So I have a confession to make -- I've been playing with ChatGPT. And I've been asking it to recommend books to me. This is in part because Google search has become useless. The Google AI offering (Gemini) is offensively stupid. And a regular Google search gives you an AI summary, 5 promoted links, and then a selection of garbage websites that have gamed the search engine into showing them first.
I also like think I like poetry. But the truth it I despise 98% of all poetry. I love Richard Brautigan (and have read everything). I enjoyed Bukowski (until I turned 30 and realized he's kind of dumb).
It was ChatGPT that figured out, "Oh, you'd love James Tate. Try that. You should read Mary Ruefle. You'd love her."
And I really enjoy both. It did point me to some real stinkers too, but ChatGPT has got me reading poetry after years of saying I hate poetry.
And ChatGPT introduced me to Sam Pink. Here's how that happened.
I went to the Ottawa Public Library and looked at the poetry section and hated everything. I turned to ChatGPT and said, "I want stupid, vulgar, blank verse poetry that is childish but meant for adults."
ChatGPT said, no problem. And on the list of books it suggested was "I Am Going To Clone Myself Then Kill The Clone And Eat It" by Sam Pink. The title alone hooked me. So I went looking for the book and could not find it anywhere. What the hell, ChatGPT?
Don't worry, it said. There are selections of it compiled in the book "Early Stuff".
So I found the book online and ordered a copy.
The book is 451 pages. It contains some of 4 books by Pink compiled into one. And I am guessing that Sam Pink called this "Early Stuff" because he knows some of it is not great. I say that because I am 55, and I remember writing in my 20s, and I thought everything I wrote was brilliant and needed to be shared. And I was wrong. Much of our twenties, I would argue, we are mentally ill dingbats.
Much of Pink's works are repetitive, silly, selfcentred, and a chore to read. This may be one of those books where only a fool would open it on page one and start reading all the way to page 451. I am that fool. There is great stuff in here. But if Sam Pink was making a film, my question would be, "Did you leave anything on the editing room floor? Or is every second of footage you shot in this thing?"
There are 100 poems where I'd argue maybe 10 of them would get the point across and do just as well. That said, I'm glad I read all the way to the end, because the last section of "stories" (or prose poems, or whatever you want to call them) were some of the best pieces of the book.
Usually, when I finish a book, I put it in the free lending library in my neighbourhood and it's gone. I'm going to keep Sam Pink's book. It's interesting. Yes, a lot of it is bad, but it's the kind of bad I can appreciate because there's a sense that Pink knows it's bad and that's the point and he doesn't give a shit because it's fun and it's funny and it's vulgar and silly. It's bad in the same way Basquiat is bad. (And I adore Basquiat.) Primitive, silly, vulgar, funny, dumb.
I have yet to come across later works by Same Pink but would definitely be interested in reading more.
Three stars seems cruel, but four stars seems too generous. It's a mixed bag of stuff and some things in the bag are great.
After writing this review, I ordered more from Sam Pink.