I've been reading Shipley's books for nearly a decade at this point and he just keeps getting better and better. His last few books, Stratagem of the Corpse, Terminal Park, and now this wonderfully strange collection of poems, are his best yet. A truly inspiring and original writer in a class entirely his own.
"Reality is a bird flying upside down to the moon, and finding its nest instead."
I've tried to read Gary J. Shipley before and I DNFed the book. I was going to abandon this author, but I was told to try again.
I picked up these poems, as Shipley is known and praised for his words.
Turns out I liked them! I had a better connection with those than I did with the previous book. The opening lines are real punchlines that immediately grab your attention.
The ending sentence to each of these half page or so prose poems is like the sonic boom your body makes after hitting the bottom of the dark void Shipley has hurled you into from the starting words, the starts of which launch from some unknown horizon, far past the invisible line of reconcilable damage the span of humanity has inflicted. Big recommend!
Did you read this book? Did you read about yourself reading this book? Did you read about yourself reading about yourself reading this book? Did you quit crack cold turkey but also take up meth while reading this book? Did you take it in the bathroom and use the pages as TP while reading this book? Did you quote passages to your child while reading this book? Did you get in a Twitter fight with Blake Butler while reading this book?
Bright Stupid Confetti are if Cioran was much more abstract and chaotic and stuck with buckets of prose poetry vs aphorisms.
Almost every page has something clever or funny to read or say out loud.
One example:
VISIONS
The blind shall have light inside their eyes, and will not miss the other source. Blindness is horrifying, because nobody has anywhere else to live. I have many sentences built from this miracle, and I get to feel them when I like. Alternatively, an anesthetic for living isn't supposed to replace the living, but the difference remains unclear. His pulse, he said, was one of a list of similarly subtle impairments. As a visual artist with only partial sight, he aestheticized his depictive anomalies. When the last thing left to decide is whether to blindfold or not, demand both.
"All my organs were transplanted from the same donor: a small boy who deserved better than this. And even if he didn't, a man my age is no kind of home."
With poetry, abstraction usually needs to be earned. You can't go telling all over the place without some showing. I guess. Shipley and his paragraph-poems are not respectful of this dictum. But that's ok, there's enough here to hold onto even if some of it is thick as a ghost.
When I was a small boy, and was told of the existence of the eternal soul, I imagined a ball of light forcing itself out of the mouth of each new cadaver. Pop! But sometimes with teethmarks because some souls are thiccc.
Shipley is, like me, fascinated by our fractured realities where climate change can't be real because "Na na na na I can't hear you!" Good poems for those of you who feel like straight up spiritual garbage.