See Jack

by Russell Edson

Edson began publishing poetry in the 1960s. He has been called “the godfather of prose poems in America” by Booklist’s Ray Olson.

Edson has been quoted as saying “Prose comes so naturally that one doesn’t really have to choose it, it’s already in one’s mouth”.

Genres: Poetry

68 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2009

About the author

Russell Edson (December 12, 1928 – April 29, 2014) was an American poet, novelist, writer, and illustrator. He was the son of the cartoonist-screenwriter Gus Edson.

He studied art early in life and attended the Art Students League as a teenager. He began publishing poetry in the 1960s. His honors as a poet include a Guggenheim fellowship, a Whiting Award, and several fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Russell Edson was born in Connecticut in 1935 and lived there with his wife Frances. Edson, who jokingly has called himself "Little Mr. Prose Poem," is inarguably the foremost writer of prose poetry in America, having written exclusively in that form before it became fashionable. In a forthcoming study of the American prose poem, Michel Delville suggests that one of Edson's typical "recipes" for his prose poems involves a modern everyman who suddenly tumbles into an alternative reality in which he loses control over himself, sometimes to the point of being irremediably absorbed--both figuratively and literally--by his immediate and, most often, domestic everyday environment. . . . Constantly fusing and confusing the banal and the bizarre, Edson delights in having a seemingly innocuous situation undergo the most unlikely and uncanny metamorphoses. . . .

Reclusive by nature, Edson has still managed to publish eleven books of prose poems and one novel, The Song of Percival Peacock (available from Coffee House Press).

Reviews

[Glenn Russell · Rating 5 out of 5]

Russell Edson (1935-2014) wrote and published his quizzical, surreal, distinctively Russell Edson-like prose poems for nearly fifty years. Reading one of his collections published back in the 50s, 60s, 70s or 80s you might think Russell would run out of ideas for these curious mustachioed eggs, but not so - right through his ripe old age he could, like a farmer’s prize hen, still keep laying his eggs.

And since his prose poems are half-pagers or one-pagers, nothing better than offering a sample for a taste test: below are several of the shortest from this collection, his last published book. Oh, Russell was also an illustrator and artist – Russell did the cover art for See Jack. Here you go:

AFTER THE CONCERT
After the concert the cellist takes his cello home and gets into bed with it.
He knows if his fellow musicians knew what he did at night with a cello old enough to be his great grandmother, they’d report him to the Humane Society.
But they don’t know, he thinks as he falls asleep, his face buried in the cello’s ancient bosom.


THE CONVERSATION
There was a woman whose face was a cow’s milk bag, a pink pouch with four dugs pointing out of it . . .
A man with a little three-legged milking stool comes. She stoops and he begins to milk her face . . .


A MAN WHO WENT FOR A WALK
There was a man who attached a collar and leash to his neck. And, holding the leash in one hand, took himself for a walk, lifting his leg every so often to mark his way.


MYOPIA
He had only one eye. In the other socket was a belly button.
Oh, but not to worry, in his umbilical depression was his other eye fully equipped with eyelid and lashes. It even had tears for sad stories and onions.
But because his belly button, I mean his umbilical eye, was nearsighted, it wore a monocle ground for distant viewing.
He would stand at a window at night letting his belly button, I mean, his umbilical eye, view the moon as it flowed through the monocle into his belly button, I mean, his umbilical eye . . .


PORTRAIT OF A REALIST
There is an old man who pukes metal. Today bedsprings. Yesterday, the iron maiden of Nuremberg.
His wife is more for cloth. Today she pukes used mummy wrappings. Yesterday a teddy bear without a head.

Suddenly the old man pukes a battalion of lead soldiers. He wife upchucks a bundle of soiled diapers.

They have a son who’s also a puker. But, unlike his parents, he pukes real puke . . .


WAITING FOR THE FAT LADY TO SING
It was the longest opera ever written. By the time the fat lady sang most of the audience had died in their seats still holding their programs, the theater full of flies and microbes.
Some began to think that perhaps the opera was a bit long, that maybe the fat lady should start singing a little earlier so the audience might have time to write their wills, and to say goodbye to friends and family.
But the others felt, what better way to die than waiting for the fat lady to sing in the make-believe of theater, where nothing’s real, not the fat lady, nor even death . . .

------

Russell inspired me to write my own prose poems. Keeping with Russell’s themes above, here are a couple I wrote some time ago:


THE TIGHTROPE WALKER
Will the tightrope walker fall? Who can tell? Her torso and legs display an uncanny sense of balance. Nevertheless, there are some significant deterrents. Like the rolling pin she’s holding, the jumbo spheres with geometrical inscriptions squatting next to the net, an, oh yes . . . one end of the tightrope is fastened around her ankle.


THE THROW-UP CLUB
By a stroke of luck, my application for membership was accepted by the throw-up club. As a full-fledged member, I was allowed to join the club’s next meeting way out in the woods.
Once alone in the woods, all the members of the throw-up club could throw-up in peace. Starting in the morning and continuing until late afternoon, members took turns throwing up. After dinner, having that overly full and crapulous feeling, the throw-up club has a sing-along. Some members threw up before the songs, other members threw up after the songs, but all the members, including myself, observed restraint and proper decorum by not once throwing up during the songs.

[Kevin · Rating 4 out of 5]

Jumping into the world of another Russell Edson book can be like joining a circus without being trained. You’re suddenly surrounded by things flying, catching on fire, eating things that shouldn’t be eaten. On second thought, it’s crazier than that. Edson has continually—even in his 70s—morphed bizarre, hilarious, and sometimes disturbing little scenes into prose poems that constantly entertain and provoke. My favorite poem here is possibly "Portrait of a Headache" which is about ummm, doing something to a cow.
If you haven’t read anything by him before, you’re missing out on one of the most influential poets of our time. Overall, I like this collection a lot but I'd still recommend starting with The Tunnel or The Tormented Mirror.

[Dennis]

Rusell Edson is a poet, writer, and even illustrator who has won several awards for his writings. His most recent poetry collection “See Jack” is a provoking but entertaining read that will keep you satisfied. It is a distinctive collection of works that compiles brilliant poetry into a great story. His poetry has style that is like no other and should never be ignored or slept on. It has a great combination of laughter and at some points may even worry you. "Are you that same moment," Edson writes in "The Endless Night," "the one who married time and sired eternity? The one who bored people to death with a usualness like those practical graves of useful holes...?"(29) If you agree with this statement then Edson won’t have anything to do with you.

“See Jack” makes use of several devices that Edson is known for. He uses tropes such as sex and other random topics to lead this compilation of poetry. He also at times reference paintings and Greek tragedies. Much of these poems refer to the memorable murder mystery. The title character Jack was first introduced in the last collection “The Rooster’s Wife” as the one drunken man who was killed. “See Jack” is all about exposing who the murderer may be. To find out who killed Jack is not a simple task. There are several theories that each poem suggests. For instance, in the poem “See Jack” Jane, who is his wife, is mentioned in the last line. There are other theories that Edson throws in to suggest natural causes. For example, in “The Theory of Jack’s Death,” there are lines that imply gravity or Mother Nature being the culprit. There is even times where Jack himself predicts his own death. In “Space Journey,” Jack believes he is the victim of a stabbing by an ice pick.

The mystery behind Jack’s death is indeed a complex situation and may not even be a mystery. Jack’s death could have been of natural causes. For instance, in the last poem “Waiting for the Fat Lady to Sing,” Jack is an audience member watching an entertaining performance, which may suggest that nothing is real. For example, one line states “nothing’s real, not the fat lady, nor even death…” In other words, Jack may already have died and may be sitting in limbo waiting his turn for eternal bliss.

This collection of poetry is very unique and it may not be something that everyone will enjoy. I find work like this fascinating. Keeping the reader involved will influence others including myself to learn how be more creative. I enjoy unique works like this with a twist because, it keeps wondering. I would like to reread the book and solve who killed Jack.

[Alvokun · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is basically the proof that Edson preserved his talent as a prose poet / short storyteller even after having written the bulk of his production in the precedent decades. Not all of the texts included here were actually composed in that exact period of time, but it is anyway a mature work. I would not say this is Edson's best collection as a whole, but there are certainly some very good texts in it. You can notice how perfected his style was at this point.

[Kelly Patton · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have to read this book again so that I can get a true appreciation of it. Probably several times. The stories are all surreal, at times delightful and at other times ominous. It seems to cover the full range of human emotions somehow, although on first reading some of the poems, flash fictions whatever you want to call them, don't make sense. Sense as in logic, sense as in the five senses is something Edson is comfortable with, and I wish I could write like this myself.

[Lake · Rating 3 out of 5]

More like a 3.5/5. Occasionally very funny, often vague and confusing. I didnt necessarily understand or enjoy a good chunk of it but it made me want to read more by him. Very strange overall

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

Russell Edson. Yes.

[Caleb · Rating 5 out of 5]

Edson at his best.

[edmondegreen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Great Book

[Eric · Rating 5 out of 5]

Edson strikes me as someone who developed a healthy love of his own innate creativity young, enough to be great at keeping thoughts others might have over-dismissed, and making them interesting.

[Mark · Rating 5 out of 5]

Liked it more than the Tormented Mirror, but less than The Very Thing That Happens.
Lots of it made me laugh. I liked this part:
"His parents met. His father had sperm and his mother an egg. This is how he got started. Nine months later he was on the outside. After the usual stations of childhood he finally achieved the adult form of his species."

[Dustin Reade · Rating 4 out of 5]

after reading his work in the most recent Bizzaro Starter Kit, I had to read more. I picked this book up because it was cheaper than his others, but after reading it I am convinced it is worth it to spend a little extra for the others, and I hope to soon own every book I can get my hands on by Edson,as his poetry is some of the most original I have read in a Looooooong time.

[Josiah Miller · Rating 5 out of 5]

Although this book isn't as strong as some of his previous collections, there are still those moments of jaw dropping brilliance. Especially The Fallen Maestro, The Man Who Would Think of the Universe, The Prisms of Grief and The Tradition make this worth 5 stars.

[Shaun Gannon · Rating 5 out of 5]

Classic Edson, presenting poems with titles more interesting than I remember from previous books. My only complaint is that it was too short a trip.

[Sarah · Rating 1 out of 5]

The same old bizarre, occasionally obscene, elliptical fairytale stories you'd expect from Edson. Apart from a few rare poignant or genuinely comic moments, nothing new to see here.

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

Hilarious and hard to describe. Poetry?Short prose? Just read and laugh and ponder.

[John · Rating 3 out of 5]

a sadly funny, hilariously morose short book of surreal prose poems. On first reading they seemed amusingly silly. On second reading, I am afraid to close my eyes!

[Cary · Rating 4 out of 5]

Unforgettable.

[Jan Moens · Rating 5 out of 5]

9/10

[ericmkuni · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Fallen Maestro is basically a Marx Bros bit

[Gary McDowell]

March 2009 from Pitt.

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