining cat that I have ever known/loved: Souly was fearless, truly, he had a grace and a style that belonged only to him: he was a teacher and I his student: Souly was the cool of James Dean and the meanness of Vinnie Jones : the poem reflects the agony of finally accepting that the end had come for him and the final journey that we took together: it was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do and certainly one of the hardest toughest poems I have written and it took many efforts to get the words down and tight and I’m sure that he would have enjoyed: he is an ever-lasting inspiration to me.”

Robinson’s love of his cat Souly provides another aspect to the man and poet: 

 

THE CONSULTATION ROOM 1

 

A black and white fluffy

tough-fucker veteran

warrior brawler

of 16 years

 

He’d take no prisoners

and he’d take no shit but

he was very sociable and

one time he went walkabout

for a couple of weeks and

returned home hungry

and limping with a slashed footpad

 

He was almost mute;

he would open

his mouth wide and

make all the gestures

but no more than

a squeak would come out

 

He had feared nothing

in life; I had seen him

square up to an excited

Rottweiler and challenge

moving vehicles and

noisy garbage trucks

didn’t bother him none

 

And I always figured that,

following a nuclear war,

only 2 beings would

be left alive:

Keith Richards and

my old cat, Souly

 

I’ve my doubts now:

he’s no longer moving well,

he’s neither eating nor

drinking, but when

he looks up at me,

I can see no trace

of fear in his eyes

 

He still gets outside

to toilet, making sure that

if it’s the last thing he does,

he’d shit in the next door

neighbour’s garden

 

His mouth opens and

emits a small cry and

I lay down beside him

to stroke his back and

he purrs just as

loudly as ever

 

And he lasted

a further 3 days

after that, moving

ever closer to his end,

until finally it was

time to let him go

 

I took him to the vet

and I spoke to him

as the nurse depressed

the syringe

 

‘Goodbye my old friend,’ I said

‘I’ll see you around the corner’

 

I kissed his face

one last time and

then walked away,

heading for

the nearest store

to buy some wine

Apart from his portrait poems, perhaps the most lauded of Robinson’s work are his poems about his relationships with women- especially the transparency in which he writes about sex and his representation of the precariousness of young love. ‘The Garage Roof’, ‘A Key Moment’, ‘She is Beautiful’, ‘Alphabet Tongue’, ‘The Anticipation of Goodbye’ and ‘A One Time Young Man’s Blues’ are all Robinson classics.

 

‘A One Time Young Man’s Blues’ is a sad but uplifting poem:

 

A ONE TIME YOUNG MAN’S BLUES

 

‘You’ll have to get rid of it’

she said in a harsh whisper

to her daughter

 

And then, looking at me

with cold steel eyes

of resentment and

disappointment

she said:

 

‘And you’ll have to pay for it

 

I walked out

of the bar in silence,

leaving the two

of them alone

 

We were teenagers

and we were in love;

she was seventeen and

pregnant and months away

from a university dream;

I was eighteen and

a factory worker

with no ambitions

 

But we saw it through;

I raised the money and

visited the private clinic

that was way out of town

 

It was a sad place

full of sad and ashamed

faces of young women

and we were in love

and we held hands and

I wanted to say things to her

that would be of comfort but

I didn’t and I couldn’t;

I was sad and I didn’t

know what to say

 

After a short while

at university she bought me

a copy of Kerouac’s Scattered Poems

and she said goodbye forever

 

That was three and

a half decades ago;

I still have the book but

the inscription she wrote

has since faded

 

Faded like a heartbeat

never heard,

even once

 

In his collection Always More, Robinson is more than happy to share his work, particularly to the general public who are unfamiliar with his work. The collection is available free through a download from HST but as he gently but commercially expresses: 

 

“I believe that if you are a book lover, then you will buy the book!:  There is nothing that quite relates to holding a book in your hands, turning the pages, creative literary objects that you don’t need a charger for.” 

 

 

Download or buy John D. Robinson’s poetry collection Always More: New & Selected Poems (Horror, Sleaze, Trash, 2020) 17O pages here: https://horrorsleazetrash.com/2020/11/23/always-more-by-john-d-robinson/

 

Interview with John D. Robinson (Bold Monkey: 22 January 2021):  https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2021/01/interview-with-john-d-robinson-22.html

 

Read a previous interview with John D. Robinson on BM (26 July 2019): https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2019/07/book-review-interview-john-d-robinson.html

Book Review/ Interview: Todd Cirillo KISSES FROM A STRAIGHT RAZOR (Epic Rites Press, 2020) 82 pages

Kisses From A Straight Razor is the latest collection of poetry by the New Orleans resident and co-founder and editor of Six Ft. Swells Press Todd Cirillo. The poems were written pre-covid and a few have originally appeared in alternative small press publications, such as The Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press, Heroin Love Songs, Lummox Journal and Asylum Floor.

 

The collection consists of 43 poems, mainly free verse narratives written in a simple, pared back confessional style. The poems are characteristically observational, conversational and brimming with a zest for life. At its core, Cirillo's poetry is feel-good, resilient- exuding a spark & humour which displays an understanding of relationships which are rich, exploratory and based on humane, progressive shared values. 

 

The subject matter often focuses on the speaker's (presumably Cirillo's) ongoing quest for love- flirting with airline crew (‘Mile High Club’), being approached by a woman at a reading (‘Wanting’), swapping telephone numbers with waitresses in bars (‘Sucker’s Paradise’) or checking women out through a dating app (‘Modern Love’). 

 

Despite his best efforts, Cirillo usually finds himself alone once more and expresses a nagging yearning for love. ‘Knowing’ and ‘A Romantic Gesture’ are interesting examples. ‘The Prisoner’ a short, second person poem addressed to an ex-lover, is perhaps a finer, more striking example:

 

The Prisoner

 

I can still smell you

on my pillowcase,

in the comforter

and sheets.

 

Thought about

doing laundry

but decided

to keep you

with me

just a little

longer. 

 

(all poems in this review are posted with the permission of the poet)

 

In his search for love, Cirillo finds many detours, dead ends and mishaps. Despite many promising encounters with ex-girlfriends (‘Picture Perfect’) or new  recruits (‘Moon Rocks and Magic’) the magic often doesn’t gel or last long between them. In other poems, Cirillo describes being shunned (‘Sucker’s Paradise’), stood up (‘What’s In a Name’, ‘In Complete Agreement’) or left to deal emotionally with the aftermath of a break up (‘The Weather Channel’, ‘Nothing Wasted’ and ‘Rock Bottom’).

 

In a recent interview with BM (which follows this review), Cirillo defines what ‘love’ means to him and admits he is an idiot for love: “Love is like having a butterfly land on you. It is really the most extraordinary of connections, not always overwhelming pleasant but always memorable. I like to think that all of my poems are love poems in some form or fashion. I am an idiot for love. I like to think that things are more possible when you are in love. It is something I wish for and something I’ve been fortunate to experience a few times. I hope the butterfly lands again.”

 

Cirillo provides the reader with few clues in his poems as to why things stuff up for him in the love department. He keeps his explanations to a minimum to prime the reader into reflecting on their own failures and crazy longings.   

 

The blame for his failures are usually set squarely on his own shoulders. In ‘How Far We’ve Come’ he writes “I only fall in love/ with insane and unstable women.” Sisyphus-like he finds himself after nine years of therapy/ twelve books of poetry… alone/ writing/ the same love poem/ all over again.” In ‘Memories’ he curiously ponders over a beer during lunch while listening to Etta James’s voice from a jukebox: “Then I remembered/ that most days/ I forget I was ever/ married at all--”. In ‘Todd the Optimist’ while swimming in a pool he thinks about “all of the/ bad decisions/ I’ve yet to make.” In ‘Midnight Ghosts’ he writes about “The women who loved me/ unconditionally but I let go stupidly.” 

 

Asked why things often end sadly for him, Cirillo candidly says, “I have been wondering that for years now. I tend to meet spectacularly creative and wild women who are often in situations not conducive to long-term connection/commitment. They are either not in a place for a relationship for various reasons; still entertaining a past hook up, still keeping options open, still married, timing is off, stars are not aligned, it’s Tuesday, waiting for someone other than yours truly, a misconception that I’m into all sorts of “alternate arrangements” etc. and sometimes I settle for those, that is how low I have become. I used to think it was some type of painful penance for some past transgressions or something but now, I just see it as sad, even as exciting and inspiring as it can be at times. The truth is, I look in the rearview too much. Ultimately, it is pathetic really. It has gotten to the point where I really just demean myself for connections I suppose. The only conclusion I have arrived at is that I am a play toy for the lords of karma. Though, the fucked-up truth of it is, I actually write more and better when I am in love and committed to an amazing partner. I am a living Willie Nelson song.” 

 

One of the more memorable “love poems” is ‘The Coldest Day in New Orleans’, a highly evocative poem which foreshadows the breakdown of a relationship through the personified image of the frigidity of the city in which the couple walk “arm in arm”:

 

The Coldest Day in New Orleans

                      --January 18, 2018

 

The city is shut down

due to ice and frigid cold

but the bars are still open

and hot drinks are served

while the Mississippi flows

unbothered in the Gulf.

We walk arm in arm

to see the frozen sights

of this city.

It is your first time.

 

Six hours in, at the river,

I say that I love you.

Simple as that.

No matter how complicated

it makes your life

or mine.

It was waiting

to be said,

the words

sitting between us

just beneath my busted ribcage

and your cheating heart

to be cracked open

like a favorite book,

or bottle,

and brought into existence.

The two of us

shivering together

on the coldest day

in New Orleans,

holding the heat tight

between us,

frozen together

in that moment.

 

In some of his better poems, Cirillo sits alone in a bar or restaurant, and on observing couples, makes generalisations about his own inadequacies and frailties. In ‘The Domino Effect’ he goes to one of his favorite lunch haunts and overhears the conversation of young couples near him at the bar. It prompts him to think of his own situation of “eating alone again,/ no plans for Friday night,/best friends far away,/ face lines getting deeper,/ in love with a girl/ who doesn’t want to love me.” Similarly, in ‘Dinner Plans’ in walking by a table, he spots a dysfunctional couple he can identify with- because he has been there before, several times:

 

Another last meal together,

soon the packing will begin,

the lease broken.

Head filled with questions

that may never find answers. 

 

I have had many of those meals myself

in a variety of restaurants

wishing to be any place else.

 

Cirillo says he is usually inspired by his own situations and relationships, “for good or ill” and he writes down honestly what he thinks “may have occurred.” He is clear that he doesn’t bullshit to appeal to his readers, “I do not play the ‘alone’ card for my readers. The sad and terrible truth is that I am alone. At this point, I cannot distinguish between what I’ve done right or wrong. Have I sacrificed for the muse or has the muse sacrificed me? It is a terrible tightrope for a writer like me. I do not work well alone. There is nothing noble, fun or poetic about waking up alone on Christmas morning or birthdays.”

 

In an earlier Bold Monkey interview for his collection Burning the Evidence (2017) (see link below) Cirillo was asked about his gaze on women. He says, in part:

 

“I do write about women often. I say that with pride. I create composites or become inspired by a single person who shines and offers me something extraordinary, whether they know it or not; strangers or significant others. 

 

“Women can provide pure comfort or chaos, sometimes both and that’s wonderful for me. I tell people that everything I write is a love poem in some form or another and I believe that. I’m in this constant search for love and always hold the belief that it’s going to happen this time or….the next or…the next, no matter how bruised, broken or betrayed I get…I am a true sucker for punishment or possibility.”

 

To Cirillo, love is achingly ephemeral and elusive. As depicted in ‘Gravitational Force’ it is “an unseen force” which is irrational but natural “like the tides/ reaching for the moon.” In ‘The Tiniest Feeling of Them All’ it is an “imperceptible sway”… a “ripple,/ barely a bump…” a strand of hair/ attached to the person/ you are paying attention to.” In the opening stanza of ‘On the Way to Work’ he writes: “Today, I simply/ want to eat crawfish/ outside in the sunshine/ with a beautiful woman,/ a few beers/ and the Gulf Breeze.”

 

The title poem ‘Kisses From A Straight Razor’ incorporates many of the best elements you will discover in a Cirillo poem. It is simply written but intriguing from the start. The poem hints at the idea of a femme fatale but is really about living for the moment and not being left wondering in some sort of lingering regret.

 

Kisses From A Straight Razor

 

She offers me

kisses from a straight razor.

She says she wants

to leave her mark.

I don’t even have to look

into a mirror

to know

what all the open road sun damage,

scars, smile lines

and backstreet brawls

have done

to this face

it won’t be long

until the mind

goes next

so,

what the hell—

it would be nice

to have something

to remember her

by.

 

Cirillo says of the poem’s backstory and its choice of the book’s title:

“Often, I get a title before a poem or even a book. I view titles as no different than a line within the poem. A strong title can capture the reader. This phrase came to me after I did a Kamikaze shot but had no one to toast with. It sums up the pleasure and pain of interpersonal relationships for me. Plus, I think the image and the sound of the phrase are very visceral, twisted and playful. You can see the shine of the razor, the red of the lipstick and feel the cut and kiss.”  

 

The stunning cover photo is by Carrie DeMay and the cover design is by Julie Valin, a staunch long-term supporter of After-Hours Poetry: http://sixftswellspress.com/

 

Cirillo elaborates further on the creation of the cover: “I believe that a cover is as important as the poems inside the book. It can and should grab a potential reader to open the book. This cover was created by two extraordinarily talented artists that I am forever indebted to; Carrie DeMay is a photographer, costume creator and true champion of fun. She and I went to various bars, had various drinks to come up with a scene to fit the title. In the end, we gave up, went to our favorite local bar with our favorite bartender, had more drinks and she randomly captured the photo in between shots of whiskey. That is how good she is. Please look her up at: carriedemay.com

 

“The other one of kind talent is Julie Valin. She put the graphics together, which she has for most of my books. Julie is a poet, graphic artist, top-shelf editor, bff, and my pirate poetry pal. Julie is insanely talented and inspiring. She can shape my inclinations into perfection. Please visit her website at selftoshelfpublishing.com.”

 

Some of the best poems in the collection tend to move beyond the anecdotal and possess a melancholic tone which reveal a darker undertow to Cirillo’s writing. Instead of the usual faucet of tepid introversion, in these poems, the menace and brutality of the real world intercedes. In ‘Beasts Beyond the Bedroom’ the speaker lies in bed at night listening to the romance of passing trains, “rolling on the river… through the southern fog.” He momentarily thinks of going out to watch the trains but contemplates the danger of gun-happy America: ”there are wanna-be killers/ out there/ in the dark,/ waiting for their shot/ to become/ something./ Something bigger and badder/ than their Instagram can capture.”

 

In ‘High School Reunion’, Cirillo returns to his teenage past and is deeply disillusioned by what he sees within himself and the world:

 

High School Reunion

 

At the beach bar

as far south as the road can go,

a song

from my high school years

comes on the jukebox—

“The Heart of the Matter”

by Don Henley. 

It played on MTV,

at slow dances,

under bedroom black lights,

on poster plastered walls,

in the front seat of cars,

behind buildings,

at low lit dead ends.

 

To get this far away,

all these miles,

moments

and years

spent mostly

on barstools

around the world—

a very long, long way

from those dirt road days

living in a hated town

full of rotten apple orchards,

run-down bowling alleys,

an annual peach festival

that everyone talked about year-round,

cornfield drinking,

all those confused first fumblings at love…

only to end up back here again,

fucked up with my loneliness,

sitting on an old wooden barstool

with long gone names carved into it,

in the sunshine and sweet breeze—

 

just another one of the boys of summer

who tried to get away.

 

Cirillo candidly explains the context of his fucked up feelings, “That entire poem is a true story. I ended up alone sitting at the bottom of the country, the literal end of the road, down in the Florida Keys, once again on an old wooden barstool, drinking, placing myself in the path of inspiration and I got it, soon as that Don Henley song came over the jukebox. I don’t know why that did it but I don’t question these shiny moments. I was alone again after all these years and all the miles. I’m proud of all the twisted weirdness that I have found over the years but, like the idiot optimist I am, would like to have someone to toast with in those moments. That poem owes it all to Don fucking Henley. That makes me laugh to no end. I should send it to him.”

 

Yet Todd Cirillo’s intent is not political but personal– that we need to return to establishing connections between people as he expressed in an earlier interview:

 

“My thought/feeling is that poetry has to return to the beauty and necessity of an interpersonal connection between two people, transmitting a feeling or emotion and allowing the other person to take it with them and hopefully, if the poet is good, that individual did not begin as a poetry fan but they are now.”

 

That said, I recalled previous conversations with Todd and had to ask him about if he had any passing thoughts on Trump’s presidency and whether he was optimistic about America’s future. He was savage and sledgehammered in his retort:

 

“I hope trump and his family carry the shame of their traitorous and disrespectful ways for generations. They have zero respect for constitution or country and the United States is worse off for it. They should be shunned and humiliated where ever they go. I am not optimistic for America’s future, I am sad to say, but this country has gotten to the point where over 70 million other citizens allowed themselves to be duped by a third rate con artist. Convinced that a narcissist with a golden toilet, who despises people like them, understands and speaks for them. He is king of the idiots. Stupidity, blind allegiance, anger, authoritarianism and hatred are celebrated. Take the image from the January 6^th insurrection, of these phony “patriots” beating a police officer with American flags while shouting USA USA, and there are those that justify that. That is where we are as a nation. A mass cult has been created and it will be hard to undo.” 

 

Kisses From A Straight Razor is a highly accessible and enjoyable collection to read. Todd Cirillo continues his search for another woman, another beer, another sentence, another poem. He remains remarkably upbeat, accepting and his poems are incredibly fun to read.

 

 

Biography: Todd Cirillo loves good times and shiny moments. He lives in New Orleans so there are plenty of those to be found. 

 

Buy the book here: https://www.amazon.com/Kisses-Straight-Razor-Todd-Cirillo/dp/1926860691

 

Check out Todd’s website here: https://www.toddcirillo.com

 

Read the full BM review of Todd Cirillo’s collection Burning the Evidence (Epic Rites Press, 2017): https://georgedanderson.blogspot.com/2017/05/book-review-interview-todd-cirillo.html

Interview With Todd Cirillo 25 January 2021

 

How would you describe the style of your writing. How has it evolved over the years?

 

My writing is After-Hours Poetry. A form of writing that values clarity and economy of language. Each poem should be like a cherry bomb in one’s hand. Try to create the clearest story for the reader. It is those last call low-lit moments when secrets are whispered and believed, whether they are true or not. I write for the audience/reader, whether they are truckers, soccer moms, bartenders, lovers, ex-lovers, poets, people I will never meet. It is about connecting with others, not writing something that I have to explain to them. If a poet has to explain their poem to an audience, then the poet has failed. 

 

I don’t know if my writing has evolved so much as sharpened over time. 

 

What is the backstory to the poem ‘Kisses From A Straight Razor’ and the choice of it for your title?

 

Often, I get a title before a poem or even a book. I view titles as no different than a line within the poem. A strong title can capture the reader. This phrase came to me after I did a Kamikaze shot but had no one to toast with. It sums up the pleasure and pain of interpersonal relationships for me. Plus, I think the image and the sound of the phrase are very visceral, twisted and playful. You can see the shine of the razor, the red of the lipstick and feel the cut and kiss.  

 

The cover design is striking. Can you briefly discuss how it was put together? 

 

Thank you for noticing the cover. I believe that a cover is as important as the poems inside the book. It can and should grab a potential reader to open the book. This cover was created by two extraordinarily talented artists that I am forever indebted to; Carrie DeMay is a photographer, costume creator and true champion of fun. She and I went to various bars, had various drinks to come up with a scene to fit the title. In the end, we gave up, went to our favorite local bar with our favorite bartender, had more drinks and she randomly captured the photo in between shots of whiskey. That is how good she is. Please look her up at: carriedemay.com

 

The other one of kind talent is Julie Valin. She put the graphics together, which she has for most of my books. Julie is a poet, graphic artist, top-shelf editor, bff, and my pirate poetry pal. Julie is insanely talented and inspiring. She can shape my inclinations into perfection. Please visit her website at selftoshelfpublishing.com 

 

You reveal many aspects of love in the book. What is your view of “love”?  

 

Love is like having a butterfly land on you. It is really the most extraordinary of connections, not always overwhelming pleasant but always memorable. I like to think that all of my poems are love poems in some form or fashion. I am an idiot for love. I like to think that things are more possible when you are in love. It is something I wish for and something I’ve been fortunate to experience a few times. I hope the butterfly lands again.

 

Why does it often end sadly for you? 

 

Great question, I have been wondering that for years now. I tend to meet spectacularly creative and wild women who are often in situations not conducive to long-term connection/commitment. They are either not in a place for a relationship for various reasons; still entertaining a past hook up, still keeping options open, still married, timing is off, stars are not aligned, it’s Tuesday, waiting for someone other than yours truly, a misconception that I’m into all sorts of “alternate arrangements” etc. and sometimes I settle for those, that is how low I have become. I used to think it was some type of painful penance for some past transgressions or something but now, I just see it as sad, even as exciting and inspiring as it can be at times. The truth is, I look in the rearview too much. Ultimately, it is pathetic really. It has gotten to the point where I really just demean myself for connections I suppose. The only conclusion I have arrived at is that I am a play toy for the lords of karma. Though, the fucked-up truth of it is, I actually write more and better when I am in love and committed to an amazing partner. I am a living Willie Nelson song. 

 

Do you have a “significant other” now or do you lie to play the “alone” card to appeal to your readers? (haha!)

 

Another great question. I do not play the “alone” card for my readers. The sad and terrible truth is that I am alone. At this point, I cannot distinguish between what I’ve done right or wrong. Have I sacrificed for the muse or has the muse sacrificed me? It is a terrible tightrope for a writer like me. I do not work well alone. There is nothing noble, fun or poetic about waking up alone on Christmas morning or birthdays. 

 

Can you explain the context in which you expressed your “fucked up” feelings of loneliness in ‘High School Reunion’ ? 

 

That entire poem is a true story. I ended up alone sitting at the bottom of the country, the literal end of the road, down in the Florida Keys, once again on an old wooden barstool, drinking, placing myself in the path of inspiration and I got it, soon as that Don Henley song came over the jukebox. I don’t know why that did it but I don’t question these shiny moments. I was alone again after all these years and all the miles. I’m proud of all the twisted weirdness that I have found over the years but, like the idiot optimist I am, would like to have someone to toast with in those moments. That poem owes it all to Don fucking Henley. That makes me laugh to no end. I should send it to him. 

 

Yeah do!

 

You are a personal rather than a political poet, but I have to ask you this. Do you have any passing thoughts on Trump’s presidency and the discredited concept of American exceptionalism? Are you optimistic about America’s future?

 

I hope trump and his family carry the shame of their traitorous and disrespectful ways for generations. They have zero respect for constitution or country and the United States is worse off for it. They should be shunned and humiliated where ever they go. I am not optimistic for America’s future, I am sad to say, but this country has gotten to the point where over 70 million other citizens allowed themselves to be duped by a third rate con artist. Convinced that a narcissist with a golden toilet, who despises people like them, understands and speaks for them. He is king of the idiots. Stupidity, blind allegiance, anger, authoritarianism and hatred are celebrated. Take the image from the January 6^th insurrection, of these phony “patriots” beating a police officer with American flags while shouting USA USA, and there are those that justify that. That is where we are as a nation. A mass cult has been created and it will be hard to undo. 

 

What’s next for you?

 

Hope for the best; bars and inspiration at some point, hopefully performing live readings again, publishing more writers with my press, Six Ft. Swells, another book, another love perhaps. Just try to write again. This isolation has not been good for a writer like myself. I am a social writer. I gather material and inspiration from being around others. 

 

Thanks Todd for filling me in on your latest collection.

 

Thanks George-- for all you do for poetry!

 

"The news is bad today, in America and for America. There is nothing good or hopeful about it--except for Nazis, warmongers, and rich greedheads" HST