What do you think?
Rate this book
Yeah, Well...
I hate poetry. I usually find it self-indulgent, navel-gazing, cloying pap, an archaic art form that’s long outstayed its relevance. In this brave new technological world where writing has evolved and anointed screenplay as endgame, poetry has been reduced to little more than a freakish sixth toe, as useful as an appendix.
So why am I writing the introduction to a poetry book?
Because Joel Landmine, that’s why.
Since first meeting Joel, I’ve been mesmerized by his work. A fixture on the San Francisco literary scene for years, he’s etched out a name for himself by being exactly what I wish all poetry could be. Accessible. Relevant. Poignant and unforgettable. To quote Willy Wordsworth, Joel employs the “language really used by men.” (Yes, I know about the Romantic Poets; I’m not a barbarian.)
In short, in the battle of us vs. them, Joel is one of us. (If you have to ask, you are probably one of them.) Joel writes for the butchered and abandoned, the castoff and downtrodden, and is unlike any poet I have
ever read, unique in the truest sense of the word. He excels at the conversation of the lowlife, but Joel’s work is steeped in the ordinary, too, infusing pop culture with philosophy, eviscerating the minutia and mundane that sometimes yields a world of riches. At least to those of us who have nothing.
Squalor paints his scene, dejection his theme—but it’s love, however fleeting, bizarre, unholy, perverted or downright religious (in the strictest unorganized sense) that remedies. There is a burning love and passion that colors this work, the desire of one man to reach out in the dark and confusion to say, “Hey, baby, I’m just as fucked up as you. Let’s have a smoke and compare tattoos. Then maybe later, we can get naked. Here, let me light that for you.”
Now that’s the kind of poetry I want to read.
Joe Clifford, author of 'Junkie Love' (Battered Suitcase Press, 2013)
So why am I writing the introduction to a poetry book?
Because Joel Landmine, that’s why.
Since first meeting Joel, I’ve been mesmerized by his work. A fixture on the San Francisco literary scene for years, he’s etched out a name for himself by being exactly what I wish all poetry could be. Accessible. Relevant. Poignant and unforgettable. To quote Willy Wordsworth, Joel employs the “language really used by men.” (Yes, I know about the Romantic Poets; I’m not a barbarian.)
In short, in the battle of us vs. them, Joel is one of us. (If you have to ask, you are probably one of them.) Joel writes for the butchered and abandoned, the castoff and downtrodden, and is unlike any poet I have
ever read, unique in the truest sense of the word. He excels at the conversation of the lowlife, but Joel’s work is steeped in the ordinary, too, infusing pop culture with philosophy, eviscerating the minutia and mundane that sometimes yields a world of riches. At least to those of us who have nothing.
Squalor paints his scene, dejection his theme—but it’s love, however fleeting, bizarre, unholy, perverted or downright religious (in the strictest unorganized sense) that remedies. There is a burning love and passion that colors this work, the desire of one man to reach out in the dark and confusion to say, “Hey, baby, I’m just as fucked up as you. Let’s have a smoke and compare tattoos. Then maybe later, we can get naked. Here, let me light that for you.”
Now that’s the kind of poetry I want to read.
Joe Clifford, author of 'Junkie Love' (Battered Suitcase Press, 2013)
- GenresPoetry
124 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 2, 2014
2 people are currently reading
14 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
April 7, 2014
Joel Landmine's mind is a minefield of subtly cutting insights, gently delivered through deft wordplay, like the hard lead center of a sap wrapped in silky, silky calfskin.
This first collection of poems lives and breathes, like a person, bearing the level of emotional complexity of an old, and familiar friend.
I felt a kinship with the hip voice of the darting narrator, as he wove in and out of focus and in and out of beds and homes, rarely his own.
I cannot wait to see what Joel cooks up next, because this one is a doozy!
This first collection of poems lives and breathes, like a person, bearing the level of emotional complexity of an old, and familiar friend.
I felt a kinship with the hip voice of the darting narrator, as he wove in and out of focus and in and out of beds and homes, rarely his own.
I cannot wait to see what Joel cooks up next, because this one is a doozy!
June 11, 2018
This is a book of poems you can read in day, but they will stick with you long past that. Joel writes the kind of poems I enjoy reading: accessible, immediate, universal, and heartfelt. I found myself laughing out loud on several occasions from his sheer wit. I also found my heart wincing with sharp pangs, like he was some kind of prizefighter with lightning jabs I wouldn't feel until the bell rang. This book is a knockout.
January 13, 2019
He funny.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews