I Just Read About That…

SOUNDTRACK: QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE with EDDIE VEDDER-“Little Sister” (live) (2013).

This is a live song from Chile (from what I gather it’s a Lollapalooza show–is that even still around?).  I have no idea if Pearl Jam were in Chile at the time, but what a strange thing to bring Eddie Vedder out on stage and then have him only sing backup vocals and play the cowbell.

The song sounds very much like the record, although a little sloppier.  I’m a bit surprised at that as I think of Homme as running a tight ship (but the sloppiness comes from him, so he has no one to blame but himself).  You’d never know Vedder was even there.  It’s one of the strangest guest appearances since Paul McCartney munched carrots and celery for the Super Furry Animals song “Receptacle for the Respectable.”

[READ: April 3, 2013] Embryoyo

Embryoyo is the final book of poetry I’m going to read for a while.  This book came out a few years ago but McSweeney’s had a garage sale version that I found for cheap.  I’ve always been intrigued by the title (so silly and odd) that I decided to give it a ago.  The blurbs on the back (and I know, no one should read blurbs) are telling: “Dean Young’s work will delight only two kinds of people: those who generally read poetry and those who generally don’t”  And, “No one is unsure if they’ve read a poem by Dean Young.”

I probably concur with the first but I definitely do with the second.  Because Young’s poetry is quite unusual.  And Embryoyo proves to be a demonstrative title.  Not that it means anything specifically, but in the way Young creates portmanteau words, which Young uses liberally.  Like the title “Empheroptera.”

I’m going to give some examples of his poetry that I found really enjoyable:

from “Luciferin”

“They won’t attack us here in the Indian graveyard.”
I love that moment. …
I love you.  Dividing words between syl-
lables! Dachshunds!

from “Dear Reader,”

your bones already asterisks,
your chipmunk glance a schwa

I just love that he used the word schwa.

Or what is one to make of this:

from “Pweth”

For a while I thought it might be pwelth,
rhymes with wealth. But no, pweth,
with breath.  Accidentally, I wrote my Ph.D. thesis
on the hypno-glyph of the Teutonic pweth

Some of the lines remind me of absurdist Beck lyrics:

from “Deadline”

Cymbals.
The longest day of the year,
sunset peacock flash. Ash.

On the surface it’s nonsense, but when you picture what he’s writing it makes sense.

Part two of the book has some strangely mundane subjects like “Clam Ode,” “No Self Control Ode,” “Sneeze Ode,” (Here comes the sneeze with its end of the world / mobster motor, agog, cog) and “Ode to Hangover” with the great final lines:

Hangover,
rest now, you’ll have lots to do later
inspiring abstemious philosophies and menial tasks
that too contribute to the beauty of this world.

And the one poem that I distinctly didn’t like because it was so grounded in pop culture: “Sean Penn Anti-Ode” (although the line “Must Sean Penn always look like he’s squeezing / the last drops out of  a sponge and the sponge / is his face?” is pretty accurate).

Part three settles down somewhat and features this great opening from “Leaves in a Drained Swimming Pool”

Poetry is an art of beginnings and ends.  You want middles, read novels.
You want happy endings, read cookbooks.  Not Closure
word filches from self-help fuzzing the argument.  Endsville.
Kaput.

I don’t always (or often) know what Young is talking about.  I’m not even sure I really got anything out of these poems, although I enjoyed reading them.  As with many of the other poetry books I’ve read this month, after a dozen or so they tend to blend together which leads me to think that poetry should be consumed in small doses.  And while I may not get the point of a lot of his work, it’s really hard to argue with “So the Grasses Grow”

I would be sad without potato chips
but much worse if you chopped off my arm.
Being sad is a form of exsanguination

You’ll never forget a Dean Young poem!