Ordinary Sun

by Matthew Henriksen

Poetry. Henriksen opens ORDINARY SUN by insisting that "an eye is not enough." Resisting solipsism, these poems negotiate that conflict between the mind and what exists outside the mind. Though pain intrinsically resides in that conflict Henriksen strives for an honest happiness, a kind of gorgeous suffering that blesses our days. To this end, these poems emerge from images of all those innumerable things that embody both visceral and ethereal beauty rocks, trees, broken glass, baseball, angels.... Here we find immediacy immersed in the image, and in the reading of these poems becomes ourselves immersed in the immediate."

Genres: Poetry

108 pages, Paperback

First published February 7, 2011

Reviews

[Michael · Rating 5 out of 5]

Two from Ordinary Sun by Matthew Henriksen:

As the Nude Composite Wishes for Heat without Violence


I wept lost amid the wallpaper's mimicked
church garden. I taught harmonies to wires.

The buzzing grew less distant and implied
the complicity of the whole belongs

to the choked mouth's consent.
A box goes on forever. Set on a rail,

a box becomes a sky. There's a blanket
underground, I understand.

Constellations froze on the eye of the dog
chained to the metal post I hammered home.

* * * * *

Resolution


The drift of horses magnifies the dust of dusk.
An owl condoles the house with a loud retch.

I made a whisper to make her body blink.
Her fingers rooted upon unnamable waste.

Her spine wound like a spire out
of time, contorted unclimbably.

A sickness grew out of my love, so I loved her sickness
and spoke in terms to make it grow.

I grew sick of repetition and so my love.
My love fell into the sickness of her well.

I fashioned a bower to keep out birds.
I feigned company and spoke in shades.

Pretending to hear her, I cried, "Invisible sky."
I begged her back but brambles she became.

I shooed the last blackbird from her limbs
and brushed the snow from her torso.

[Marcus · Rating 5 out of 5]

My favourites sections were Corolla in the Midden, The New Surrealism, and the last section Ordinary Sun. Although that might change. I read it on the tube in London during my three hours of commuting and immediately started re-reading the book from the beginning again today. A rarity. I think I will re-read this book at least four times on the tube this week. It has me smitten.

Black Ocean is up there with the best of what is being put out these days. But this is nothing like the other books I have read from Black Ocean. Granted I haven't read them all yet. I also like zachary schomburg's poetry from Black Ocean but this is much much different.

The Wasteland (as Tony Tost alludes to on the blurb) plus Jack Spicer plus the dark surrealism of early modernism plus the American idiom of WCW (sometimes) plus . . the Jewish and Christian bible . . . plus . . .. god . . .

so many pluses

. . . . .

This is the work of a "mature" poet . . hardly a so-called first book!!

if Matthew Henriksen writes no more poetry . . and this is what he leaves for the world . . . he has done more than what most poets do in in a lifetime with dozens of books . .

[Clark Knowles · Rating 5 out of 5]

I really love this book. For some reason, I struggled through the first half--up through "The Talk" section, but the something clicked for me starting with the next section. Probably it had more to do with me than the book or perhaps I just finally fell into the rhythm of the poems. I really love "The New Surrealism" and the title poem--and the poem "Insomnia" is fantastic--"why must it be so late, so bright, and so early." Strongly recommended.

[Brian Foley · Rating 5 out of 5]

WONDERFUL WONDERFUL BOOK.

[Staci Miller · Rating 5 out of 5]

Side note: I voted for this book for Best Poetry Book of 2011 on GoodReads last year. Before I had read it. That's how good it is.

I am truly, truly awful at processing poetry. I love looking at words on a page and often times I will feel like I enjoy a poem but I can't really pinpoint the reasons why. I read this book feeling semi-attached to some poems. Then about halfway through "Corolla in the Midden" something changed for me. The words began to mean new things. (I wish I wasn't inept) I reread the book from the beginning and now feel like these words are a part of me. I felt the way I felt reading Sylvia Plath's "Ariel." This is a book I will return to again and again.

Matthew Henriksen is my teacher and I am lucky.

[Joe]

Engaged throughout the whole thing but really felt like the final few sequences--"The New Surrealism" & "Beulah's Rest"--were the beating heart/spewing whatever of this book. There's a great mix of dense, imagistic lines with lines that are pretty much shrugs--

Horizon to scold the tongues down. The golden bed of torture.
...
Never again became a rip, a mole's undoing, a hawk's cry.

In all that nonsense I became a gun.
It's raining now, goddamn.

[Edward Rathke · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a truly great collection. I've read a lot of great poetry this year, but only by a handful of dead or very old poets. Most of the more contemporary poetry I've read has been good and I can recognise it as good, but this is the first one I felt was good, if that makes sense.

It's powerful and beautiful and sometimes vicious. I don't know if I've ever read poetry that made me feel that anger so much.

Really, just read this. Buy a copy and maybe one more, just in case.

[Mary Shippee · Rating 4 out of 5]

fantastic poetry. accessible to non-poets, yet fascinating to poetry lovers

[Heather]

“let me tell you, it is nice / the silliness we hope to make real, much better // than the actualities we try to make unreal.”