Review: The Morrow Plots by Matthew Gavin Frank

Some writers write blah blah blah, some writers think to say blah blah blah, some writers yearn to express blah blah blah. But this book is just blah. The author thought to separate the lines into couplet stanzas mainly for no apparent reason. Do they rhyme? No. There is also a cast of characters at the front of the book but does that mean this work has a plot? Pshhh. Don’t count on it.

Full disclosure, I got this book submitting my manuscript to the publisher. To say I don’t get poetry these days almost says the least of things. But if this is representative of what’s being written then I can see why nobody reads the stuff. What ever happened to the enthrallment of eloquent language? The music? The description? Hell, the imagery? It seems these days poets are lost in a nebulous pluralism that says their work is valid no matter the amount of growth or development it’s been through. Bukowski railed against the professors who wrote to keep tenure but now I could imagine those same professors praising this work.

It makes me fucking sick. Where is the poet with some ambition? Where’s the hero Walt Whitman wrote about? Where is the man with the balls to crown himself the laureate? What’s wrong with reaching for the top always even if that top is only reached for the 15-minutesiest of 15 minutes? Allen Ginsberg may have only written Howl and Other Poems and nothing of note after that. So what? He caught it. And he could say after that forever that those were the days because those indeed were.

I just don’t know what the hell publishers want these days. They’d rather something “fit their catalogue” than it be good. Are they jealous of the true poetic talent out there? I mean, forget about me for a second, I’m sure there are other people out there now days that write in the right way. Don’t tell me all this shit is part of dead history. The first piece of written western literature is alive today and it’s called The Iliad. You know what? Fuck it. Just fuck it. I’m clearly wrong in wanting more honest criticism. Let’s just praise all the trash out there.

 

Final Grade: F

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