Ink Drops on Water
Here's a disclaimer: I've never been particularly drawn to poetry. Poetry has strengths that prose could never match, I'm sure. And it probably has virtues of which I'm completely unaware. Begin a discussion on poetry, and I'll confess I'm completely lost. This is probably a weakness of mine, but it's one that seems kind of natural to me to have developed. Like I said before, poetry has never really drawn me to seek it out.
I could probably analyze the reasons for this, but that's not the point here. The point is that when it comes to poetry, I can't really review it in the articulate, knowledgeable way that someone who is familiar with the medium would be able to do. This is the disclaimer.
Now having said this, you'd think I'd be the last person to be reviewing a book of poetry, especially one by a newly-published writer who has yet to become established. However, that is exactly what I'm doing.
It all started when my good friend Matthew Miller visited last week, and gave me a copy of his slim poetry book, Ink Drops on Water. I guess it would be dramatic for me to say, "At first I was skeptical, but then..." -- but that's not the case. I wasn't really skeptical. It may seem like I'm more trying to promote a friend than to write an objective review, but from the beginning, even given my lack of enthusiasm for poetry as a medium, I was excited to read Ink Drops on Water. Matt's mind is a fertile ground of quirky ideas, which take form in a style that seems almost like a throwback to the harsh, introspective narration of noir films.
Even though it doesn't sound as dramatic to say, it wasn't really too much of a surprise that I enjoyed Ink Drops on Water. Matthew's poems are stark, bare and vivid, painting images with words on a bare sheet of paper like a cloud of dust suddenly dissipating, and revealing lush, complicated scenery. Many are deeply personal, and the fact that I know fragments of the history behind some of them just makes the writing even more sharp and evocative. These poems put me in the author's shoes, so that I can imagine, if not precisely experience, the emotions this writer has felt, and the experiences he has had. And I don't exactly think it's because I know Matthew that this is the case. There are many poems the background of which I know nothing, but still draw detailed, earthy pictures of people, places, memories. Memories that begin to scrape at the back of my mind, seeming as if I've had these same experiences or seen these same places -- or if not, that I should have.
His "Distractions" is one of the most real, most human poems I've read; a fly-on-the-wall description of a smalltime diner in a middle of nowhere town. The tone is objective, written in unbiased language as if by an outsider, but this serves to place the reader straight in the middle of the scene, as if we are invisible, firsthand observers. This is characteristic of many of his poems.
Another of my favorites is "Beneath Brown Water", a painting of a ghostly, submerged modern city, that seems like something from a feverish dream or an old black and white horror movie. You can actually hear the sounds of monstrous fish jumping out of the dark, oily water, and can actually feel the rotten texture of a waterlogged hand wrapping itself around your leg.
Perhaps the poem I keep coming back to, keep reading and rereading, is "Memories and Ghosts". This is what I was talking about when I described the feeling of almost forgotten memories, memories that I know I don't have personally and neither can Matt possibly have -- but still seem very real. This is a very subtle poem, describing a scene in a very detached, emotionless way but still managing to communicate depths of intense emotion that cling to the reader even after the poem's end, just like a dream that stays with you long after you've wakened.
In general, the tone of this book is sober and observant, stark and detailed, tinted with hints of a deep sorrow of which only the tip is visible. This combination of detachment and melancholy speaks eloquently to me personally, and has a definite ring of truth.
These kinds of observations and subjective thoughts are as much as I can offer. I can't comment on the technicalities of Matt's work, or on their "physical" composition. And in a sense, anything I say here can easily (though wrongly) be interpreted as just a guy complimenting his friend. That's why it's doubly difficult to write this review. But I consider myself an honest person, and I try to be as truthful and accurate as possible in any review I write. The same goes for this one.
At the present time, Ink Drops on Water does not have an ISBN, and so cannot be purchased at bookstores (though Matt's given indications that this will change in the future). So at present, the online self-publishing company Lulu.com is the only source for this book. There you can see the cover (a beautiful photograph of a Russian chandelier built in tribute to the inventor of the periodic table) and a sampling of the contents. And at nine bucks for a print copy or three for an e-book download, you can't go wrong buying this book.
I could probably analyze the reasons for this, but that's not the point here. The point is that when it comes to poetry, I can't really review it in the articulate, knowledgeable way that someone who is familiar with the medium would be able to do. This is the disclaimer.
Now having said this, you'd think I'd be the last person to be reviewing a book of poetry, especially one by a newly-published writer who has yet to become established. However, that is exactly what I'm doing.
It all started when my good friend Matthew Miller visited last week, and gave me a copy of his slim poetry book, Ink Drops on Water. I guess it would be dramatic for me to say, "At first I was skeptical, but then..." -- but that's not the case. I wasn't really skeptical. It may seem like I'm more trying to promote a friend than to write an objective review, but from the beginning, even given my lack of enthusiasm for poetry as a medium, I was excited to read Ink Drops on Water. Matt's mind is a fertile ground of quirky ideas, which take form in a style that seems almost like a throwback to the harsh, introspective narration of noir films.
Even though it doesn't sound as dramatic to say, it wasn't really too much of a surprise that I enjoyed Ink Drops on Water. Matthew's poems are stark, bare and vivid, painting images with words on a bare sheet of paper like a cloud of dust suddenly dissipating, and revealing lush, complicated scenery. Many are deeply personal, and the fact that I know fragments of the history behind some of them just makes the writing even more sharp and evocative. These poems put me in the author's shoes, so that I can imagine, if not precisely experience, the emotions this writer has felt, and the experiences he has had. And I don't exactly think it's because I know Matthew that this is the case. There are many poems the background of which I know nothing, but still draw detailed, earthy pictures of people, places, memories. Memories that begin to scrape at the back of my mind, seeming as if I've had these same experiences or seen these same places -- or if not, that I should have.
His "Distractions" is one of the most real, most human poems I've read; a fly-on-the-wall description of a smalltime diner in a middle of nowhere town. The tone is objective, written in unbiased language as if by an outsider, but this serves to place the reader straight in the middle of the scene, as if we are invisible, firsthand observers. This is characteristic of many of his poems.
Another of my favorites is "Beneath Brown Water", a painting of a ghostly, submerged modern city, that seems like something from a feverish dream or an old black and white horror movie. You can actually hear the sounds of monstrous fish jumping out of the dark, oily water, and can actually feel the rotten texture of a waterlogged hand wrapping itself around your leg.
Perhaps the poem I keep coming back to, keep reading and rereading, is "Memories and Ghosts". This is what I was talking about when I described the feeling of almost forgotten memories, memories that I know I don't have personally and neither can Matt possibly have -- but still seem very real. This is a very subtle poem, describing a scene in a very detached, emotionless way but still managing to communicate depths of intense emotion that cling to the reader even after the poem's end, just like a dream that stays with you long after you've wakened.
In general, the tone of this book is sober and observant, stark and detailed, tinted with hints of a deep sorrow of which only the tip is visible. This combination of detachment and melancholy speaks eloquently to me personally, and has a definite ring of truth.
These kinds of observations and subjective thoughts are as much as I can offer. I can't comment on the technicalities of Matt's work, or on their "physical" composition. And in a sense, anything I say here can easily (though wrongly) be interpreted as just a guy complimenting his friend. That's why it's doubly difficult to write this review. But I consider myself an honest person, and I try to be as truthful and accurate as possible in any review I write. The same goes for this one.
At the present time, Ink Drops on Water does not have an ISBN, and so cannot be purchased at bookstores (though Matt's given indications that this will change in the future). So at present, the online self-publishing company Lulu.com is the only source for this book. There you can see the cover (a beautiful photograph of a Russian chandelier built in tribute to the inventor of the periodic table) and a sampling of the contents. And at nine bucks for a print copy or three for an e-book download, you can't go wrong buying this book.