Paul Hostovsky: Selected Poems

by Paul Hostovsky

Paul Hostovsky: Selected Poems brings together 120 poems from this prolific, masterful, Pushcart Prize-winning poet’s previous five collections of poetry, Bending the Notes (2008), Dear Truth (2009), A Little in Love a Lot (2011), Hurt Into Beauty (2012), and Naming Names (2014). Of Hostovsky’s work the Georgia Review has written: “High-energy Paul Hostovsky, who makes his living as an interpreter for the Deaf, has been making a lot of noise in the poetry publishing world of late, with five full-length collections and six poetry chapbooks in the past eight years. He is best known for his use of humor in service of serious subject matter, his skill with narrative, and his unpretentiously strong commitment to craft. Joe Weil has written that ‘Paul Hostovsky negotiates a territory not far removed from the casual speaking style of Frank O’Hara and the humor and simplicity of Paul Zimmer, but he is not a mere hybrid of these two fine poets. He represents what is best about clarity in poetry.’ And Jeffrey Harrison, speaking of Hostovsky’s work, has said more succinctly, ‘This book kicks ass.’”

Genres: Poetry

158 pages, Paperback

First published March 24, 2014

About the author

Paul Hostovsky's poems have won a Pushcart Prize, two Best of the Net Awards, the Muriel Craft Bailey Award from the Comstock Review, and numerous chapbook contests. He is the author of eight books of poetry, most recently The Bad Guys (FutureCycle Press, 2015). He makes his living in Boston as a sign language interpreter and Braille instructor.

Reviews

[FutureCycle Press · Rating 5 out of 5]

We are the publisher, so all of our authors get five stars from us. Excerpts:


MEDIOCRITY WEEPS TO BEHOLD GREATNESS

My new dentist
is admiring the great works
of my old dentist
in my mouth
and it makes me feel
like a museum of fine arts of sorts
with twenty years of gilded
masterpieces filling
my walls. He has never
seen such beautiful margins,
he says more to himself
than to me, incredulous
and impressed and more
than a little jealous
as he examines each one
with our mouths open,
tapping with his tiny round mirror
as if to wake us from
this dream of impossible beauty
and perfection. Thank you
doesn’t seem the right
thing to say somehow, and yet
I say it anyway, with so many
amazed fingers camped out on my tongue
that it comes out sounding like
“hankie.” That’s when he abruptly
turns off the light
and wheels his stool away
somewhere behind me where I can’t see him
wiping the tears from his eyes.


A WOMAN TAKING OFF HER SHIRT

does so with arms crossed
over her belly
like she’s hugging herself
and each hand takes hold
above the opposite hip
and off it comes in a fluid
motion like a fountain shooting up
and falling down in a great arc
the shirt rising up and the breasts
rising and falling and the hair
falling and finally the hands
falling to her sides with the shirt
in one hand inside-out

while the man
taking off his shirt
wrestles it off
grabs his own collar first
like he’s going to beat himself up
then dips his chin down like a fighter
into the dark well of the shirt
and climbs down in it
reaching back and grabbing ahold
and pulling it up over himself
and pulleying himself
down through it and out.

[Nina]

Hostovsky is a poet of and for The People. His poems are filled with dry humor, minute details, and real life observations. Hostovsky writes about conversations with friends, his children, and himself. This book contains selections from 5 previous poetry books. Hostovsky tends toward short lines, and many of his poems are solid blocks without stanza breaks. His topics are all over the place. I don’t mean to imply disorganized, rather his predominant theme is life itself. Hostovsky sees poetry everywhere; an automatic paper towel dispenser, a urinal cake, an athletic cup. He makes good use of cynicism and humor, but often with one serious killer line. “Visitation” is a poem about a divorced father having his son for regular visitation. The speaker talks about packing school lunches “every/ single Thursday and every/ other Monday,” and ends the poem with a terrific double entendre line break and introspective thought that stops the reader cold:
when he sleeps over and I have another
chance to make it
right

I laugh every time I read “Reading Sharon Olds.”
I wonder how her husband feels
about his penis being all over her poems,
especially the earlier poems where
his penis was in its prime

Reading Hostovsky is like observing free range chickens. He darts here, pecks there, notices everything, and records even the most miniscule details, which lead to wondrous connections.