Ryan Eckes

Ryan Eckes' book when i come here is recommended. Newspaper cynics would appreciate the poet's appropriation of news, which he broadcasts in his minor way, influenced by the papers and more generally by the wave of speech that goes around people like the wave in a stadium. Eckes himself is a newsman prone to nostalgia and judgement; the humanity is a weakness: it softens the poems so they're not as sharp line to line as they could be. But, perhaps by the same mechanism the poems are unified. Reading them in succession left me with that well-known feeling of the feel of the day. It occurs to me the book should be read on a Saturday or Sunday. He's a good storyteller:

"the dog was small. we wrapped it up in a trash bag and took it to the dump. i had to heave it over the fence, which was higher than i'd remembered. the dog hit the top of it and fell back to the pavement. the plastic snapped in the wind. i picked it up. fuck, she said, standing by the car, do you need help. "

That poem gets better from there (though there's only a few lines left). He's also a good reader, and my book came with a cd of poems (many those he read at the Boog City festival, where I first learned of the work) and music. Both the music and the words were very pleasant atmosphere while I puttered around my room the one time I've listened to it.

As an interesting note, the last poem in the book is titled robert creeley and points out the closest word in a household dictionary is creel which means . . . a wicker basket. Recommended.



-- yes, it'd be useful to link to the book, published by Plan B press--

http://www.planbpress.com/eckeswhen.html