Winner of the 2017 Anhinga Robert Dana Prize, selected by Eduardo C. Corral,
Arsonist is a shape-shifter of a book, a book that leaves the reader with an existential 'shivering', yet, it is on fire. Loaded with lethal chemicals, like, let us say, desire, abandonment, separation and industrialized lives without homelands, burning in their brutal severance, Arsonist is a spilling and boiling caldron of zig-zag figures, of wild colors split from their root, 'a son's desperate attempt to / clear the air' — of things that long to congeal, yet, they smash into blanks, smoke and the questions of forgiveness and birth. Here, a relentless, piercing clarity, a precious text without trappings, an examination of loss and love. I salute Zihuatanejo for this blistering beauty among the ashes.
Joaquín Zihuatanejo is a poet, spoken word artist, and award-winning teacher. Born and raised in the barrio of East Dallas, in his work Joaquín strives to capture the duality of the Chicano culture. Sometimes brutal, but always honest his work depicts the essence of barrio life, writing about a youth that existed somewhere between the streets of the barrio and the dream wanderings of a boy who found refuge in a world of stories and poems.
There are a few genres that I don't really review so this will be a reminder that I don't really review poetry books. Poetry is emotional so you either like it or loathe it. These poems I found sad. The poems are about the loss of a father and the aftermath that follows. The anniversary of my dad's passing is in January so these poems hit hard.
I saw Joaquin read in a group of IAIA alumn at a writing conference in Tempe, Arizona. He read well, and I was able to pick up a copy of his book after. My favorites were Archetypes, Nahui Ocelotl, For Your Damn Love, and On A Bed That Was Not Ours--the most prose-like of his poems, which I think says more about my taste in poetry than their relative quality within the collection.