Written, illustrated, and designed by the author, Ruins is an endeavor to address and say goodbye to sources of pain, as well as to a poetic mode (and way of living) rejected for its lack of reality. It is also a book about fatherhood. At its center is Clark's translation of a long poem by Louis Aragon.
I've been after this incredible chapbook for years, ever since Jeff Clark and his wife (the very talented poet Christine Hume) came to speak and give readings at Notre Dame while I was an MFA student there. By pure chance, Jeff Clark's 'Music and Suicides' had been, years and years earlier, the first book of poetry I ever bought. It was strange and lovely to me how this bit of happenstance had come full circle. I was happy to share this little story with Jeff as I had him sign my copy. I was even more happy to hear him read from 'Ruins' -- he and his wife are both stunning readers, very different in their performative styles but genuine and moving.
I fell in love with 'Ruins' that night, and though Jeff had several copies on hand to sell (a bit ahead of actual publication, shh) I was sad and frustrated to be without the money to grab it up at the time. Luckily several copies from Turtle Point Press are still available and I grabbed one up quickly. Jeff's reputation as a book designer is apparent in the physicality of it -- one of the only hardback chapbooks I think I've ever seen -- the poems bookended by stark black-and-white photos, and the chapbook also contains a translation of Louis Aragon's poem 'Poem to Cry in Ruins'.
The work here is genuine and incredible, sparse personal poems that are deeply charged with remembering and nostalgia, loneliness and anger. Nearly every poem is looking to the past with a refusal to let go and frustration with the self that keeps refusing. Memory is a constant pull throughout, centered often on a grotesque and sad father figure that the speaker dwells on heavily with a mix of contempt and longing that speaks to the hold that the father still has, despite the intensely unpleasant portrait offered.
This small book is dark and thunderous, ironically doing the most work in its more quiet moments, where the storms of the past and present both remain as echoes and ringing in the ears. There's such raw and rigorous longing for connection in the present and lamentations of the broken past that every line stings and reaches out and goes numb and starts again. The cohesion of all these effects is haunting, and leaves a surprisingly large impact for such a small book. If you can still find a copy floating about, buy it immediately.
'Refuse Disciples'
You eat well and transcribe You shit quickly in the morning You only slander in self-defense You manufacture affection You get up, shower, and check your messages You network, correspond, advance You write preening, disposable statements You wash come off quickly You drink bottled water and monitor headlines You check your money and messages In sorrow you’re seductive, in catastrophe a fascist You think precisely what you’ve read
What would appear to be poet/book designer extraordinaire Jeff Clark's Music and Suicide], (The Little Door Slides Back) last book is a stunning collection of sparse poems about his father's death, a translation of Louis Aragon's poem "A Poem To Cry In the Ruins" (hence, probably, the title), and a fare thee well to literary enthusiasts ("Refuse Disciples). Clark still has the ability to deliver that simmering crackle of decadent thermal heat in these poems: "(Now I find love in others/doves, daughters, lovers/I feel you every day/fury at what you could not love/or take care of/i'll meet you in heaven where I won't live but will visit for its wine/and warm winters"--"Remains". Though Clark may (or may not?) be giving up poetry, I suspect that his readership will grow very large in the coming years. Great stuff--the illustrations remind me of the artist Banks Violette.
Jeff Clark's "under the radar" book. Written, designed, and illustrated with his photos...this isn't The Little Door or Music and Suicide...it's RUINS!