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Seven
It is said that throughout all of human history, there are only seven stories to tell: overcoming the monster, rags to riches, voyage and return, the quest, comedy, tragedy, and rebirth.....
58 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2015
4 people want to read
About the author
Antonio J. Hopson
22 books6 followersAntonio (AJ) Hopson honed his skills writing speculative fiction, flash fiction and essays. His stories have been widely published: Quiet Shorts Magazine, Letter X, Creation, The Wonder Boy Review, Ascent, 20 Dissidents and Old Growth Journal, The Harrow Magazine, Monongahela Review, The Subterranean Quarterly, OutCry Magazine, Lost Magazine, The Angler, The Piker Press and also NPR commentator Andrei Codrescu's Exquisite Corpse Magazine. He has received Farmhouse Magazine's Reader's Choice award and performed as a featured author at Seattle's Richard Hugo House. As a performer and panelist, he has appeared at Seattle's Rainbow Bookfest. In 2008 he was selected to participate in Evergreen College's Literary Conference on "Activism and the Avant-Garde" and in 2009 he was an EPPIE Award Finalist. Please visit AntonioHopson.com to see what he is up to these days.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
December 28, 2015
THIS REVIEW FIRST APPEARED IN THE COMPULSIVE READER
During the Crusades, European priests kissed cannons, by way of blessing them, as soldiers marched east to fight what was perceived as the threat of Islam. Instead of cannons, Antonio J. Hopson uses words as his weapon of choice in the poetry collection Seven, and that for the most part focuses on a love affair. “I am a poet. I use words” (Mr. Law, 31). Amazingly, his use of words gives the impression that this affair—at least for him—resembles the carnage of the Crusades.
In Men like Me, Hopson admits that he is like those “Who storm the gate, mad with love. Mad with it. Cannon fodder and shrapnel in their faces…” (7). In Bleach, one of the strongest poems of the collection, he writes, “There have been a thousand lies gifted to me as truth…” and “My fire the one I always lit for you, is now buried in the ash of what was once love” (24). However, there is hope, “I will never allow you to stomp on my little fire again. For now I know you are envious of it” (Bleach, 25). Hopson is able to love again, even though bruised. “The stars have returned, and they are closer than we dreamed. As it turns out, my apocalypse was only the beginning of a new cloud of ash from which to make more stars” (A Story To The Girl In The Black Dress With Eyes The Color Of A Rainy Seattle Day, 46).
We are told this toward the end of the book, after being saturated with what can be interpreted as the author’s obsession with his hurt. And in writing this review I recognize that what I just said might come across as offensive. After all, who am I to tell Hopson or anyone else not to write about their pain? I recognize the therapeutic nature of writing. So does Hopson and he should be congratulated for this. What I object to is the proliferation of the author’s personal pain (or that of his partner) in most of the poems, making them sound the same.
Hopson moves away from this tendency at certain points, as in the aptly titled Mr. Hopson (which is a response poem by a character named Mr. Law), “The W in my name is for many things. Wanderlust is one you know, but wit is what I choose to show! I surf the surging ebb and flow, on tides of Whitman, Hughes, and Poe. So hop on, Hopson” (32). There is a welcomed playfulness in this poem that is missing from some of the other poems. This theme is also in Crazy Normal, “NPR is in your car, you drive right by my favorite bar without a clue, and like a shrew, you’ve never been to Katmandu” (45).
Hopson is a poet of promise. He writes, “my world is ablaze,” and this is true (My World on Fire, 33). I wanted to have witnessed this fire in more of the poems in this collection. I look forward to reading more of his work as he, and the rest of us, navigate this life (which can be of carnage at times) with the light of words.
During the Crusades, European priests kissed cannons, by way of blessing them, as soldiers marched east to fight what was perceived as the threat of Islam. Instead of cannons, Antonio J. Hopson uses words as his weapon of choice in the poetry collection Seven, and that for the most part focuses on a love affair. “I am a poet. I use words” (Mr. Law, 31). Amazingly, his use of words gives the impression that this affair—at least for him—resembles the carnage of the Crusades.
In Men like Me, Hopson admits that he is like those “Who storm the gate, mad with love. Mad with it. Cannon fodder and shrapnel in their faces…” (7). In Bleach, one of the strongest poems of the collection, he writes, “There have been a thousand lies gifted to me as truth…” and “My fire the one I always lit for you, is now buried in the ash of what was once love” (24). However, there is hope, “I will never allow you to stomp on my little fire again. For now I know you are envious of it” (Bleach, 25). Hopson is able to love again, even though bruised. “The stars have returned, and they are closer than we dreamed. As it turns out, my apocalypse was only the beginning of a new cloud of ash from which to make more stars” (A Story To The Girl In The Black Dress With Eyes The Color Of A Rainy Seattle Day, 46).
We are told this toward the end of the book, after being saturated with what can be interpreted as the author’s obsession with his hurt. And in writing this review I recognize that what I just said might come across as offensive. After all, who am I to tell Hopson or anyone else not to write about their pain? I recognize the therapeutic nature of writing. So does Hopson and he should be congratulated for this. What I object to is the proliferation of the author’s personal pain (or that of his partner) in most of the poems, making them sound the same.
Hopson moves away from this tendency at certain points, as in the aptly titled Mr. Hopson (which is a response poem by a character named Mr. Law), “The W in my name is for many things. Wanderlust is one you know, but wit is what I choose to show! I surf the surging ebb and flow, on tides of Whitman, Hughes, and Poe. So hop on, Hopson” (32). There is a welcomed playfulness in this poem that is missing from some of the other poems. This theme is also in Crazy Normal, “NPR is in your car, you drive right by my favorite bar without a clue, and like a shrew, you’ve never been to Katmandu” (45).
Hopson is a poet of promise. He writes, “my world is ablaze,” and this is true (My World on Fire, 33). I wanted to have witnessed this fire in more of the poems in this collection. I look forward to reading more of his work as he, and the rest of us, navigate this life (which can be of carnage at times) with the light of words.
August 30, 2015
I have been a long-time fan of Antonio Hopson's fiction --- indeed, one of my favorites of his, "I Think of the Octopus, is included in this collection. I was excited to discover that embedded in his poetry are elements that I love about his storytelling: vivid characters; rich landscapes; and emotional rawness that alternately makes me laugh and cry. Rising to the top of the selections are poems of the stages of love, the early/hopeful stages and the final/questioning ones. The narrative voice is Hopson's most fascinating character of all, presented at his best and worse, or more accurately as a vulnerable, hopeful, and flawed human being who is trying to do the best he can. I look forward to reading more from Antonio Hopson.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews