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Wonderland: Poems
Luminous and hypnotic, this dynamic collection explores the dark edges of childhood, violence, race, class, and masculinity, by one of the most fearless poets of his generation. "Known for poems of universality of feeling, expressive lyricism of reflection, and heartrending allure" (Major Jackson), award-winning poet Matthew Dickman returns with a collection that engages the traces of his own living past, suffusing these poems with ghosts of longing, shame, and vulnerability. In the southeast Portland neighborhood of Dickman’s youth, parents are out of control and children are in chaos. With grief, anger, and, ultimately, understanding, Dickman confronts a childhood of ambient violence, well-intentioned but warped family relations, confining definitions of identity, and the deprivation of this particular Portland neighborhood in the 1980s. Wonderland reminds us that, while these neighborhoods are filled with guns, skateboards, fights, booze, and heroin, and home to punk rockers, skinheads, poor kids, and single moms, they are also places of innocence and love.
96 pages, Hardcover
First published March 6, 2018
12 people are currently reading
256 people want to read
About the author
Matthew Dickman
19 books111 followersMatthew Dickman is an American poet. He and his identical twin brother, Michael Dickman, also a poet, were born in Portland, Oregon.
Dickman has received fellowships from The Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin, The Vermont Studio Center, and The Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown.
He is the author of three chapbooks, Amigos, Something about a Black Scarf and Wish You Were Here, and three full-length poetry collections. His first book, All-American Poem, was winner of the 2008 American Poetry Review/Honickman First Book Prize in Poetry, published by American Poetry Review and distributed by Copper Canyon Press. He was also the winner of the 2009 Kate Tufts Discovery Award for that book, and the inaugural May Sarton Award from the American Academy of Arts & Sciences. His second full collection of poetry, Mayakovsky's Revolver, was published by W. W. Norton and Company in 2012. He is also the coauthor with his brother, of the 2012 poetry collection 50 American Plays, also published by Copper Canyon Press, and the 2016 Brother, a collection of poems on their half-brother's suicide. His third collection, Wonderland, was published in 2018 by Norton.
His work has appeared in The American Poetry Review, Tin House, Clackamas Literary Review, AGNI Online, The Missouri Review, and The New Yorker.
Dickman has received fellowships from The Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas at Austin, The Vermont Studio Center, and The Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown.
He is the author of three chapbooks, Amigos, Something about a Black Scarf and Wish You Were Here, and three full-length poetry collections. His first book, All-American Poem, was winner of the 2008 American Poetry Review/Honickman First Book Prize in Poetry, published by American Poetry Review and distributed by Copper Canyon Press. He was also the winner of the 2009 Kate Tufts Discovery Award for that book, and the inaugural May Sarton Award from the American Academy of Arts & Sciences. His second full collection of poetry, Mayakovsky's Revolver, was published by W. W. Norton and Company in 2012. He is also the coauthor with his brother, of the 2012 poetry collection 50 American Plays, also published by Copper Canyon Press, and the 2016 Brother, a collection of poems on their half-brother's suicide. His third collection, Wonderland, was published in 2018 by Norton.
His work has appeared in The American Poetry Review, Tin House, Clackamas Literary Review, AGNI Online, The Missouri Review, and The New Yorker.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews
March 1, 2018
I really enjoyed these poems, and they struck such chords of familiarity to me, I went down the rabbit hole in learning more about the poet. He is just a few years older than me and grew up on the "seedy side" of Portland, so maybe an hour from where I grew up. If Portlandia (tv show) is about the "dream of the 90s" in Portland, these poems are about the not so nice times in Portland of the 80s. My favorite poems were the time-based poems where all the lines of the poem started with the time, followed by statements that were at first random but then would form a mental picture that I found sometimes disturbing, sometimes moving.
I need to give them another read before I finalize my review, but wanted to include them in my February reads.
I also learned that his brother is also a poet. Some websites say they are twins but others give different years of birth, so what gives, internet?
Thanks to the publisher for approving my request via Edelweiss. This collection comes out March 6.
I need to give them another read before I finalize my review, but wanted to include them in my February reads.
I also learned that his brother is also a poet. Some websites say they are twins but others give different years of birth, so what gives, internet?
Thanks to the publisher for approving my request via Edelweiss. This collection comes out March 6.
April 14, 2019
Now when you get dressed you get dressed (stomp)
for battle. People cross the street when they see you
like you were black. Like you weren't afraid of anything. Like there
was nothing you wouldn't do. But you are afraid (stomp)
of everything
of everything
of everything.
—From "For Ian Sullivan Upon Joining the Eastside White Pride"
for battle. People cross the street when they see you
like you were black. Like you weren't afraid of anything. Like there
was nothing you wouldn't do. But you are afraid (stomp)
of everything
of everything
of everything.
—From "For Ian Sullivan Upon Joining the Eastside White Pride"
January 9, 2019
When you reach the acknowledgments at the end of Wonderland, you learn that some of the poems in this collection are on their second tour of duty. That is, thirteen of them come compliments of an earlier chapbook Dickman wrote, 24 Hours, and two of them come compliments of another chapbook of his, Something About a Black Scarf.
It was the hour poems that caught my attention. All of them are one-stanza poems consisting of lines starting with the same word or words. For instance, I give you "Four A.M.":
I made a way so nothing would ever work out.
I made cereal.
I made a crook in my arm for your face.
I made a star out of apple seeds and tow of your hairpins.
I made a mess out of the party.
I made four plus four and then I made you cry.
I made my bed.
Et cetera. So if, like me, that kind of repetition gets old and not terribly effective real fast, then 13 of the poems are already limping out of the gate. I-yi-yi, but the "I" of it all!
Other than that, some moments that worked, and some not so much. The well-worked first person POV comes thanks to the material Dickman mines, mostly his youth growing up in the Pacific Northwest. I usually like coming-of-age stuff. Despite that friendly genre, though, this collection was only OK.
It was the hour poems that caught my attention. All of them are one-stanza poems consisting of lines starting with the same word or words. For instance, I give you "Four A.M.":
I made a way so nothing would ever work out.
I made cereal.
I made a crook in my arm for your face.
I made a star out of apple seeds and tow of your hairpins.
I made a mess out of the party.
I made four plus four and then I made you cry.
I made my bed.
Et cetera. So if, like me, that kind of repetition gets old and not terribly effective real fast, then 13 of the poems are already limping out of the gate. I-yi-yi, but the "I" of it all!
Other than that, some moments that worked, and some not so much. The well-worked first person POV comes thanks to the material Dickman mines, mostly his youth growing up in the Pacific Northwest. I usually like coming-of-age stuff. Despite that friendly genre, though, this collection was only OK.
March 19, 2020
Nes alus, cigaretės ir valiumas.
Nes parkai ir riedlentės.
Nes Sex Pistols ir Star Warsai.
Nes nacių eisenos, šeima ir tamsa.
Nes šunys ir vaikystė.
Nes traumos, graikiniai riešutai ir porno.
Nes jis yra supistai geras lyrikas.
Nes parkai ir riedlentės.
Nes Sex Pistols ir Star Warsai.
Nes nacių eisenos, šeima ir tamsa.
Nes šunys ir vaikystė.
Nes traumos, graikiniai riešutai ir porno.
Nes jis yra supistai geras lyrikas.
Read
January 23, 2021These poems were unsettling in a very deliberate way. The images in particular were striking — always so vivid & visceral. Dickman writes with candor, giving meaning to the moments that linger with us long after childhood as left.
September 27, 2019
After having read this collection of poems, one wonders if the author is writing under some sort of nom de guerre or whether it is that his extreme focus on sexuality in many of these poems is an aspect of his writing from the point of view of decadent contemporary moral standards without any such jibe through his name. In reading a book like this one must be aware that unlike many books of this kind, the poet is treating this particular subject with a considerable amount of ambition. It is ambition that is not always achieved, it must be admitted, but there is ambition here. The poet is at least trying to write something that would win awards and win respect as a poet, and that is worthy of at least some appreciation. It is hard to celebrate when someone aims at a low target and hits it, the low target being unworthy of their efforts because it shows a lack of ambition and confidence. Still, this book, if it does not aim low in terms of literary ambition for a set of poetry dealing with growing up, it does aim low in terms of morality, and that is sadly a major failing.
In terms of poetic ambition, this book is a short one of less than 100 pages but one that appears to be a poetic cycle. Several of the poems here are titled by a particular time, from 1 A.M. to 8 P.M., and they show an increasing frustration with life and a willingness to engage in self-destruction to avoid the problems of living alone and being unable to sleep on a normal schedule and seeking intimacy but being denied it. A few of the poems reflect on the subject of rape, one of them dramatically portraying the rape of the narrator/poet and another musing about how people who hate their bodies like he does tend to be the sort of people who rape or abuse their partners, which seems a superficial as well as an unkind judgment. There are other poems here that deal with the memory of relatives and the painful memories of youth and the loss of faith and the deliberate choice of sexuality over holiness, decisions which many have made but which cannot be approved of. This is the sort of poetry that wallows in the mud rather than seeking to rise above the sometimes grim and unpleasant matters that have to be dealt with in life.
Ultimately, it is this book's moral failure that makes it impossible to wholeheartedly recommend. A poet with more tact and less directness might have been able to pull this book's approach off better and caused less offense through being more oblique. The author, though, like many of his age range, feels it totally unnecessary to show restraint in either his personal life or in poems that refer to that personal life, and the result is unfortunate. Whether the author is ambiguously referring to someone as his partner or compared the criticism he suffered because of his sins with some sort of melodramatic martyrdom (as in St. Francis And The Palm Tree), or is talking about how he misses wearing black lipstick and sleeping with everyone while his sister fends off the unwanted attention of other guys, this is not a book that aspires to any sort of elevated morality. And all too often that lack of morality sabotages the author's desire to receive respect from any audience except one that shares his own sins and who celebrates depravity in the interests of verisimilitude. Give me poets like William Stafford any day over this sort of thing, though.
In terms of poetic ambition, this book is a short one of less than 100 pages but one that appears to be a poetic cycle. Several of the poems here are titled by a particular time, from 1 A.M. to 8 P.M., and they show an increasing frustration with life and a willingness to engage in self-destruction to avoid the problems of living alone and being unable to sleep on a normal schedule and seeking intimacy but being denied it. A few of the poems reflect on the subject of rape, one of them dramatically portraying the rape of the narrator/poet and another musing about how people who hate their bodies like he does tend to be the sort of people who rape or abuse their partners, which seems a superficial as well as an unkind judgment. There are other poems here that deal with the memory of relatives and the painful memories of youth and the loss of faith and the deliberate choice of sexuality over holiness, decisions which many have made but which cannot be approved of. This is the sort of poetry that wallows in the mud rather than seeking to rise above the sometimes grim and unpleasant matters that have to be dealt with in life.
Ultimately, it is this book's moral failure that makes it impossible to wholeheartedly recommend. A poet with more tact and less directness might have been able to pull this book's approach off better and caused less offense through being more oblique. The author, though, like many of his age range, feels it totally unnecessary to show restraint in either his personal life or in poems that refer to that personal life, and the result is unfortunate. Whether the author is ambiguously referring to someone as his partner or compared the criticism he suffered because of his sins with some sort of melodramatic martyrdom (as in St. Francis And The Palm Tree), or is talking about how he misses wearing black lipstick and sleeping with everyone while his sister fends off the unwanted attention of other guys, this is not a book that aspires to any sort of elevated morality. And all too often that lack of morality sabotages the author's desire to receive respect from any audience except one that shares his own sins and who celebrates depravity in the interests of verisimilitude. Give me poets like William Stafford any day over this sort of thing, though.
June 30, 2019
It's easy to forget what it felt like to be a child. Memories have a way of being compacted and shoved into corners, and we may not always feel like unpacking them, let alone pouring water on them and watching them expand like those little dinosaur sponges squeezed into pills. But Matthew Dickman does just that, and it's a good reminder that those memories, if they're still there (and if we want to find them), can teach us things. That our tinier selves were dropping breadcrumbs, and that the place where the breadcrumbs began is now a different version of itself, so what better way than poetry to find it again?
August 22, 2020
I want the world to be my laundry-
quiet and good and neatly folded away.
quiet and good and neatly folded away.
December 13, 2018
This was a very powerful collection of poetry that really made me feel just so sad for the human race. It was an interesting read for me because I live really close to the area of which this is written about and while some of the topics didn't apply to me first hand it was still heartbreaking to read about them and feel the horror of that experience, or even worse-the washout residue of sadness that has been repeated over and over until it means nothing anymore. Explored in this collection is of course many topics but I was personally most interested in the poems about neo-Nazism and found the authors close encounters to be truly heartbreaking. This is an amazing collection and I would really recommend everyone to check it out!
February 4, 2019
I wanted to love these poems, but I felt like there was so much unexplored potential.
Dickson uses phrases and structures repeatedly that I did not connect with, and I found his repetition to be more irritating than enlightening.
Overall, I was disappointed, though there were some hidden gems that got me like a punch to the gut.
Dickson uses phrases and structures repeatedly that I did not connect with, and I found his repetition to be more irritating than enlightening.
Overall, I was disappointed, though there were some hidden gems that got me like a punch to the gut.
April 13, 2018
This started slow. I thought “nah.” Then, suddenly,
I was laughing and crying. And feeling. And disturbed. And so happy. Quite beautiful.
I was laughing and crying. And feeling. And disturbed. And so happy. Quite beautiful.
Read
January 3, 2021Made me not want to let my kids outside. Some gritty-boyhood-skaterpunk-Old Portland-grangly bits. Stuck with me.
September 26, 2018
WHITE POWER
They took an Ethiopian soccer player
and split his head open with a baseball bat. Trees
were standing around, cars were driving by.
My mother was making chipped beef and toast.
We never borrowed milk from the neighbors
though sometimes we had no money
for milk. My sister thought any man taller than me
was her father.
TWO A.M.
I lost my body in the fight for my body.
I lost my brother because his body hated him so much.
I lost time.
I lost the way and was happy and the moon was above me.
I lost the feeling in my fingers.
I lost some friends but found a secret room in my apartment.
I lost the chandelier light behind your shoulder blade.
I lost 1975.
I lost the hat you gave me and have never been the same.
I lost the polar bears and I lost the tigers and I lost the elephants.
I lost the ship at sea.
I lost the bottle.
I lost the rib that God gave and the rib that God took away.
I lost the sheet you had cut the two holes in for my eyes to see through.
I lost all my money.
I lost nothing that might have kept me alive.
I lost the light in the puddle with my face in it and a stick.
I lost the way to be with you.
I lost the wind coming through my window and the bed below it.
I lost blood.
I lost blood and stars and the fifth grade.
I lost paint-by-numbers and the color yellow and blue make.
I lost all my fillings.
I lost a fight in which I paid cash to fall and not get up and never get up.
They took an Ethiopian soccer player
and split his head open with a baseball bat. Trees
were standing around, cars were driving by.
My mother was making chipped beef and toast.
We never borrowed milk from the neighbors
though sometimes we had no money
for milk. My sister thought any man taller than me
was her father.
TWO A.M.
I lost my body in the fight for my body.
I lost my brother because his body hated him so much.
I lost time.
I lost the way and was happy and the moon was above me.
I lost the feeling in my fingers.
I lost some friends but found a secret room in my apartment.
I lost the chandelier light behind your shoulder blade.
I lost 1975.
I lost the hat you gave me and have never been the same.
I lost the polar bears and I lost the tigers and I lost the elephants.
I lost the ship at sea.
I lost the bottle.
I lost the rib that God gave and the rib that God took away.
I lost the sheet you had cut the two holes in for my eyes to see through.
I lost all my money.
I lost nothing that might have kept me alive.
I lost the light in the puddle with my face in it and a stick.
I lost the way to be with you.
I lost the wind coming through my window and the bed below it.
I lost blood.
I lost blood and stars and the fifth grade.
I lost paint-by-numbers and the color yellow and blue make.
I lost all my fillings.
I lost a fight in which I paid cash to fall and not get up and never get up.
July 26, 2018
I don't read much contemporary poetry, but I came across one of Matthew Dickman's poems in the New Yorker and then read a review of this collection in the NY Times. Dickman is slightly younger than me, but I identify with many of his themes, having experienced or witnessed many of the things he discusses: the teenage angst, the dislocation, the struggle to find an identity--sometimes through drugs and alcohol--the sneering rejoicement in being an outsider, and then, after making a trillion mistakes, discovering yourself emotionally and spiritually impoverished in the land of the mature. I'm sure many can relate to these poems, especially those who grew up before the internet, before cell phones and cable TV. In 2018, looking back across the digital divide, it's still possible to hear "those dying generations at their song."
October 11, 2021
I picked this one up on a whim -- because I saw it on a shelf at my friend's house and I liked the cover. Sue me. I read it in one sitting and was surprised to find that I actually like it.
This is a collection of medium length poems, all of which are remarkably all over the place. While each one has a structure, the constant back and forth in contents makes the reader feel like they do not. Moreover, the author seems determined to never allow a romantic thought to go on for too long. Rather, he interrupts every beautiful thing in his poems with something obscene/heartbreaking/vulgar/sad/disturbing. Personally, I am a big fan of romantic poetry, which means that I should by all means have hated this book. Instead, I found it refreshingly raw and honest. Make of this wording what you will.
This is a collection of medium length poems, all of which are remarkably all over the place. While each one has a structure, the constant back and forth in contents makes the reader feel like they do not. Moreover, the author seems determined to never allow a romantic thought to go on for too long. Rather, he interrupts every beautiful thing in his poems with something obscene/heartbreaking/vulgar/sad/disturbing. Personally, I am a big fan of romantic poetry, which means that I should by all means have hated this book. Instead, I found it refreshingly raw and honest. Make of this wording what you will.
December 16, 2021
Funny if brutally honest
A disarmingly enjoyable read! Matthew Dickman’s voice is lovely and innocent in this collection of coming-of-age poems. On the first page he and his buddies are skateboarding. That’s their world. But we come to learn their world also contains single mothers (his included) who (mostly) do their best but may allow and/or perpetrate (and of course themselves be targets of) neglect and abuse. We see individuals and families overtaken by alcoholism, drug abuse, bullying, and organized white supremacy. They may go to these things for fun and/or solace—or a sense of belonging—but we watch Dickman’s perspective grow to recognize them for the traps they are. Even at serious moments, though, his sense of humor spices the savory loaf. Lots of great lines, good poems, and decent humanity.
A disarmingly enjoyable read! Matthew Dickman’s voice is lovely and innocent in this collection of coming-of-age poems. On the first page he and his buddies are skateboarding. That’s their world. But we come to learn their world also contains single mothers (his included) who (mostly) do their best but may allow and/or perpetrate (and of course themselves be targets of) neglect and abuse. We see individuals and families overtaken by alcoholism, drug abuse, bullying, and organized white supremacy. They may go to these things for fun and/or solace—or a sense of belonging—but we watch Dickman’s perspective grow to recognize them for the traps they are. Even at serious moments, though, his sense of humor spices the savory loaf. Lots of great lines, good poems, and decent humanity.
October 25, 2022
Absolutely DEEP WATERS that brought me back from the brink! I ordered all of Dickman's books after this mesmerizing read-bleed through! Here are some quotes:
"It felt like the whole world
exhaled really fast like being
punched in the stomach."
"I will not say I remember
because there is a death
in remembering, a ghost
beneath our bed, an empty
cage at the zoo, and I will
not say do you remember
because there is a killing
in that, a knife someone
is putting inside someone else..."
"looking up at a sky that looks like a closet"
"death tucked away in their hands,
their bomber jackets, death in their teeth and ears, wind in their
pockets, when they smile
it's not like when you smile,
their faces stretch out like a police state, their shadows
covering the whole block."
No filler in-between the necessary! Brilliant and haunting and unforgettable!
GET A COPY! LOVE!
"It felt like the whole world
exhaled really fast like being
punched in the stomach."
"I will not say I remember
because there is a death
in remembering, a ghost
beneath our bed, an empty
cage at the zoo, and I will
not say do you remember
because there is a killing
in that, a knife someone
is putting inside someone else..."
"looking up at a sky that looks like a closet"
"death tucked away in their hands,
their bomber jackets, death in their teeth and ears, wind in their
pockets, when they smile
it's not like when you smile,
their faces stretch out like a police state, their shadows
covering the whole block."
No filler in-between the necessary! Brilliant and haunting and unforgettable!
GET A COPY! LOVE!
September 24, 2023
A lot of this really struck me, having grown up in the same place, and being roughly the same age.
There are definitely a few places and events subtly referred to that pertain to very hyper local and specific lore, and it was interesting to have a few soft memories washed back up on the shore.
It was really kinda like running into someone from middle school who grew up in the same neighborhood as you, 20 years later at a bar (they've def already had a few) - so you were familiar enough, but not asking-about-your-mom familiar, and recounting tales.
I think his editing style isn't exactly my favorite, but will reread soon enough.
There are definitely a few places and events subtly referred to that pertain to very hyper local and specific lore, and it was interesting to have a few soft memories washed back up on the shore.
It was really kinda like running into someone from middle school who grew up in the same neighborhood as you, 20 years later at a bar (they've def already had a few) - so you were familiar enough, but not asking-about-your-mom familiar, and recounting tales.
I think his editing style isn't exactly my favorite, but will reread soon enough.
April 24, 2024
With the title catching my attention, I was expecting something along the lines of wonder but I was left unimpressed. The pieces felt flat and the depth felt unexplored. There was repetition that started getting annoying and left me losing interest. I didn't feel any connection to the poetry and felt like this was a waste of time for me to read but I was able to tick off a prompt on my reading challenge so there's that.
https://annietheinkdrinker.wordpress.com
https://annietheinkdrinker.wordpress.com
November 19, 2017
Matthew Dickman's Wonderland reads almost like flash fiction. His poems tell a story; he writes about family, friends, bullies, parents, girlfriends, confrontations, conversations, fights, play and moods -- all "in the queasy Southeast Portland light." A lovely little encapsulation of growing up on the seedy side of Portland in the 1980's.
January 3, 2022
this was one of the first books that really got me into poetry. i love dickman's style that mostly abandons the prosey "complicated" language that most people think of when they think of poetry. looking back, it doesn't necessarily hold up, but still has a lot of really great poems and is a collection i hold close!
August 3, 2019
My favorite poem was A Very Good Dog. It was bittersweet and echoed some recurring Oedipus motifs throughout the collection. The repetitive poems were compelling. The poems about Caleb were simple, yet terrifying. I noticed he was not mentioned in the afterward.
August 28, 2019
Another accomplished collection full of clever turns, but it not resonate with me. The overuse of anaphora seemed an easy device to herd together non sequiturs and pass it off as innovative and ultra modern. Yawn!
July 24, 2025
loved. such human poems as their delivery does a good job in expressing the unorto/nonlinear ways humans process, cope, and associate. does a good job outlining what makes fuck heads loveable. i loved this book because it felt like i was doing drugs with dickman, not just watching him do them.
March 11, 2018
The epigraphs won me from the first page - from Adrienne Rich, Dead Kennedys, Audre Lorde and Reagan Youth. Not punk but what makes a punk, fully poetry, quietly scary and lovely.
April 19, 2018
Damn, Dickman.
April 21, 2018
As usual, some lines break your heart beautifully.
May 20, 2018
a darker childhood that reads stark and gritty, nearly like fiction. 3.5/5
June 16, 2018
the hour poems oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh
August 16, 2018
3.5 stars
I didn't connect as strongly to this one as I did to Mayakovsky's Revolver, but there is a visceral aspect to some of the narrative poems that got to me.
I didn't connect as strongly to this one as I did to Mayakovsky's Revolver, but there is a visceral aspect to some of the narrative poems that got to me.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 39 reviews