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Cat Hole
The tattoo / underneath the tattoo / speaks the language I want to learn.” Justin Sirois has always been one of my favorite living poets. “You have / everything you need / when you’re naked”, I trust, I trust ALL his discourse with our throbbing excitement for communion. His poems are our best possible use for ears. If I don’t know you and you LOVE these poems as much as I do, let’s get together to read them out loud over a delicious slice of something. “Lick the window / & your reflection licks back” is a delicious something we all love. It’s important they know to have a copy of this book resting on my heart when they cremate me.
CAConrad
CAConrad
102 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 11, 2014
4 people want to read
About the author
Justin Sirois
36 books81 followersI'm a novelist and game maker. I own Severed Books, based in Baltimore, MD.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
December 28, 2019
Someone, at some point, recommended this book to me. Now there is no trace of who that was. This book seems rather obscure, but it is on my to-read list here, and it is relatively short, so why not?
This collection is peppered with cool insights, like, if you’re the last person on earth, you no longer have a name. Sometimes these poems are very wise and dense, meaning there’s a lot to unpack, and line-to-line it might seem non-linear, but upon a second glance you see the connective strands.
Then other times the lines are disconnected:
“Remember when pretending was more real than dinner & dodgeball? You have everything you need when you’re naked.”
What?
The poem Cat Hole has some really bizarre imagery, and I’m sure a fellow bizarro recommended this at some point. This collection is available on Kindle Unlimited and is worth getting just to read that poem alone.
Cat Hole 2 isn’t bad either. I read it on kindle and the blurbs just melt into the end of the poem, so watch out :)
You can tell this guy knows what he’s doing, or what he’s doing comes naturally. The titles at first frustrated me, and the style took some getting used to, but ultimately it was a decent read altogether. It is worth checking out if you’re exploring the boundaries of poetry.
This collection is peppered with cool insights, like, if you’re the last person on earth, you no longer have a name. Sometimes these poems are very wise and dense, meaning there’s a lot to unpack, and line-to-line it might seem non-linear, but upon a second glance you see the connective strands.
Then other times the lines are disconnected:
“Remember when pretending was more real than dinner & dodgeball? You have everything you need when you’re naked.”
What?
The poem Cat Hole has some really bizarre imagery, and I’m sure a fellow bizarro recommended this at some point. This collection is available on Kindle Unlimited and is worth getting just to read that poem alone.
Cat Hole 2 isn’t bad either. I read it on kindle and the blurbs just melt into the end of the poem, so watch out :)
You can tell this guy knows what he’s doing, or what he’s doing comes naturally. The titles at first frustrated me, and the style took some getting used to, but ultimately it was a decent read altogether. It is worth checking out if you’re exploring the boundaries of poetry.
March 14, 2014
I wrote this weirdness. Here's some blurbs by Mike Young and Dorothea Lasky:
When you realize the new Old Spice ads might be working on you, when you’re trying to split the difference between desk jobs and shoulder licks, when you’re old enough for raunch to go holy but still young enough for GIFs to go infinite—that’s when you know you’re in the LoS of Justin Sirois’s barking and bounding poems. The Heads are singing to the super ugly animals that pace the medians. They are twitching to put back some magic. They are winking that the word “okay” is the most useful word in the room, and they are hoping to be together with you because the only way a head gets a name is when another takes it in.
Mike Young
_______
The poems in The Heads by Justin Sirois make me feel so many things. They are not “temples,” but “squishy” things that “I love to put my face in.” I like it that way. These are poems that are part of life, constantly affirming and reaffirming it. A life that greets you with its magic. As when “What fits in the hand/ grows into armfuls.” Or when you “sex this bathroom until the bathroom ain’t for/ bathing no more.” Everywhere is the “imagery” of life that “repeats in heaps of beauty.” These are also poems that are part of the digital America we live in now and so they make that alternate existence beautiful. I hear echoes of Walt Whitman, Eileen Myles, and Blake Butler in these poems. I hear echoes of old folk songs. Most importantly, I hear the breathing of an indefatigable in these lines. One that is living and listening. Let’s follow it.
Dorothea Lasky
When you realize the new Old Spice ads might be working on you, when you’re trying to split the difference between desk jobs and shoulder licks, when you’re old enough for raunch to go holy but still young enough for GIFs to go infinite—that’s when you know you’re in the LoS of Justin Sirois’s barking and bounding poems. The Heads are singing to the super ugly animals that pace the medians. They are twitching to put back some magic. They are winking that the word “okay” is the most useful word in the room, and they are hoping to be together with you because the only way a head gets a name is when another takes it in.
Mike Young
_______
The poems in The Heads by Justin Sirois make me feel so many things. They are not “temples,” but “squishy” things that “I love to put my face in.” I like it that way. These are poems that are part of life, constantly affirming and reaffirming it. A life that greets you with its magic. As when “What fits in the hand/ grows into armfuls.” Or when you “sex this bathroom until the bathroom ain’t for/ bathing no more.” Everywhere is the “imagery” of life that “repeats in heaps of beauty.” These are also poems that are part of the digital America we live in now and so they make that alternate existence beautiful. I hear echoes of Walt Whitman, Eileen Myles, and Blake Butler in these poems. I hear echoes of old folk songs. Most importantly, I hear the breathing of an indefatigable in these lines. One that is living and listening. Let’s follow it.
Dorothea Lasky
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews