The Pedestrians

-Book reviewed by Kendra Bartell–

“These are really two separate books…” Rachel Zucker, author of The Pedestrians, recently stated in an interview with Tin House. Her new collection of poems is divided into two parts, entitled Fables and The Pedestrians. “When Wave suggested publishing these together, I wasn’t sure at first but eventually really loved the way the two books talk to each other.” Readers will be similarly impressed by the synergy of these two works. They will also note and enjoy contrasting the prose and poetry. In many ways, these two titles are strikingly and pleasantly different.

Fables, the first half of the book, is written in discrete sections of prose, given locational titles like “ocean” or “mountains.” The movements within the sections can sometimes range from one longer poem to a few smaller units, unmarked beyond a bit of extra white space on the page. This presentation prompts readers to treat the section as though it were a novella, but the musicality and lyrical control of Zucker’s language are pure poetry.

“She realized that this city, so unlike her city, was exactly like her city and that everyone in her city was exactly like everyone in this city and that they were all animals and that animals can only be animals.”

What makes these tales so engrossing is the way in which they dismantle and question the traditions of fables. Indeed, readers encounter references to animals like jackdaws, snakes, and bees, but none of them talks and no morals are set in stone at the end of each section. Instead, Zucker presents a detached, third person voice describing the daily banalities and conversations of a wife and her husband, the cities in which they live, and the places they visit. Readers are left to fill in blanks, and to engage Zucker’s larger questions about life.

At times, Zucker challenges assumptions regarding “the American Dream,” questioning the traditional concept of a family that is composed of a husband, wife and children, all of whom participate in a stable middle class household, and make an annual vacation. None of these actions are without consequence: real life enjoys more diverse opportunities and ways of being, she suggests. There is no “Should,” or at least there should be no expectations for what constitutes a standard or “normal” existence. Precise imagery drives the point home. For example, the husband is sometimes described as having a “snake-tongue,” and both the husband and the wife say hurtful things to one another, then remain silent.

“We are animals,” he says, happily, after sex.

            “No,” she thinks. Not anymore.

This unflinching depiction of a family is unstoppable in its clarity and force of language. The themes and imagery unleashed by the characters’ situation help merge the two sections. Formally, The Pedestrians is made up of first person perspective lineated poems. They speak to a lineage grounded in New York. At times, readers will detect echoes of O’Hara and his casual chatty nature. The voice, however, is uniquely Zucker’s. She creates quick, moving poems that will often rattle readers. In this section, Zucker also reveals dreams, “real poems,” and moments of her days, filtered through a casual voice that understates the depth of her message. Even her simplest poems demand rereading:

Real poem (Happiness)

We’re all fucked up because in English

the phrase “to make someone happy”

suggests that’s possible.

In The Pedestrians, Zucker uses quick, colloquial language, engaging readers, in what John Ashbery in his epigraph, calls “the quirky things that happen” to the narrator. The stark, bare language of the poems is direct and pulsing with the poet’s clarity.

This frankness and understated depth unites the book’s two parts. Distinct in their styles, Fables and The Pedestrians are unified by an honest voice that is empowered to explore many aspects of human life, including themes of femininity, marriage and motherhood. When Zucker uses the third person in Fables, the radical form shift is justified by the precision of her words throughout the collection. What is unsaid in her prose poems resonates with the colloquialisms of the second half of the book. Each element is in constant conversation with the rest of the text. Likewise, readers are prompted to participate in the dialogue. The book calls for rereading, and the whole is a pleasurable and lyrical journey.

***

Post Photo Courtesy of http://www.wavepoetry.com/

“Disintegrated Pier,” Manhattan, May 2014. Photograph by Jeffrey F. Barken

Dear Guests,

Welcome, and thanks for visiting. Monologging.org was originally founded in 2012 as a local-global literary magazine that connects writers with artists around the world. The platform encourages collaborative multimedia creation and provides weekly arts-related reporting.

In the spring of 2013, I took Monologging.org on the road with me. After stops in Ireland, Scotland and Germany, I traveled to Israel where I conducted a yearlong book tour promoting my newly published collection of stories, This Year in Jerusalem. The publication, meanwhile, enabled me to report on my adventure and to keep in touch with the growing network of writers and artists I met along the way.

I’ve come to think of Monologging.org as a virtual salon where writers cross paths with artists and share creative ideas. The site showcases beautiful galleries, slideshows and critical writing, uniting a creative cast, and inviting vigorous discussion. By introducing the site and concept to MFA programs, museums, small presses and theatres across the United States, I’ve been able to create opportunities for student artists and writers to experiment and receive feedback. As Chief Editor and the site’s web designer, my role is to make introductions, provide editorial feedback, publish and promote final pieces. Sometimes it’s a long process to bring projects to completion, but patience is always rewarded. Participants communicate via skype and email. I’m very pleased with the energy that the site has attracted and thankful for the support and dedication fellow Monologgers have shown.

My book tour now at a close, it’s time to look forward to new projects. I’ve recently returned to New York City where I will be designing and publishing my first novel, All the Lonely Boys in New York, the book that inspired the website’s title. Stay tuned for previews of this work in progress, and news about the project’s collaborative elements. Monologging.org, likewise, is poised to grow in new directions. The publication is now open to general poetry and short fiction submissions. Prompts for the summer “Monologue Contest,” as well as edgy Twitter feeds express the cutting-edge creativity of the salon community and there are some fantastic interactive multimedia collaborations coming soon…

Thank you for your continued interest, I hope you will visit often,

Sincerely,

-Jeffrey F. Barken

(Editor and Founder of Monologging.org)

Jeffrey F. Barken reading from “This Year in Jerusalem” at the Book Stop Cafe, Kenmare Ireland June 12th 2013

Jeffrey F. Barken, editor and founder of Monologging.org, is a novelist and a reporter. He  is the author of “This Year in Jerusalem,” a collection of fiction stories loosely based on his experiences as a kibbutz volunteer in Israel, 2009-10. In 2013 Jeffrey traveled to Europe and Israel to conduct a promotional book tour for his self-designed and self-published book. He has recently returned to New York City where he is completing work on a new novel.

As a freelance reporter for JNS.org, a Houston-based publication that solicits and distributes Jewish interest news stories to English papers around the world, Jeffrey regularly reports on politics, economics, education, medicine and technology topics, as well as provides critical book and arts reviews, travel and sports stories. Click below for a full list of the author’s past publications:

*Publications*

***

Chicago—Talking Blues—

Tribute to Maya Angelou

 -A Collaborative Ballad by Jeffrey Barken & Jacob Kresovich–

Twist of fate; my wife and I had driven 800 miles to Chicago, convinced we’d settle there, only to change course. That’s not to say we didn’t dig the scene or find the Windy City at all inspiring. I liked riding that rickety old El that dives under the downtown metro swell. Deep-dish delicious pizza isn’t the crust we get at home, but it’s a treat I’ll be craving now and again. I liked the big sky that meets the skyscrapers, those spook-gothic bridges that cross the river, and the ocean lake beyond.

Chicago’s rust rhythms ring the blues. Another craving, my wife and I wanted to hear some music before we left. On our last night in town, we couldn’t ask for a better guide. Jake Kresovich, Monologging.org’s Chief Music Critic, was on hand. Jake has lived in Chicago for two years. His ears usually draw him to Chicago’s well-known drill, rap and hip-hop scene, but he also often enjoys dive bar moods where jazz or blues plays in the background.

We steered down Halsted Street, where the neon lights droop and glow. Each paid a five-dollar cover and entered the soul-brew stumble-in where a blues jam was underway….

The bar was heavy with its wooden aesthetic

Hum the echoes, transient artists

No smoke, linger-air,

Old fliers on the walls

Cheap beer ads

Departed acts

Stiff drinks

Treat weary souls.

Grit-worn walls dampen blaring blues

Saw the bass player’s jailhouse dress

A sidelined Host toots

Baritone, soprano, saxophone…

Improvising flair.

He nods at yawns.

Rips and whistles

Spies the Polish backup guitar player’s

Stern face for straying beats

His comrades sipping flasks

Motley manners

singing, swimming Muddy Waters

Off-beat, down-trodden…

…INTERMISSION…

After the pause, the band invited a member from the audience onto stage.

Their burly-chinned guest’s British accent disappeared when he sang tempered and sullen blues. His harmonica skills articulated his ebbing-and-flowing emotion. Summary of the act: Anonymous.

The lights dimmed and we were sinking. We had plenty of reasons to feel blue. I’d let my friends in Chicago down, promising a move I couldn’t deliver. The distance was already seeping in and on top of that, the audience at the bar was in mourning. The literary hero, Maya Angelou, had passed earlier that day. After the trailing squeals of a crystal clarinet there were toasts and silences stretching between guitar slides, a moaning horn played taps.

Tale of B.L.U.E.S pub, we were Midwest, past a sunset and uncertain when we’d see first light. Jake and I got talking about the poet. Maya Angelou spoke at our college graduation six years ago. The only words stuck in my head were her sad lament: she said the generations before us felt they were leaving the world in a “sorry state.” They hated gifting shambles, but “you’re our best,” she addressed the graduates “The best we’ve got…” I remember the old woman’s breathing was labored and her voice was hoarse. Maybe all the blues had bubbled up inside her and boiled off because then she struck light. “Courage is the most important of the virtues,” she said. “Without it, no other virtue can be practiced consistently. You can be kind and true and fair and generous and just, and even merciful, occasionally. But to be that thing time after time, you have to really have courage.”

A girl dressed in flowery African dress and a hat that matched the poet’s traditional garb was sitting next to Jake. Her friends revolved around her, talking up her singing. Jake introduced himself to the woman. They talked about her travels across the country. She’d been coast-to-coast promoting her blues act—a blend of vocals influenced by African music.  She mentioned she was from Cleveland but hadn’t been home in quite some time.  Then she wrote her name and email address down on a napkin for Jake to look her up. Scraps and rambles, spills and carelessness, the napkin never made it home.

The music was loud and passion-fused. Glazed eyes gazed up at her body jolts and jazz rolls. She’s nameless now, but neither of us can forget the performance she gave. The woman rapped a tribute to Maya Angelou, one last rendition of the caged bird hero. Her lost voice and body shook the blues belt—we were tired, talking timeless Chitown. May 28^th 2014, remembering Maya Angelou.

***

Post Photography By Jeffrey F. Barken

For the past year, Kentucky poet, Kelsey McMurtrey, and Hawaii-based artist, Lauren Elyse, have collaborated, creating a collection of paintings and inspired poems titled Vignette. In the fourth installment of their project, the two reversed their method. Instead of writing original poems that embrace Lauren’s painting, Kelsey sent poetry to Hawaii for Lauren to paint. The resulting three works and their accompanying poems deepen the scope and intimacy of the Vignette project as Kelsey finds the freedom to break from storytelling and reveal personal feelings and life experiences. Likewise, Lauren experimented with new mediums and techniques.  “Your Night” is a digital creation. “Stretch & Pull” tackles a giant 18″x24″ piece of paper, vibrating with emotions. Finally “When We Began,” prompted the artist to investigate the experience of breastfeeding an infant. “There was a lot of google searching for breastfeeding to try and compose a good angle for the scene that was tender and almost felt like you were in that quiet moment looking over the woman’s shoulder,” the artist recalls.  “I actually had to model my face for the shot since I had no other model available, and I wanted to keep the colors subtle, dreamy and surreal like I imagine the moments after having a child probably are…”

Collaborating via skype and email, Lauren and Kelsey’s work reveals the spiritual depths that can be explored when mediums are merged. The below installment breaks with the established trajectory of their collection, creating a central reference point for the project and demonstrating the remarkable willingness and openness of the pair to trade and embrace intimate perceptions.

“Stretch & Pull,” Lauren Elyse

Stretch & Pull

Twisting Earth—
seasick verse
orbiting
on a rusted axel—
frothy sunset,

Sand under my feet: grains, comrades—
lift me down a black dotted line.
Stretch me.
Wooden machinery, yogalates,
take limbs—
pull me.

Widened eyes,
Tight drumming hearts,
hands weaving tapestries,

Mind opening,
wooden church doors
releasing dusty birds—
unfolding stiff bodies,
filling voided hearts,
letting humans hum.

Stretch me,
pull me.
I need your push.

“When We Began,” Lauren Elyse

When We Began

“Circulation!”
he says:
Lift arms, lower pulse,
breathe slowly.
Concentrated calm.

“For the baby,” he says.

Words
made distant
by burdened breaths—
stop the moaning voice!
Is it my own?

Sweat drips down wrinkled brows—
my furrowed mind falters.
Blue veins burst; adrenaline,
longing for relief—
for new life.

My body creaks,
cracks,
explodes—
an open crater.
Makes place for a tiny wet child,
wanting milk.
My thumping heart pauses—
I hear life:

A powdery whimper,
like a new lamb.

Here you are.
Cradled in my quivering arms,
warm on my beating chest.
Rosy lips searching,
wobbling wet fists,
eyelids tightly shut.

Mine close, too.
Both of us,
born.

“Your Night,” Lauren Elyse

Your Night

Come!
Dance with tired eyes
amid white-knuckled attempts at romantic banter—
lost love connections,
eager seekers.
Swing foreign partners,
canned sausage fingers, hands intertwined,
beady teeth pearls hinting hidden agendas.

Double-step on slick wooden floors—
No looking back into crowds of shellfish bodies
incubating under violet studio lights.
SHOUT!
Across the dance floor!

Your night of never-known’s,
fading—
cling to glimmering moon drippings,
savory trombone trills.

My dear,
get ready.
It’s nearly ten o’ clock.

***

To read previous Vignette installments, visit Vignette I, Vignette II, and Vignette III.

Big Screen Streaming: Tammy

-Film Review by Roger Market–

Tammy (now in theaters ) is a bit of a mixed bag. In some ways, it’s exactly what one would expect based on its initial trailer: 90 minutes of yet another zany Melissa McCarthy character going out of her way to be extreme. The trailer previews her titular character holding up a fast food restaurant with a bag over her head, revealing her insatiable and comedic appetite for pies and money. Truth be told, this character type may be getting tiresome for some viewers, but what the film’s trailer doesn’t show, and what this reviewer was pleased to see enacted in the movie, is that Tammy has a lot of heart. There’s actually a good, emotional, character-driven reason behind that melodramatic robbery scene.

At its core, Tammy is a road trip comedy about a cautious but shortsighted woman who is too afraid to take any real action to improve her life. Tammy’s limitation is that she doesn’t feel she deserves a positive change. On the contrary, she seems to attract bad luck. In the opening sequence, Tammy hits a deer with her car. “Not another one!” she exclaims. She then makes a scene after being fired from her fast food job, leaves her husband after finding out he’s cheating on her, and later convinces her grandmother (Pearl, played by Susan Sarandon) to accompany her on a much-needed road trip to Niagara Falls. They take Pearl’s car, of course, since Tammy’s is out of commission.

The rest of the movie, at least until the third and final act, takes place on the road. Tammy and Pearl get themselves (and their car) into one tight spot after another. Hilarity ensues, depending on one’s definition of hilarity. Much of the movie’s comedy can be described as slapstick and crass. That’s the genre, and for the most part, the actors and dialogue deliver on this expectation. For example, moments before Tammy attempts to snag herself a man, she declares that men are attracted to her “like flies on shit.” Later, she realizes that Pearl’s version (“like bees to honey”) is a more pleasant image. McCarthy fans may think they know what this dialogue sounds like coming out of her mouth; they’d be right, but maybe that’s not so bad. Tammy looks, sounds, and acts like the prototypical McCarthy character. There’s nothing wrong with branding, right?

The subplots take the film to another level. Although the romance between Tammy and Bobby (played by Mark Duplass) is expected, that story line still surprises audiences. The chemistry between the two isn’t exactly off the charts, but for the patient viewer, it works. Another subplot explores Tammy’s relationship with her outspoken and diabetic grandmother. That infamous robbery scene takes place after Tammy and Pearl have landed themselves in jail. Pearl has enough money to bail Tammy out but not herself. Here’s the kicker: Pearl has forgotten her medicine, and before Tammy leaves the jail cell, she notices that Pearl’s feet are beginning to swell. Afraid for Pearl’s life, Tammy has limited options, and she’s too reckless to think everything through. If you’ve seen the trailer, then you can guess the rest. Be prepared for a riotous, roller-coaster-ride hysterical mess! Both of these subplots are connected throughout, and this emotional triangle of Tammy, Pearl, and Bobby is what leads the movie to its fitting conclusion.

Unfortunately, the McCarthy-Sarandon dynamic is somewhat overpowered by a laundry list of A-list actors whose presence, although appreciated, is largely unnecessary. Kathy Bates, Allison Janney, Dan Akroyd, Gary Cole, Toni Collette, and Sandra Oh each pop up at one point or another, even if only for a few minutes. In fact, Toni Collette barely has any lines at all, and most of them don’t happen until the credits scroll (yes, there is content during the credits of this movie). Considering the amount of screen time these relatively minor characters get, perhaps a lighter touch would have been more prudent for the cast list—not to mention the budget, which is relatively small, miraculously.

Despite its somewhat derivative style, the bottom line is that Tammy is a surprisingly heartfelt comedy. Tactless, of course, but earnest. To compare, viewers who loved The Heat, McCarthy’s hit comedy from last summer (co-starring Sandra Bollock), may like Tammy but will probably feel that The Heat was a bit classier. Those viewers may be better served by the upcoming St. Vincent, which premiers in October and stars McCarthy in a more normal, down-to-earth role, as well as Naomi Watts and Bill Murray. The film looks promising. Until then, there’s always matinee pricing for Tammy. This reviewer would see it again for cheap.

***

Post Photo Courtesy of: en.wikipedia.org

Lost in Space

-Book Review by Michelle Junot-

Lost in Space, Ben Tanzer’s new collection of essays on fatherhood is bold, hilarious, and poignant, but most importantly, it’s authentic. The memoir is composed of twenty essays and four short interludes, recreating Tanzer’s first decade as a parent. Throughout the collection, the author explores his fears and occasional irrational thoughts, illustrating the daily struggles of his two boys, Myles and Noah. Life’s hurdles include ill-fitting socks and mid-season breaks in Glee, as well as the bigger life questions that accompany potentially dangerous dimples on the spines of brand new baby boys.

While each essay stands on its own, the collection is more than the sum of its parts and readers certainly won’t want to stop at one, two, three, or ten. Tanzer’s easy way of explaining his most existential thoughts and the vivid scenes he paints using beautifully crafted lists is powerful. Readers will finish the book before they realize what’s happened, and will crave more.

At first, the order of the essays seems haphazard, but a closer look reveals an Archimedean spiral. Each subsequent essay drills further into the heart of growth, love, death, violence, masculinity, communication, and ultimately, control. The reader never tires as Tanzer winds this way, especially with pieces that take on a unique style, like “Anatomy of a Story” or “Going Home.”

The first essay in the collection, “I Need,” puts the reader right in the middle of the exhausted chaos that raising two boys entails, especially boys with chronic insomnia. Tanzer explains that in his wildest dreams, all he wants is for his children simply to sleep through the night:

“They won’t wander around the house like extras from The Walking Dead in various states of duress, mumbling about how they cannot fall asleep…nor will they come to my side of the bed during the middle of the night after I’ve already been asleep for hours, and loom over me, barely breathing and ask, “I cannot sleep and what do you think about that?” I think I need sleep, motherfucker.”

Tanzer’s use of humor keeps his storytelling from ever feeling inauthentic or over-dramatized. His life is unpredictable and exhausting, but there are many reasons to laugh and he takes joy in the experience.

Tanzer’s relationship with his eldest son, Myles, shines through strongest. In “I Believe in You (Sketches on the Younger Child)” and the title essay, “Lost in Space,” there are hints of Noah, and also Debbie, Tanzer’s wife, but Myles stands out in the center of this world. The child’s seemingly endless colic and ear infections demand sympathy. Myles’s beautiful hair, his quiet contentment and no response, his love for all that is Glee, and the way he challenges Tanzer to tell the hard truths establishes a memorable father-son dynamic. Reviewers of this work can’t go without mentioning Tanzer’s inclusion of Myle’s explanation of “Bed Sex.” There’s no getting through that essay without laughing; it’s wonderful…

“The Unexamined Life” begins in the time shortly after Tanzer’s father’s death. He and Debbie have decided to start a family, but Tanzer is in need of escape. With his wife’s consent, he pulls away from her briefly in an emotional effort to prepare for the adventure of raising children and to mourn his father.

“…he died with regrets about things he had, and had not, done. The regrets did not make the person, but coupled with his death their impact is profound on me.”

Memories of his father recur throughout many of the essays, leading Tanzer to realize that there will come a day when he too will die, leaving Myles and Noah to live in a world without him. In “The Lion King,” Tanzer argues with himself about the simultaneous possibility and inevitability of his future death:

“‘And what about the fact that they could be fatherless like me?’ I reply.
‘What does that mean, and how do you even begin to calculate the impact of that?’”

One of the most beautiful and important moments of the book occurs in “Towers.” When Tanzer tries to calm Myles by holding him tight their interaction builds toward bigger questions:

“He stops moving around so much.
‘You can let go,’ he says.
Could you, though? Let go? Doubtful.”

Lost in Space provides many detailed and entertaining anecdotes about raising children, but the book’s best qualities are revealed throughout Tanzer’s introspective monologues illuminating the cognitive processes underlining fatherhood. The author is painfully conscious that when it comes to his children, he is powerless to control the outcomes of their futures or the future of the scary world in which they live. This story of love and family survival is a must read recipe for coping with unpredictable trials, and a reminder to enjoy life’s gifts. The book will inspire many parents and expecting couples, especially those with boys. It’s a heartfelt laugh to pass and share with friends.

***

Post Photo Courtesy of: http://entropymag.org/

Ben Tanzer is the author of the books My Father’s House, You Can Make Him Like You, Lost in Space, the forthcoming Four Fathers, which he co-authored with Dave Housley, BL Pawelek, and Tom Williams, and Orphans, which recently won the 24th Annual Midwest Book Award in Fantasy/SciFi/Horror/Paranormal, among others. He also directs Publicity and Content Strategy for Curbside Splendor and can be found online at This Blog Will Change Your Life, the center of his vast, albeit faux, lifestyle empire.

Seeing Music in

Medieval

Manuscripts

-Gallery Opening Reviewed by Judith Krummeck–

In the age of desktop printing, programs like Adobe InDesign and state-of-the-art laser printers have opened up a world of possibilities. Reflecting on the path leading to these inventions, it’s difficult to conceive of the time and effort that went into creating a single book before the year 1440. This was the year that Johannes Gutenberg adapted the technology of a screw-type wine press —fitting it with movable type — thereby inventing the world’s first printing press. Not surprisingly, production of books soon jumped from a few thousand to over nine million by the end of the 1400s. This print revolution is now exquisitely documented in an intimate exhibition titled Seeing Music in Medieval, currently on view in the manuscript gallery at Baltimore’s, Walter’s Art Museum. The Museum has an astounding number of illuminated manuscripts in its collection – more than 900 – and the curators bring them to light in small, themed exhibitions.

Before Gutenberg and his famous Bible, producing books was extremely laborious. Pages of parchment or vellum were prepared from animal skins. The process involved curing, stretching, scraping, and cutting each sheet. The line spacing was then meticulously measured out and marked with small pricks made by an awl before the lines were ruled, and the scribe could begin to write out the text. Work was always performed in daylight, and never by candlelight because they couldn’t run the risk of fire.

Each step of the process had its specialists. There were calligraphers and copyists (the equivalent of modern day typographers and layout artists); they had correctors (line editors and copy editors); and illuminators (our illustrators and graphic designers). Once the copying and the illuminating were finished, the pages were folded and nested together to form signatures. These were sewn and bound between book boards covered with cloth or leather. One book could take up to a year to produce, and each book was an individual work of art.

Around twenty manuscripts and objects make up the exhibition at The Walters, which has been curated by Chiara Valle. The manuscripts range in size from a velvet-bound Book of Hours (approximately 3” by 4”) used for daily devotionals, to a large music book (about 18” by 24”) around which groups of monks would have gathered to chant the liturgy. Music underlines, accents and defines the content of every page. There is actual music written out in the form of neumes (from the Greek, pneuma, meaning breath), which were the precursor to modern musical notation, and there are the musical illustrations that decorate the pages of every book. These intricate drawings picture the music makers, the angels, people, and even animals that dance and play their instruments in the margins and illuminated letters.

Every page is a jewel, with its beautifully formed script and gold plated illustrations. Visitors will marvel at the beauty but will also find the exhibition fascinatingly informative. The creative teams responsible for the production of medieval books were dedicated to depicting their contemporaries. Their close attention to the rich details of daily life offer a penetrating glimpse into the time period, portraying human pursuits, their manner of dress, and – germane to this particular exhibition – their musical instruments; organs and harps, fiddles and lutes, pipes and tabors. An interesting dissertation unites the exhibition, providing insights into how medieval thought about man’s relationship to the order of the universe was reflected in music. Harmony and dissonance, they believed, were the equivalent of good (heaven) and evil (hell).

Seeing Music in Medieval Manuscripts is a feast for the eyes. The collection offers insights into the early stirrings of the Western musical cannon and explores the art of bookmaking, a process that has remained, despite technological advances, essentially the same for every beautiful book we hold in our hands, to this day. The exhibition will continue at The Walters Art Museum through October 12, 2014. Admission is free!

***

Post Photos Courtesy of http://art.thewalters.org/

Hum

-Book Reviewed by Kendra Bartell–

Jamaal May’s Hum is a stunning debut collection of poetry, alive and full of incredibly rich lyricism. May, the founder of Organic Weapon Arts Chapbook Press, makes his mark. He is a poet to be reckoned with in terms of his command of the page, rhythm, and image. He announces himself as a voice of Detroit, a poet of the page and ear at the same time. His raw emotional honesty enables him to see the world with a searing eye.

Hum is organized around six major “fears.” These daunted narratives are formatted on a darker background with white text, breaking the book into seven sections. One of the most striking features of the collection is that these fears (being ignored, snow, needles, machines, the sea, waiting) become the six end-words of not one, but two sestinas that bookend the collection. “Hum of the Machine God” is the second poem, in which we see an echo of Frost’s “Out, Out—.” But here, the father, a hardened authority figure, loses a thumb to a snow blower and the boy, who witnesses the accident, prays that his earlier wishes will be forgotten:

                 The boy listened for the sea.
                  Gripped his shovel. Gripped his oar. Now, in a waiting
                  room, he bows to the florescent hum and begs. Ignore
                  my prayer, goes his stupid little prayer, please ignore
                  my voice.

This poem’s emotional honesty and incredible insight into the powers and fears that exist in all of us is penetrating. Who hasn’t wished ill will upon someone in a moment of weakness, and then tried to retract the hurtful statement? In May’s poem, the precise and close viewpoint into this charged familial scene hits all too close to home for readers.

In the second to last poem of the collection, these same six end words reappear: “The Hum of Zug Island” reworks the words into another equally moving poem, although, by this point in the collection, the speaker has adopted a more distant, observant point of view. The narrator wields a universal voice and is able to speak for the entire Motor City, not only the young boy pictured earlier in the collection. Here, we see the prayers of Detroit citizens being threatened by those same things that have shaped the metropolis, the prayers for change that might not ever come:

                  You can hear it, a machine
                  that doesn’t know it’s dead sending a sea
                  of pulses across shore because it’s tired of waiting
                  for someone to talk to, tired of being ignored.

Throughout the collection, the speaker gradually emerges from a personal space, to become engaged with politics and comment on a world spiraling out of control. May’s personable tone fuses idealism with reproach for the failures of government, illuminating many fears that readers will share. These are private fears that lurk and irritate the core of our existence. Fear of racial profiling and the war on terror; fear of the death penalty, of Tiananmen Square, and of the rapid takeover of technology. May’s intoxicating language and rhythmic control pump adrenaline and breathe composure, helping audiences confront their demons. In “Pomegranate Means Grenade,” one of the most impressive poems in the book, we hear this rhythm carry us through the lines that challenge our conceptions of war as something far away:

                  Hold a pomegranate in your palm.
                  Imagine ways to split it. Think of the breaking
                  skin as shrapnel. Remember granada
                  means pomegranate and granada
                  means grenade because grenade
                  takes its name from the fruit;
                  identify war by what it takes away
                  from fecund orchards.

May swiftly enumerates the consequences of war through evolving definitions that utilize powerful syntax at a rolling pace. “Pomegranate Means Grenade” maintains relentless momentum, driving readers to the conclusion that there are “those who would rather see you pull a pin/from a grenade than pull a pen/from your backpack.” Therein lies the power of poetry to mark a landscape with craters. May isn’t interested in playing mind-games that achieve a self-aggrandizing show of intelligence. His aim is to wield words that will reverberate in the political consciousness. Through his plainspoken but carefully crafted lines, May shows his true gift for personalizing current events and digesting their crucial meanings.

The collection is full of heart-wrenching poems. May exhibits an incredible ear for language and syntax while demonstrating expert control of page and auditory aesthetics. His voice demands reading aloud. Thoughtful double meanings punctuate his verses and May proves that there shouldn’t have to be a distinction between performance and written poetry, a divide all-too emphasized in the current poetic culture. Hum is a remarkable debut volume. Let’s hope Jamaal May’s follow-up shakes us up all over again.

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Post Photo Courtesy of www.gwarlingo.com

X Ambassadors

-Album Reviewed By Jacob Kresovich–

X Ambassadors, originally from Ithaca, New York, first formed in 2010. The alternative rock band is led by Sam Nelson Harris whose vocals are supported by his brother, Casey Harris on keys, Noah Feldshuh on guitar and Adam Levin on drums. The band’s first EP, Love Songs Drug Songs was released in 2013.  The EP landed them on the up-and-coming music scene with the single ‘Unconsolable’ finding a spot on the soundtrack for the video game Need for Speed: Most Wanted.

Following successes gained by touring and promoting their first EP, X Ambassadors has recently released their second major work, an EP titled, The Reason. The band’s streak now continues and the song ‘Jungle’ has performed phenomenally, being used in the Orange is the New Black trailer as well as in the international World Cup commercial featuring Brazilian soccer star, Neymar. The latter publicity caught the attention of Jay-Z, who rhymed a verse over the track for another version of the World Cup commercial. Although ‘Jungle’ is clearly the band’s most notable song, a closer look at the EP shows the diverse talents of Sam and the rest of the group.

The album opens with a heartfelt song ‘Free and Lonely’ in which Sam sings about different phases in his life. Working backwards, Sam mentions moving home, getting a job, earning an income and marrying a girl after an unsuccessful move out west. The tone of the song expresses regret about the life he left behind in order to meet the expectations of growing up. He looks fondly back on the time when he was “free and lonely” and “when people would see [him] on the street, and stop and stare,” hinting that he has found some success as a performer.

‘Unsteady’ is another example of Sam’s soulful and melodic voice. This song is the most genuine and sober of the tracks on the EP.  The chorus features Sam emotionally singing “Hold, hold on, hold onto me/ ‘Cause I’m a little unsteady, a little unsteady,” as he cries to both his Mother and Father for help. He pleads, “If you love me don’t let go” allowing the listener to imagine the precariousness of the lyricist’s situation.

Finally, ‘Jungle’ is the core of the album, featuring Jamie N Commons. The reason for the commercial success of the song is likely due to the heavy-handed tone and robust presence starting from the drums and carrying through to the vocals. The track carries a sound reminiscent of the Black Keys or Jack White, who are obvious influences. Outside of the song’s excellent production, the lyrics may explain why it was picked to be the theme of the 2014 World Cup commercial. The chorus begins, “Won’t you follow me into the jungle/ain’t no God on my streets in the heart of the jungle” which fits well with the World Cup as it is being hosted partly in Amazonian Brazil.

X Ambassadors are an up and coming band and the sky is the limit. Their stock continues to rise as they become increasingly visible on the world stage. Landing a song with Jay-Z is no small feat, but to have written the theme song for one of the worlds’ most watched sporting events puts this accomplishment in another stratosphere. The X Ambassadors are on the fast track to success with a rapidly increasing following. The band’s achievements to date have afforded them new opportunities to experiment and audiences should anticipate more fantastic music to come. Farewell small town heroes, this group is bound for glory!

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Post Photo Courtesy of: www.thisfiction.com