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THE Creek
When Justin Grimbol's poems attend the Banquet for Political Poetical Correctness, they may very well be seen putting their feet on the table, ordering beer instead of wine, and discussing topics ranging from pubic hair to stretch marks. They may very well have not been invited to the event in the first place. But as the evening progresses and these same poems settle in, reflect and drift though the various stages of their creation, some very profound transformations begin to take place. Meditations on childhood, on loss, on the possibilities of love and lust, on the darkness and light of living through this strange carnival of life and of trying to do this in ribald fashion, make for some marvelous moments of verse.
78 pages, Paperback
First published November 26, 2013
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
May 22, 2014
Poetry. You either love it or hate it or maybe you like it or maybe you like like it or maybe you’ve never allowed yourself to feel feelings for words like this before. No matter what your relationship to poetry is in the past, I’m pretty confident this is a book that is not only accessible, but, in a way, almost vital.
The Creek consists of about 25-30 short poems, most of which are so good, I had to force myself not to binge read this entire book. Poetry deserves to be digested, slowly, like a Venus flytrap eating a bug. So I fought the urge. I’d read one or two poems, put the book down, do some chores or watch a little TV, then pick it up again and read one or two more. THAT is how this books needs to be read. Because at first glance, Grimbol has a way of coming at you in a strictly puerile manner. Sometimes he writes about awkward boners. Or farts. But that is actually reductive of what I feel he’s trying to accomplish. In much the same vein of someone like Whitman, these poem revel in their humanity. And that includes all the sticky, gross, sexiness of it. But Grimbol’s approach is not to be disgusting, or shocking, or even funny really – he comes at the subject of his body and the bodies of those around him from a childlike place of wonder, curiosity, naivety, and unpretentiousness. To read a poem like that is not only rediscover your own body, but to rediscover the person you used to be when you were discovering your body for the first time. And he does this which lyricism and tact.
But that’s only about half the poems in this book. The other half are ruminations on love and loss. In the intro, Grimbol calls his poems “chubby-hearted”. That’s a pretty accurate description, I’d say. He talks a lot about his mother (and the titular creek in which he lay her final ashes) and it’s heartbreaking. There is no frills here. No cheap ploys to tug at your heart strings. This is a dude laying it down, emotionally bare, but not for your sympathy or for your entertainment or any of that nonsense. He’s laying it bare because he HAS to. To me, this is the hallmark of a true artist.
Am I fawning too much here? I LOVED THIS BOOK. So suck it. I can fawn all I want.
There’s a common piece of writing advice that my personal hero, Kurt Vonnegut, once gave that went: “Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.” Well, I think for me, from here on out, that person needs to be Justin Grimbol. If I can one day give the world just a fraction of what he was able to give with these poems, then I’ll have done my job as a writer.
The Creek consists of about 25-30 short poems, most of which are so good, I had to force myself not to binge read this entire book. Poetry deserves to be digested, slowly, like a Venus flytrap eating a bug. So I fought the urge. I’d read one or two poems, put the book down, do some chores or watch a little TV, then pick it up again and read one or two more. THAT is how this books needs to be read. Because at first glance, Grimbol has a way of coming at you in a strictly puerile manner. Sometimes he writes about awkward boners. Or farts. But that is actually reductive of what I feel he’s trying to accomplish. In much the same vein of someone like Whitman, these poem revel in their humanity. And that includes all the sticky, gross, sexiness of it. But Grimbol’s approach is not to be disgusting, or shocking, or even funny really – he comes at the subject of his body and the bodies of those around him from a childlike place of wonder, curiosity, naivety, and unpretentiousness. To read a poem like that is not only rediscover your own body, but to rediscover the person you used to be when you were discovering your body for the first time. And he does this which lyricism and tact.
But that’s only about half the poems in this book. The other half are ruminations on love and loss. In the intro, Grimbol calls his poems “chubby-hearted”. That’s a pretty accurate description, I’d say. He talks a lot about his mother (and the titular creek in which he lay her final ashes) and it’s heartbreaking. There is no frills here. No cheap ploys to tug at your heart strings. This is a dude laying it down, emotionally bare, but not for your sympathy or for your entertainment or any of that nonsense. He’s laying it bare because he HAS to. To me, this is the hallmark of a true artist.
Am I fawning too much here? I LOVED THIS BOOK. So suck it. I can fawn all I want.
There’s a common piece of writing advice that my personal hero, Kurt Vonnegut, once gave that went: “Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.” Well, I think for me, from here on out, that person needs to be Justin Grimbol. If I can one day give the world just a fraction of what he was able to give with these poems, then I’ll have done my job as a writer.
February 7, 2014
I'm a fan of Justin Grimbol and, for the most part, his work in Bizarro fiction, and through all the depraved sex and fart jokes there was always this sense of heartfelt fun, and almost innocent sort of sincerity glowing from some of his most depraved scenes. It's easy to say the guy's a pervert, but maybe too easy. Grimbol's approach to life and sex seems to be a spiritual, and genuine appreciation on his part, that trumps the perverse into something profoundly endearing.
The Creek is a good example of this appreciation of sex, life, love, and even death. A great balance and culmination of all things Grimbol and as a fan, it was very cool to see him be serious, too. And he does serious well.
These poems are relatable, vulnerable and honest, as most good poetry should be. Particular stand-outs were My Bank Statement, Pubic Hair Gods, Your Soul is Filthy, The Creek, and my favorite was, Church.
Yes, this collection has more of a serious vibe than his other work but worry not! There are still enough jokes to round out the collection.
So, if you like Bukowski and/or Grimbol's other books, you'll like The Creek, or if you're just curious about the guy, The Creek is a great place to start.
The Creek is a good example of this appreciation of sex, life, love, and even death. A great balance and culmination of all things Grimbol and as a fan, it was very cool to see him be serious, too. And he does serious well.
These poems are relatable, vulnerable and honest, as most good poetry should be. Particular stand-outs were My Bank Statement, Pubic Hair Gods, Your Soul is Filthy, The Creek, and my favorite was, Church.
Yes, this collection has more of a serious vibe than his other work but worry not! There are still enough jokes to round out the collection.
So, if you like Bukowski and/or Grimbol's other books, you'll like The Creek, or if you're just curious about the guy, The Creek is a great place to start.
February 12, 2017
Honest, hilarious, crude, and sincere. It'll make you start to laugh and then get you all quiet and make you squint your eyes and close your mouth.
March 31, 2014
This book is a very rounded out look at who Justin Grimbol is. It made me understand other works of his on a deeper level, and I think it should be read in combination with his other books for that reason. The poems are super real and he's not afraid to associate things together that seem a little bit wrong, but that just creates really good imagery and metaphors. Faves were cold war, pubic hair gods, piano music, my mothers ashes float down a creek in upstate new York, water falls.
October 3, 2018
I dont get poetry. I mean the kind of poetry that doesn’t rhyme, doesn’t follow a specific structure. That just seems to be sentences that get split into several lines of text to fill out more space on the page. I don’t get it. But despite this being Justin Grimbol worst book of poetry in this regard, it somehow managed to also e my favorite of them (well, I do have one left to read to be fair.)
If you like the work of this author, his homely style, that doesn’t know the meaning of the term self-censorship, then you’ll like this too, guaranteed.
If you like the work of this author, his homely style, that doesn’t know the meaning of the term self-censorship, then you’ll like this too, guaranteed.
April 29, 2014
This is an awesome book of poetry. I'll have a proper review once I've settled in a new place.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews