Standing in Line for the Beast

by Jason Bredle

Poetry. Winner of the 2006 New Issues Poetry Prize. "Reading STANDING IN LINE FOR THE BEAST is like eating a rich, complex dessert, where hints of acidity and underlying bitterness make the sweetness rare and delightful"--Richard Cecil.

Genres: Poetry

84 pages, Paperback

First published March 1, 2007

Reviews

[Nick Carassanesi · Rating 2 out of 5]

Standing in line for the Beast Annotation

“Standing in Line for the Beast” by Jason Bredle is, rather than any kind of unified narrative, a compilation volume of poetry, in which every poem featured shares a highly distinctive tell-tale style. The poems occur as typically long and arrhythmic steams of consciousness which rapidly segue from one topic to the next. They do not rely on rhyme, nor do they heavily feature lyrical meter as the most prominent component of their structure. Instead, there is something seemingly personal about the almost rambling style adopted by Bredle. The experience of reading this volume can be compared, on the whole, to the experience of

The miniaturized narratives within each poem carry an aura of normalcy to them that is bellied by their juxtaposed surreal nature. By and in large, they tend to deal with realistic situations and life considerations at any one point, yet, when placed adjacent to one another in the same poem, they create a tapestry resembling the experience of a fever dream: real elements attached without context to create a tissue of the strange.

One could take, for example, the poem “Anarchy.” The poem begins, on page 15, “In a world where kids call bad pizzas circles of death and Saturday afternoons engaged in games of Earthball so violently competitive one could safely label them quasi-erotic, you better believe you’ll see some hot-shot teenager gallivanting around in shorts during what local television news casts will have christened Winter Blast Xtreme…” and continues on in a massive run-on sentence for some distance. Here one can see a mundane image of youth recreation in a small local down distorted by terms such as “Earthball” and the unusual designation of heavy competition as “quasi-erotic.” As the sentence continues to describe the nature of this small town, it offers the extremely specific scenario of a crow driving a truck through a Wal-Mart parking lot waving a confederate flag, likewise, on page 15. It is a believably realistic situation, but stated with such intense specificity as if it were fact. The trailing dialogue and the characterization of the town by such a narrow exemplification lends to the work its surreal quality.

The pervasive dreamlike sense of the unreal is further emphasized across the volume by its common abrupt transitions, an extremely strong example of which can be found in the following poem, “Subtitled.” It begins, on page 19 “Attention: Last Week I witnessed two people being condemned to Hell, subtitled Where does one find the ability to deal with things rationally? For instance, three days ago I was stuck in traffic on 1-94 behind both a wiener truck and a couple in an Oldsmobile who wouldn’t stop making out, subtitled Crossing the state line, subtitled a room with a spinning mirror.” Each of these thoughts is individually coherent, but the jumps between them are extremely abrupt, marked only by the word “subtitled” and no traditional punctuation. This flowing character to the verse emphasizes the disparity between these ideas.

Amidst these continuous transitions and strange and electric patchwork of real world imagery. Several common themes can be commonly found. One that seems to appear more commonly than others is the theme of travel. On page 19, there is, for example, an allusion to spending time on “I-94,” and this is hardly the only moment in which the volume exposits on the omnipresence of highways. On page 61, for example, in the poem “The Year of Living Regrettably,” it is recounted “you saw too much of I-70 after midnight and highway 46 after three.” The overall lost feeling of the poetic compilation is enhanced by the common imagery of perpetual travel and continuous rootlessness.

One of the other most common themes of these poems is the presence of awkward and dysfunctional relationships and regretful lust. On page 65, the verse recounts “It’s like your 28 year old neighbor who apparently enjoys walking around her kitchen in the nude fresh out of the shower-it makes you feel good, but weird, like you may have evolved into some kind of peeping tom (I’m talking about you, Tom Piepmeyer).” On an earlier occasion, on page 51, there is, for example, “the Fourth of July you spent in love with a woman who didn’t love you.” Together, creating an atmosphere of grasping futile for romantic and sexual gratification.

The overall feeling created by the recurrence of these themes, combined with the surreal transitions between mundane elements is a feeling of relatable futility. Every day images and elements bombard the readers aggressively, hitting them over the head one after the other with one scenario that they might be familiar with, may have experienced, or may have heard about firsthand. Just as quickly, they are struck by a scenario that they may not have ever experienced, or perhaps which nobody has, due to being grounded in some supernatural element like Hell or werewolves. In one sense, the reader never has the chance to fully disassociate from what they are reading due to the relatable mundanity which they continuously perceive, but at the same time, the continuously find themselves alienated by the ongoing occurrence of rapid transitions and the seamless insertion of more outlandish or unrelatable scenarios.

Overall, I would say that, while the theming and construction of the poems contained within this volume are intriguing and innovative, the word overall can be a bit of a difficult struggle to consume in its entirety. The poems tend to drag on at length, and there are essentially no tasteful divides placed within the verse in order to allow the mind to pause and process what themes and devices it has just consumed. Instead, one will read continuously through several pages of rapid transitions and, ultimately, find one’s self exhausted and feeling unable to totally take in what they had just read. The strange juxtapositions of mundane and unusual holds a great deal of promise, but this execution makes the work overall difficult enough in a less-than-meaningful way that I hesitate to recommend it to others.

[Blake Carrera · Rating 5 out of 5]

Reading Jason Bredle is like sitting in for drinks with Bukowski, the Beats, and the Brat Pack writers of the 1980s. The blunt sexuality, drinking, and drug abuse comes to the forefront, as does a certain bitterness and pessimism towards life. It's a book in which we can see a young poet trying to come of age and, while there are faults, it is an incredibly impressive debut.

At first glance, the lyricism of this book is hidden. The language is blunt and conversational. The poem "Subtitled" is an excellent example of this. Bredle writes, "For instance, three days ago I was stuck in traffic for two and a half hours on I-94 behind both a wiener truck and a couple in an Oldsmobile who would n't stop making out, subtitled Crossing a state line, subtitled A room with a spinning mirror." He thrives on observational writing such as this, while also delving into the personal and the chaotic aspects of psychology. The final poem of the book, "You Won't Believe What's Happening in Hamtramck," is a meditation on love and loss, one that reeks of autobiographical information. It's ending is comprised of perhaps the most beautiful line in the book: "And when I almost died in Iowa, even though it was three in the morning, even though I was alongside my best friend, even though Townes Van Zandt was signing on the radio, I was thinking of you for that one, white second I believed my life was over." Reading this, I found myself lulled into the language. The internal examination written on the page becomes a conversation of confessions, one where Bredle can evoke powerful memories and imagery while also straying from any kind of sappiness.

Despite my love for this book, there are certain problems that display Bredle's relative lack of maturity as a poet. In "My Speech at a Local Campaign Rally," Bredle talks about voting for a Republican because he lives near his girlfriend and because Bredle enjoys speeding past his house. In "Readings" Bredle manages to diss both Rick Moody and the reading style of Michael Ondaatje. Ruminations on sexuality are also an issue. "Summer" begins with Bredle writing, "If you ever eat too many enchiladas, don't go over to your ex-girlfriend's apartment immediately afterwards, rip off your pants and have sex with her, because unbelievable cramps will be the least of your problems." This in particular was very reminiscent of Bukowski, as was the poem "No Story, Just a Comment on Some of Anne's Poems," where he describes her poems as derivative. As for this poem, however, Bredle is still self-aware, which is one of his best qualities, one that works towards a redemption for his immaturity. Though he states that she needs to realize "that not every story should be told," he then goes on to show an example of something from his own life that shouldn't be told.

Ultimately, the self-awareness is how Bredle shows both his maturity and immaturity. He is well-aware of his flaws and his limitations - his lyricism is not traditional because it is based off of honesty and simple language. Overall, I think that's what makes this book as good as it is. It's a documentation of a young poet and a documentation of the ridiculous events in seemingly mundane lives. Despite the immaturity that is ever-present (Bredle seems to be saying that these poems are true to life if at least exaggerated), this is still one of my favorite books of modern poetry and I'd recommend it to almost anyone if they have an open mind for what poetry looks like and sounds like.

[Mia Aguilera · Rating 2 out of 5]

Annotations

I prefer poems that are open, that have space, that let you breathe. Bredle's poems in this collection are all made of one long stanza. Along with this, periods are sparse which creates a lot of momentum, so that by the time I got near the end I could not remember the beginning because I had been carried so far. It is a lot of and then, and then, and then... Anaphora is used throughout the collection.

With a lot of these poems I found my mind wandering because they weren't pulling me in, I had to shake myself out of my reverie and go back and reread. This didn't happen with my favorite poem, "Werewolves," because the references, such as Footloose, made it more enjoyable since I have watched the movie and know how ridiculous it is. It also reminded me of my dreams which are full of specificity and detail and move very quickly from one thing to another. In "Werewolves" the speaker goes from imagining killing a man, to being the wolf in a bathroom, to hiding out in a barn, to being killed in the forest, to speculating who Martin Sheen would play in the TV movie, to comparing it to Footloose, to deciding on Rob Lowe as the actor who plays this wolf man. I thought this chain was pretty funny. Also the jai alai reference made me laugh since this sport is very Spanish and why would anyone be playing it in a small American town. Funny poems are hard to get right, but I got to admit, this one did it for me.

I suppose having recurring characters is unusual for poetry collections, so I found this interesting. I tried reading the poems with the name "Sarah" as standalone pieces and it did feel a bit as if the speaker was mentioning someone's name as if we knew who they were while knowing we do not, but I think this invites speculation on the type of relationships going on in the poem, which I enjoy. In "My Speech at a Local Campaign Rally" Sarah is mentioned at the beginning, given no title or context, and this feels random but I asked myself: Who is this person? How do they know the speaker?

"Frida Kahlo" immediately caught my eye because when I was young my mom had a book full of Frida Kahlo's portraits. Her life story is unique and I don't know why I thought Bredle would write about her life (a small part of her life) in a way that wasn't absurd. I think I understand Kahlo's artwork more than I do Bredle's poetry because I don't know what I am supposed to feel other than frustration at not being able to yell at the speaker that her painting "The Wounded Deer" is using symbolism, a hunter is not going to find a deer with her head on it. The speaker in this poem forces interest onto the reader, saying "You're just dying to know what insights / I have about Frida Kahlo," (45). Sarcastic, maybe? Insecure? If the speaker senses I am not interested in whatever his poem has to say he is right.

I am not great at deconstructing/evaluating/critiquing poetry, so these thoughts on Bredle's collection are not good.

[Jamie Shrewsbury · Rating 5 out of 5]

Standing in Line for the Beast defies poetry conventions regarding content, and I could not have loved it more. It seems as though poetry has an almost unwritten rule to be about something beautiful or tragic with abstract and impossible metaphorical images with flowery language. Jason Bredle doesn't care about any of that. Most of his poetry comes off as prose with strategic line breaks, like the poem Anarchy and Girls, Look Out for Todd Bernstein. He's not afraid to use a plethora of pop culture references. He seems to even make fun of poetry that takes itself too seriously:

He's seen your stuff and it's nothing more
than mediocre lyric poetry with titles
like "The Falling" and "Crucible" and "Walking to Death"
that force impossible metaphors, despairing
about love and womanhood and how bad
your life is...

I don't think I've ever seen the internet abbreviation "WTF" in a poem, but we get it in When Disater Strikes 4. What I love about this collection is that it's relatable without requiring much work from the reader, but it's also satisfying to notice the way he plays with traditional techniques, like line breaks, anaphoras, wraparound titles, and how none of the poems are broken up into stanzas, they're just one long stanza. The lines are mostly long ones, causing one to read through them very fast. Each poem tells a different and interesting story - a horse, a town, a douchebag, personal summer adventures. None of his writing comes off as pretentious in the least.

I have to mention the cover, which sets the tone for the book: a small cup of ketchup with french fries that form a structure. I could be wrong, but my interpretation is that it is trying to imitate a Japanese Torii. I think this says a lot about the structure of the book: It looks like poetry. It smells like poetry. It doesn't read anything like poetry, though. I don't want to call it an imitation, though: It's simply a new take on traditional poetic content.

[Mark Alvarez · Rating 3 out of 5]

When I did my undergrad, an English professor named Tom Forster introduced me to avant-pop literature, specifically Fiction Collective 2 and Mark Leyner. This is revelent because Bredle's poems at their best read like toned-down versions of Leyner's early short stories, which juxtaposed seemingly unrelated images in absurdist ways.

This is also relevant because Bredle did his undergrad at the same place as me, at the same time as me, so I wonder if Tom Foster also introduced him to avant-pop, FC2 and Mark Leyner's short stories.

The typical poem in this collection is a series of clauses, fun images, often wound around a word or short phrase acting not even like a leitmotif, but as the first beat in a measure. Some of his poems read like early avant-pop, where writers are performing the blurring of boundaries between popular and elite culture more than actually blurring them.

I have two biases going into this work that I will freely admit: I'm not the hugest fan of poetry, so that brings the score down. I went to college in Bloomington and my family is from Indiana -- a state that he constantly references -- so that brings the score up.

The one thing that really works for me here, and I don't know if the poems were like this or if this structure was added in revision, but, even though each poem seems like it's about some seemingly random, quasi-kitschy thing, overall they tell the story of his failed relationship/s. Interspersed inside these Warholian reveries he tells the story of Sarah, of the boyfriend of a girlfriend, of a girlfriend having to choose between him and another man. This is structurally really compelling: it adds emotional depth to otherwise surfacy poems (having done his MFA at Michigan, I am sure this was the point), but also creates a narrative arc that is interesting from a purely voyeuristic standpoint.

[Weldon Ryckman · Rating 3 out of 5]

Maybe it's because he's from the Midwest and suburban and white and a male, which I am, too, but I feel odd ambivalence while reading Bredle's poems. I don't like calling them poems, though, because I don't feel like I understand poetry, and I feel like I understand these quite well. Still, that could be tied back to the shared demographic.

Jason Bredle seems like the kind of guy who would say, without any context, 'there are people out there who believe in God.'

In the beginning of the book, Bredle quotes one of Jack Handey's aphorisms, which I couldn't forget while reading Bredle's poems, as they feel informed by Handey's cute nihilism.

Bredle's poems are generally longish, narrative pieces, relating experiences more than images or feelings.

Each, or at least many, of the poems seems to have a 'thing,' that signature word or phrase that Bredle returns to and uses as the poem's skeleton. In a poem like "Parasol," it creates a fun and loopy ride, while in the preceding "Subtitled," it becomes obnoxious, feeling more like a nervous tic, or, maybe more charitably, like Bredle's attempt to create a dialect or accent not unlike the Philly John or that episode of Spongebob where the people in Rock Bottom make raspberry sounds between words.

In "Bridgeton," Bredle addresses his insecurity that he has nothing to say, capable only of making the odd observational quip (a la Handey) or slamming his enemies. That insecurity is felt throughout, I think, although I also sense a deep and desperate need to communicate something true, which, juxtaposed alongside the insecurity, forms Bredle's (and one other long-winded midwestern boy's) uhhhhh existence (?): I desperately need to say something meaningful and find meaning, but what if I can't?

[C · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a tough one for me to rate.

When I connect with a Bredle poem, when one of these hits, it really *hits.* But so many of the poems leave me ambivalent (even bored at moments...)

Bredle writes in a conversational tone and at an "easy" vocabulary level. But he writes in a breathless run-on sentence sort of way in longer poems that can propel you through them at a crazy pace or leave you feeling a bit muddled. Humor in modern American poetry is not prevalent and I applaud that Bredle does try to inject levity into his verse (and when it works, he can be quite funny). That said, the sentence structure and style can make it sound closer to stand-up than to poetry from time to time.

When his poetry really works for me is when he walks the line between self-effacing humor and more naked moments of emotion . (The opening poem of the collection offers this and made me feel like I was in for a real treat.) He too often retreats, though, and I feel like he has thrown up a curtain between himself and the reader.

In ways, he comes across similar in voice and style to many of the small press writers in the 90s who were using Bukowski as a baseline for a new poetics (to varying levels of success and failure). Todd Colby, for instance... A lot of the Poemphone poets (does anyone remember Poemphone?). It's a tone that is similar to me.

He's a good writer. And I respect that he is trying something different, a style you don't see much these days. But I had very mixed feelings in the end. That said, I would absolutely seek out more of his work. The poems that I liked here knocked me on my butt in the best way.

[Addyson Santese · Rating 3 out of 5]

If you've ever been a breakup that made you feel as though the world was ending, then this collection of poetry is probably for you. Bredle's work touches at common emotions, told through a drift of bizarre and (for the most part) unconnected imagery, like werewolves eating pompous literature lovers and horses that skip through dimensions and time.

While Bredel's comedy lies in his distinct ability to conjure up wonderfully absurd characters and situations, the circularity of his poems becomes a bit mind-numbing. They typically start off with something concrete and then devolve into a longwinded blur of confusion, ending in some remark that seems like it would have been significant in the context of a different poem. The repetitive syntactical style is great for the first few poems and then you begin to wonder if this is the only form Bredle knows how to write or if it's a stylistic choice. Either way, the result is that you feel as though you'r reading the same poem thirty times, waiting for the inevitable mention of his ex girlfriend to come up.

If read in smaller doses this collection could be wonderfully quirky and whimsical with a tinge of sour sadness, but when read all at once the whimsy gives way to a whole lot of angst.

[Janna Patterson · Rating 4 out of 5]

Usually, approaching a book of poetry requires a bit of mental preparation on my part. After I put on my thinking cap and my sophisticated smoking jacket, I open the book and proceed with a certain amount of caution. Standing in Line for the Beast was a much different experience. The first page makes it clear that this isn't that kind of poetry book. It's poetry that can be read quickly, thanks in part to techniques like repetition and listing, and it's rather easy to read for meaning. Instead of wading through long, complicated metaphor, Bredle throws as many images as can fit into a poem in a casual, accessible, hilarious way. The subjects aren't banal or simplistic; this isn't poetry that's been dumbed-down. However, it does focus more on the day-to-day, mundane parts of life that may not typically be considered pretty enough or, dare I say, poetic enough for most collections. For that reason alone, I really enjoy this book. I will say that there were times when the repetition would get on my nerves, or the sentences would run on a bit too much for my taste. My general impression, though, was that this book was full of poetry meant to be taken with a smirk, and I genuinely appreciated it.

[Zamarit · Rating 1 out of 5]

*Some kind of Spoilers*

This book and poetry reminded me of James Franco's work, but not in a good way (and I'm not saying Franco's work is good either). When I read James Franco's poetry/books I always go into it thinking this is going to be trash, but like reality TV sometimes trash is needed to forget the daily stuff in life and just not think. However, with this work it didn't do that for me and instead I found myself annoyed at times with the repetition for example in the first poem "On the Way to the 53-B District Court of Livingston County, October 1, 1999" I found myself annoyed with the whole "It begins.. It begins..." It sounded like when someone tells you a story and its full of "And then this happen, and then...and then...and then..."

I just didn't like it I also thought and this is why it reminded me of Franco was that it kind of felt to me as if like Franco they were trying to hard to be a poet and it just didn't sit well with me. Maybe, I'm not the audience for this book, but I didn't find it funny or entertaining. It actually made me think of "This is why I dislike Poetry in English."

[Mekenzie Dyer · Rating 3 out of 5]

Jason Bredle's Standing in Lin for the Beast is an eclectic collection of mostly small, insignificant moments that come together to make these clashing, conflicted poems. There is kinda a lot going on here. Bredle's poems are not connected by character, but instead by the variability of experience. There is also a sort of irony that dwells within his poems, like a personified Anarchy trying his best not to muck things up once again.

There is something that Bredle does that I was once taught was one of the best things a poet could do; he lets the poem evolve on the page. Often times poetry is written as if it is effortlessly perfect, but Bredle allows the thinking process of the poem to play out on the page. Now some people might find that gives his poems a repetitive, cyclical feel, but I find I rather like the hesitation that occurs in the poetry.

[Tara West · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bredle is witty, hilarious, depressing, and pessimistic all at once. Bredle’s poems tend to have poignant moments that are squeezed better rather normal circumstances that sneak up on the reader. Despite how much I enjoyed his book of poetry I cannot help but wonder what he is trying to hide with his comical tactics. There does seem to be a distrust of women that stems from heartbreak, but the question then becomes, is Bredle purposely trying to lead you to make these assumptions about him. I will admit, to a certain degree, I do not care. I enjoyed the ride that he created, and I think that is enough.

[Rachel · Rating 5 out of 5]

I work with the author so I may be a little biased here but this book of poems is great. The poems are funny as hell and really easy to comprehend (does that give away too much about myself?).
Jason does a great job of mixing profound thought with humor and self-depreciation. Life can suck sometimes but it is always funny. Thanks to Jason for reminding us of that.
I hope he meant for it to be funny. It would be awful if he didn't and here I am cracking up at his pain.
Buy the book, support my friend and judge for yourself.

[Jeff Tigchelaar · Rating 4 out of 5]

funny, narrative poems. If you dig David Kirby or Mark Halliday....

[in8 · Rating 3 out of 5]

http://www.5cense.com/14/396.htm

[Jeanne]

It's come to my attention that this book of poems is usually extremely polarizing. People either hate it with a passion or love it. Unfortunately, I did not experience quite a visceral response like either of those. I found some of the lines funny and some of the structures interesting. Bredle succeeds in having a very distinct poetic voice and form. I think in a lineup of ten different poems' mugshots, I could easily pick a Bredle out. I found some of his references and allusions extremely relatable and thus, relevant. But, I also found that some of his references and allusions missed their mark in me and when that happened, the whole poem fell a little bit flat. In those moments where I did not connect with the name of a singer or artist or movie or some other popculture reference, I felt disengaged, and thus free to feel that the constant alluding was a bit masturbatory and conceited. Name dropping always reflects much more on the person dropping the name than the name being dropped in my mind.

[Lyncia Begay · Rating 5 out of 5]

In Standing in Line for the Beast, Jason Bredle employs hypothetical instances that are periphrastic and mostly linear, often leading to humorous insight. Each of Bredle’s poems are contextualized through a combination of pop cultural vertigo and a meandering stream of consciousness. The many popular American culture references include the mild-yet-believable absurdism of a mildly-existential/capitalistic driven society, heartbreak, the pedigree of well-known writers, and other details specific to the Midwest. Bredle’s conscious use of collections (in the aforementioned sentence) creates poems that reflect Midwestern sensibilities in all their wry formations in contrast to the images of farmland that a non-Midwestern would concoct in lieu of the desolation readers imagine
For instance, in “Werewolves” Bredle inflates our expectations of the poem with a title that traditionally insights intrigue, horror, and transformation. However, the poem immediately and satisfyingly deflates, most specifically when Bredle enlists the prop of a flannel from Land’s End (an expensive department store chain based in the Iowa and Wisconsin) with a combined literal approach to an already archetypal plot. Bredle achieves this by appealing to readers as if they had transformed into a werewolf, mourning their own “ . . . expensive plaid shirt . . . ,” upon entertaining the hypothetical instance of a deputy “[pumping] shots into [their] chest” (76) after making a last-ditch effort to kill someone before dying; to soon thereafter add, “but what would be even worse is if Martin Sheen were somehow involved with the TV movie version . . .” (76). In many ways, this poem is successful because it delineates from the very traditions it inhabits, while at once making reference to the earnest liminalities that create awkward constraints and situational humor.
Over the course of Standing in Line for the Beast, readers encounter periphrastic ideas that always provide golden nuggets of humor.