JOE DECENZO REVIEWS THE YEARS WE NEVER SAW COMING
BY WILLIAM SCOTT GALASSO
The Years We Never Saw Coming by William Scott Galasso. 138 pages. ISBN 978-1-732752-74-0
To break the cover of Scott Galasso’s The Years We Never Saw Coming is to step inside his personal canoe and cast off from the banks of memory and sensory perception. The author carries the reader down the river of his life experiences initially through placid waters off comforting shores then through ever increasing currents as memories flow faster while his life’s vessel bounds wildly through the turbulent rapids that carry us each to maturity.
In this, Galasso’s eighteenth book of poetry, he first draws us into an opium induced dream by inviting us to peer into the microcosm of nature and see its relevance to our home in the galaxy, “words tumbling like Milky Way stars in the curvature of earth.” In his poem, “The Janus Conundrum,” he speaks of the dichotomy of winter weather with billowing clouds and dramatic “spider strands of lighting” giving way to vibrant rainbows of intense color shining light on “meadows peopled with poppies.” But he states the quandary when he cautions us to not be fooled, “behind rare beauty false intent may lie and corked wine turns sour.” Particularly striking is the parallel he draws to the seasonal life of a maple tree and that of man. The maple in autumn, “its hues mimic sunset,” and whose leaves “become dry as our skin does…then mulch as our bones do and we share their fate to earth returning.”
Galasso has thoughtfully organized this collection to lure the reader into his boat drifting down his river of imagination. Subjects like nature and ecology appeal to many and bring presence to our mind for their relatable qualities. He draws the paradox that not only are we small and susceptible to nature and her will, but if viewed through our third eye we are immense and able to ingest her grandeur. In his poem, “Sanctuary,” Galasso playfully, but profoundly dreams of a hidden world where wonderous creatures return from the brink of extinction before Paradise is lost. Images of his world, its grace, its impact on the senses, the churning of the seasons and his desire to not let it wither dominate the theme of the book’s first section.
While most of the book is composed in open verse, his style varies from poem to poem, but his voice is distinct throughout giving credence to his strength as a writer. The canyon starts to narrow, and the river flows more rapidly in the second section of the book. Pensive memories and observations stream through the author’s pen enticing the reader from one page to the next.
Galasso juxtaposes the joy and fascination of youth in “Halcyon Days” with the strife and anxiety of adult life in “Some Day” for an entertaining contrast. In “Double Take” he provides an intriguing snapshot of an elderly man as though spying on him undetected. “There’s mileage on his face and stories worth telling…(if you) can spare the time, to listen.” After living a full and active life while burning the wick to its end, “Old Man on a Park Bench Ponders” gives us time for pause as the seasons transform and we seek peace and solace, “the hymn of nectar music, where every note plucked on strings vibrates a chord’s refrain.”
The poems grow more personal from this point giving the reader a sense that Galasso is pulling back the curtain to reveal his intense feelings of love, loss and resilience. “A Touch of Spring in Winter” is a humorous reminder that old folk can still get their groove on and knock boots with the best of them. He delights in memories of his spouse and eloquently describes their thrill together traveling the world. His imagery is palpable. You can see the desert’s setting sun and taste the cognac on the Danube. And for those who have ever raised a child to have them grow and take flight in the blink of an eye “Speed of Light” will draw a tear – the cycle of life in 26 lines with a conclusion almost Shakespearean, “life’s but a blown out candle/ a wisp of blue smoke…/and it’s gone.”
His literary influences are well noted throughout. His borrowed quotations are well chosen and relevant giving the reader a heightened sense of anticipation for what’s to come. While every poem in the book may not stir the embers of your heart’s fire or bring a glint to your mind’s eye, every poem is worth reading. The author’s range of themes, subjects and his array of styles keep this book interesting. His vocabulary and economy of language are warm and inviting making his verse rhythmic and understandable without being esoteric or elusive. “A Poet’s Manifesto” might be trade specific, but all can relate to the desire to create something that boils from within. The use of tanka provides a quick breath and change of pace to the book. The author flaunts his craftmanship by creating both social comment and humor in so few words. Other themes include evolving relationships, shared existence and following your true self. “Grief” is a poignant piece of loss not only of a loved one but the loss of certainty. “the future tossed, late fall leaves/ as winter bites and sunlight/ itself is dying.” “Life After Life” asks the question what death will look and smell like when it comes? It’s a good pairing with “Grief” and surprisingly not morose, leaving the reader curious rather than repelled.
Galasso delves into social and political commentary but not to the point of repulsion. He’s a poet, and his interests and experiences are vast. It’s safe to say by this, his eighteenth book, his creative argosy has docked in countless harbors. That which he comments on is intended to remind, inform and hopefully guide the reader to a positive awareness. Following this, he uses music, and GREAT music, to cleanse the palate and leave the reader humming a tune as they near the author’s notes and back cover. “Sing To Your Baby” is the best advice ever offered, ever read. “Rock Sketches” reads like diary entries as opposed to conventional poetry. It certainly reveals the generational peer group of the author. Who now can imagine that once, you could have seen George Harrison, Eric Clapton and Bob Dylan for $7.50?
The piece “Genius In A Higher Key” enumerates more than a dozen music titans of the era honoring the higher female voice. He gives just a smattering of information about these icons allowing the reader to dig deeper for the true breadth of their legacies. His poem “Give Me The Blues” will make you warm and have your mouth say “Mmmm” like you just ate a bowl of seafood gumbo. It is a very enjoyable section, but Galasso doesn’t leave you there. He concludes with a sentimental and wrenching poem of a relative fading from Alzheimer’s but finding connection with an old song on the radio. Leave it to a poet to give you emotional whiplash.
Joe DeCenzo
Coordinator/Emcee Village Poets,
Sunland-Tujunga, California
MICHAEL ESCOUBAS REVIEWS PERSONS OF INTEREST
BY MARK FLEISCHER
Persons of Interest: Poetry & Prose by Mark Fleisher. 13 Poems ~ 13 Short Stories ~ 100 pages
Publisher: Mercury HeartLink www.heartlink.com. ISBN #: 978-1-949652-35-2
One of my family regrets is that my ancestors kept scant records of their family trees, things such as countries of origin, reasons why they left for a better life here. It would have been nice to connect names to the yellow-edged photographs that lay on tables as we kids dutifully filled our paper plates at family reunions, accepted the hugs of old ladies with big bosoms, and sat quietly as the old folks spoke of times long past.
Mark Fleisher feels my pain! His lead essay, “Elias, I Hardly Knew You,” is full of interesting family details: countries of origin, dates, occupations, religious ties and more. I mention this because Mark is an interesting and professionally trained writer. He drew me in. Here is an example:
My grandfather was a complex man. On the one hand, he could be described as a stoic—a man of few words. He would sit silently at this kitchen table, reading the papers and sipping tea from a glass cup inserted into a Sterling silver holder. On the other hand, he and I forged an odd bond. He liked baseball and he would tell me about the New York Highlanders—they were the Yankees before they became the Yankees.
I have purposely left out any reference to the “Elias,” whom Fleisher hardly knew. Details about this interesting person, especially his mode of death, more than justifies the price of the book.
Through this well-designed collection featuring thirteen poems and thirteen essays, Mark is about creating lasting memories. This short, untitled quatrain sets a tone:
Those days created lasting memories
and now I bask in such sweet reveries
So take me back to Brooklyn, please
where I delight in a Coney Island breeze
Indeed, the poet’s focus, as suggested by the title is on “Persons of Interest” who have impacted his life.
It is impossible to turn to a bad story. “Tale of a Working Man,” is about Mark and his friend Marty Stein coming of age in 1950s Brooklyn. They traded “Topps” baseball cards, cheered for the Dodgers, knew which pitchers threw spitballs and copied their windup styles. Mark’s first job was putting cardboard strips on wire clothes hangers. Pay: one cent per item. Pretty close to child-labor exploitation, Mark thought in retrospect, but a pile of money for a kid in 1952. One day, Mr. Solomon, Mark’s boss, sent him on a laundry delivery to folks who lived in the rich part of town. Mark completed the delivery even though the hangers gouged into his young palms drawing a spot of blood. After handing off the heavy load something remarkable happened: The client pressed a twenty-dollar bill into Marks surprised hand. How many Topps baseball cards could a kid buy for twenty dollars?
“Singapore Fling” is about Mark’s stay in a Singapore hotel
for a week of rest and recuperation after eight months as a
Vietnam combat news reporter. Although all the stories
are captivating, this one is chock-full of intrigue, surprising
twists, humor, and danger. A must read for sure.
This nicely designed volume alternates in a comfortable
rhythm between prose and poetry. Poems appeared at just
the moment when I wanted an interlude between stories.
Fleisher, already an award-winning poet with five poetry
collections on the market, demonstrates his penchant for
painting pictures with words in “Flashes of a Crimson Sun”:
Spanish settlers called
the mountains Sandia—
watermelon in gringo lingo—
for when days retreated
from afternoon to dusk
the evening sun turned crimson
the color flashing across the valley
to the craggy peaks
whose crystals embedded
in the granite face
captured a riot of red
before sun dropped
below the horizon
bidding farewell until morning
As I noted in my opening, Mark Fleisher is about creating lasting memories. He succeeds. He does so through creative writing skills that engage and hold readers ’ attention. He succeeds because Mark himself is a Person of Interest. Interesting people find love and grace behind each bend in the road. Interesting people extol the good in life. Too bad there is only one Mark Fleisher.
Reviewed by Michael Escoubas
MICHAEL ESCOUBAS REVIEWS HOW TO DO THE GREASED WOMBAT SLIDE BY PAMELA MILLER
How to Do the Greased Wombat Slide by Pamela Miller. 44 Poems ~ 78 pp. Unsolicited Press 978-1-963115-99-4
The appropriate lead poem in this exhilarating collection is the title poem, “How to Do the Greased Wombat Slide.” Having no idea what a wombat is I looked it up. I figured, What could it hurt? This wouldn’t be my first display of ignorance! I herein set forth the results of my lexical studies courtesy of Wikipedia: Wombats are short-legged, muscular quadrupedal marsupials of the family Vombatid, and are native to Australia. As a bonus, here’s a picture (see page 15).
With that said, this little guy is cute. I wonder who would want to grease him up and write twenty-two lines of poetry highlighting the antics of acrobats, zealots, debutantes, our best selves, our worst selves waltzing through doors, while the wombat slides down a pole? Unless, that is, you are Pamela Miller, a fun-loving writer who insists that life is just a little bit crazy, so why not get on the “crazy train” and take her readers along for the ride?
Her poem “Ten Facts About the Author That May or May Not Be True” dedicated to Nick Demske, reinforces this off-beat tendency:
1. On her opulent honeymoon in Bangkok, she repeatedly turned into a starfruit.
2. She has teeth inside her teeth inside her teeth.
3. Her code name is Good Golly Miss Anathema.
4. She is a tourmaline necklace.
5. Her poems are critiqued by flamingos.
6. She is allergic to anything.
7. She once attacked her mother with a headcheese.
8. She once stood glistening in the Sistine Chapel, naked as a golden egg.
9. She dreams of a man whose spectacular fingers will open her like a jewel box.
10. On the last night of her life, she’ll be swept away by a tsunami of her own ingenious making.
I have my suspicions about truth here. But true or not, Greased Wombat Slide, is a treasure of delightful reading. A cursory inventory of delicious titles invites the curious mind to delve into Miller’s creative genius: “Autobiography Written in Disappearing Ink,” “Henry Fonda: An Erasure Biography,” “The Jealous Lover Puts On Her Makeup for Hell,” “Naked on Easter Sunday,” and my personal favorite, “Love Song Written After Viewing an Exhibit of Erotic Art by Women.”
Make no mistake about it, Miller is a serious poet with important things to say. Organized into three topical headings: How to Dance, How to Love, and How to Endure, the poems under each heading give important clues to Miller’s poetic oeuvre. “The Burning Questions of Poetry,” (How to Dance) is a powerful poem featuring an offbeat inventory of fabulous poets. The authors are not mentioned directly by name:
“Who is Silvia? What is she?”
. . . . . .
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
. . . . . .
“Why does your brand sae drap wi’ bluid,
Edward, Edward?”
. . . . . .
“Why should she give her bounty to the dead?”
It is as if Miller is suggesting that the critical questions of poetry have already been asked (if not already answered) and that the smart thing to do is to read their works and take them to heart. I challenge my intrepid readers to identify the dozen or so poets populating this remarkable poem.
“Going Out to Lunch with Emily Dickinson,” (How to Love), imagines Miller anticipating meeting Emily along with the emotional stress of being in her presence:
Why am I so terrified of her?
Is it because her Big Bang poems
make mine look like scraps of snotty Kleenex?
This poem is an utter delight. Learn why Miller avers, “I splutter like a talking fish.”
The poems of How to Endure grabbed my attention. Miller, for all of what I call her “nerve wracking” tendencies, possesses a deep emotional well which senses the needs of her audience. “Contemplating the Future at Sixty-Five,” is a cento from Amy Gerstler. The poem anticipates death. But death is encountered with uncommon grace and dignity:
Come winter, I’m due to wash into
that burgeoning unearthly glow
in all its voluptuous glory.
The poem continues to describe the poet’s “grand entrance/ robed in clusters of bubbles,/ a clamshell bodice, and tiny silver cobras.” I was all but overwhelmed by this one.
I would be remiss, if after noting the lead poem in my open, I failed to feature it at the end:
How to Do the Greased Wombat Slide
Ladies and gentlemen,
here’s how the dance goes:
The acrobats come in through this door.
The zealots come in through that door.
A greased wombat slides down a pole
and everybody chases after him.
Desire sweeps in through this door.
The debutantes mince through that door.
A greased wombat slides down a pole
and their skirts burst into flames.
The meek march in through this door.
The earth rolls in through that door.
A greased wombat slides down a pole
and proclaims himself Grand Usurper.
Our best selves waltz in through this door.
Our worst selves slink in through that door.
A greased wombat slides down a pole
and the whole game’s up for grabs.
The four horsemen gallop through this door.
Armageddon thunders in through that door.
That goddamned wombat slides down the pole
and even you won’t be able to stop him.
Five stars, for sure, for this unique and provocative collection
Reviewed by Michael Escoubas
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