it was today

by Andrei Codrescu

In praise of Andrei Codrescu’s poetry, Harper’s says “his command of language is superb, his writing beautifully original, and his insights piercing.” Part genius, part tongue-in-cheek provocateur, Codrescu is an audacious and passionate poet whose new work is the perfect tonic for America’s political, literary, and cultural hangovers. The heart of Codrescu’s first new collection in nearly a decade is a beautiful conceit containing the “recently discovered” correspondence between a warrior and a courtesan in fourteenth-century China. The rest of it was today contains poems about modern life and millennial malaise that are both unsparing and intimate, inventive and playful.

Genres: Poetry

144 pages, Paperback

First published September 1, 2003

About the author

Andrei Codrescu is a poet, novelist, essayist, and NPR commentator. His many books include Whatever Gets You through the Night, The Postmodern Dada Guide, and The Poetry Lesson. He was Mac Curdy Distinguished Professor of English at Louisiana State University from 1984 until his retirement in 2009.

Reviews

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 3 out of 5]

among so many ends
terminals
finals
it's a wonder we don't end
every minute
the miracle is that we continue
among the detritus of the ends
of others
to carry on
fueled by curiosity
tattered passion
all sorts of small patched engines
the seas are rough yes
our craft leaks
but we will gain rhodes yet

- we live, pg. 2

* * *

bad weather all over europe
strange dreams
fascists win in russia

poetry is foremost the desire for poetry

- haiku + one, pg. 12

* * *

is with those
who see without
plainly their
selves property
miniaturized
but my heart skips
a beat when one
of them takes off
leaving the facts
to themselves
only the flame visible
the deeper chords
touched insouciantly

- my sympathy, pg. 28

* * *

so poetry
aha they go
I write it
I want to publish it
I am the new flock
I have been taught
in school by many
renowned poets
all of them great
mediocrities & now
I want to put my self-
consciousness to use
by you so you can
recommend me for prizes
grants fame & then maybe
you can call my mom
& say yes he made some-
thing of himself he's a poet
& then if you publish a big
book of poems I'll read
one or two & give you my
begrudging approval in the name
of the new flock even though
we are lost & nobody cares
if we live or we die & our
web sites go unlogged on
maybe they need more sex
the sex we are not having
much of because your fucking
generation had it all plus
egos to match & we hate you
even those two poems I didn't
quite finish from your big new
book books are dead don't
you know it

- to a young poet, pg. 32-33

* * *

if you meet a mountain lion
on the enchanted mesa path
look like Ted Berrigan big
say funny things flap your
arms and the lion will laugh
and go away or failing that
stand up and fight
it's different with bears
with them you roll yourself
in a ball and roll away down
the mountain more like let's
say e.e. cummings or Aesop

- morning hike, pg. 40

* * *

under the stars
all they want is to be kissed
and when life takes a detour
and they go slumming
the irritation is greater
than the adventure
peace and quiet more important
you could always buy a piece
out there they give traffic tickets

- soaking in rich people's tubs, pg. 53

* * *

before the law takes effect
the ex-dreamer
wipes out the lab
with a cup o' java
the turks the turks
they are the only hope
they and the books
about them but he greats
from former yugoslavia
who wait on the shalves
we are books the people
in us are savages now
take shelter the monk said
in the shadow of the pen
they are coming for your head
in minutes

- every morning, pg. 94

* * *

guy on tv
tells Katie Couric
he'll name his
three-month-old
after any company
willing to buy
them a house
his last name is Black
Crack Black?
asks Katie
IMB Black?
Xerox Black?
She goes on
he protests
we will be very
very careful
but we have
to have the American
Dream don't we

What company
Laura asks will
risk the publicity?
It's worth less
than a sandwich-man
I say but I can
already see
that little Black
is the first of an army
of genetically engineered
logo kids
who when asked
what's it like to look
like McDonald's arches
will say
In the Beginning
Was Black

- the american dream, pg. 104-105

* * *

9/11, I can barely remember you, they've buries you in so much hype!
9/11, I wept when you were first on television! I wept for New York, for the dead, for all of us, for myself, for the world!
9/11, I was sure that the world had changed forever because bad guys wanted America dead & hated us because we listen to rock 'n' roll and wear no miniskirts on our naked faces!
9/11, I cheered when our warplanes ripped through the skies of Afghanistan scorching the caves where our enemies burrowed & I marveled at our precision-guided bombs trying to ignore their occasionally murderous imprecision!
9/11, I sat mesmerized in front of Fox News and CNN as the gargoyled faces of the Cold War began crawling out of the musty cellars of history and, eyes unaccustomed to light blinking, began to spout the doctrines of Total War!
9/11, I started to feel sorry for you when retired generals, admirals, spies, loonies, and fakes brushed off their swords and rushed to your defense! So many double chins! So many watering eyes! So many dentured grins and brush haircuts! So many double-bottom suitcases clutched in so many pimp-ringed hands! They even brought Ollie North from felonious disgrace to stand up for you with his Constitution-overthrowing boyish old looks!
9/11, I felt bad for you when the Lefties crowded you from the other side with the guilt-filled jaws of "I told you so," and their eternal excuses for the wretched exotics of the world whose suffering they experience in their marble-topped kitchens between arguments about what wine to serve with the wild rice! And I wept for you again when soured professors who missed the collapse of commie facism in 1989 descended on you like rabid wolverines led by Noam Chomsky whose teethmarks are all over the zero ground of American academia!
9/11, you saved the paranoids from self-cannibalism!
9/11, you were a boom to advertisers and publicists and flag-manufacturers, and they sold you with cars and pizzas and they drained you of your raw primal power even as they pretended to grieve for you! Zero down payment until Doomsday!
9/11, you were a godsend to poetasters who were out of the gate lamenting and whining before your towers even gave out!
9/11, your dead and your heroes are covered by thick layers of ash & greed & the Republic owed you an apology
9/11, I close my eyes and recall you in all your gory glory & I still hate those who did this to us and to our greatest city
9/11, I can barely remember you & I'm sorry

- 9/11, with Allen Ginsberg in mind, pg. 142-143

[Billy · Rating 5 out of 5]

awesomeness of numbers
fooled me my whole life
their significance it turns
out turns you out no matter
how familiar they manage
to look they are not they
are agents of time we
invented them to banish
amorphous chaos not
realizing that in that chaos
lay the rich amorphs
of eternity and gushy
edenstuff & now numbers
we got & they tantalize us
with their near nakedness

so poetry
aha they go
I write it
I want to publish it
I am the new flock
I have been taught
in school by many
renowned poets
all of them great
mediocrities & now
I want to put my self-
conciousness to use
by you so you can
recommend me for prizes
grants fame & then maybe
you can call my mom
& say yes he made some-
thing of himself he's a poet
& then if you publish a big
book of poems I'll read
one or two & give you my
begrudging approval in the name
of the new flock even though
we are lost & nobody cares
if we live or we die & our
web sites go unlogged on
maybe they need more sex
the sex we are not having
much of because your fucking
generation had it all plus
egos to match & we hate you
even those two poems I didn't
quite finish from your big new
book books are dead don't
you know it

[Leonard · Rating 4 out of 5]

In any collection of Codrescu's work you will find a variety of poems, some which hit the nail on the head and others that, in my opinion, are less successful. But the books are still very worthwhile reading.

Reread June, 2023 Some of Andrei Codrescu's poems remind me of Charles Simic, but most remind me of Andrei Codrescu, because no one writes poetry like Codrescu does. His work is original, sometimes a bit outlandish, but always interesting. It takes you to places you've never been before. I remember his comments on National Public Radio. There was nothing like it on radio before or since. Glad I read this one! Now looking for my next work by Codrescu.

[Neil · Rating 3 out of 5]

I like Codrescu's essays better than his poetry or fiction. That said, this was OK, a mix of good stuff, true to Codrescu's wacky form, and not-so-good stuff, which I would say falls under the classification I call "old man poems": the period in life when a writer who's starting to show his age confuses his rather icky old man desires with an avant-garde frankness (or more to the point, something that other people want to read about.) But the good to ick ratio is still pretty high. If you like jaunty, rambling poems with quirky observations, this is worth your time.