I have been to many Anselm Berrigan readings over the years and they are always a pleasure because Anselm is a pleasure, and his latest reading was no different.
For some, however, pleasure might not be the first word that comes to mind when they open Pregrets, his new book that plays, as one might guess, with the word regret.
Decisions are ultimatums; the word once spoken or the deed once done cannot be unsaid or undone ever again. We all know that, but what about before and after? In Pregrets, every poem is punctuated with commas, not periods, poems without end in a sense, that might seem on first appearance monoliths, not to be so much read, as scaled to reach the top and crow from the summit, “I’ve done it!” But not so.
“Touch anywhere to begin,” one poem says. You can begin anywhere you want, but of course, you have to start. Don’t be scared; breathe; or rather, read, and you will be surprised and pleased by all the sights (sites) you’ll see.
The poems reminded me of a boyhood stream I used to go to where you had to plunge in from a cliff, always glad when you dared and did. Go with the flow and you will know. Jump in.
I’ve typed out three poems from Pregrets to get a little closer to the playful often uncanny images, words reinvented, sound and sense, little eye blinks of epiphanies, one after the other, and there is humor; sometimes you have to chuckle, which is always a pleasure, don’t you think?
Regrets
I shouldn’t be yelling at these little ones so often, I shouldn’t put them through yelling how much I despise finding myself yelling, a cruel Russian doll of stupidity I call myself stupidity hereinhere and force a flat feeling into view between this and you, sorry about that, I lack many life skills, yet the form’s renewal when you sends back the check to lonesome box all the way over where, my being from a colossal nobody there, draws a crowd’s blood from its great figurative style, I don’t know dick, I administer all punishment get broken down to my constituent parts cyclically, each one reverts to complex symbol marinated in non-poignant oils Tom, Dick & Harry being nasty, oblivious vaguely reticent embargoes of community if society is truly breaking down, it’s not happening fast enough, for myself, as a parent, I have to bake pain into the plastic
Pregrets
brain will skip these stations in both directions, black out blink on the mind, on-the-go transit info kiosks a hit, you know Planned Service Changes didn’t do it the Degas rehearsal dancers in their slasher flick masks didn’t do it, the El Greco portrait of St. Jerome’s hung too high over the fucking fireplace to do anything, no grip to lose, happy bestriding a grotesque fish, decom- posure on mantle, innocent of alienware gaming grunts open to unremediated flowsure of misperceptions, ding set for news, there comes unnamable horror, an endless scroll of possible names to choose, or here goes, rococo twist of sconce and reflection, Admi, Ado, Annihi, fella always dressed only in white, white top, white slacks white egg shell cap, white mutterings, for years nearby picks up flattened can, halfway across 3rd & 1st’s white ladder walk, chucks it, in the nw corner trash, cult of blue sky’s derangeable mail campaign ass-ready to interject q-tip’s voice following body from room to cave to slide- walked afterpath, handwriting an only drawn idea accords with the choke-enticed ocelot at the animation pit, slant shack swallows shadow snack, all this time banished, let the ghostly remains go image, hope it’s a sweet cost, let the ghostly remainders scatter, or move let remains of a ghostly image remain, you better move
Degrets
weirding spotlit apertures, cormorant neck in hell’s gate grey, oathkeeprs patrol the fringe, making images of controlled insanity, a closed cube unborn to non- interior, the blues come forward, white a deathly institution, cross concept punishing armature, inert reflectivity is a sign the interior ruptured pineapples are cloning, coming, outwards seep, recesses shooting up ink is what the de fantasizez over, the spaceship snapshot of the former planet lay plainly on my desktop, green-like, blue-like, oil-like red, cylinders float stuck-like, to what techno was when, no window blues assault an illusion of light into the body whole fold me, creature in male skin lurks between stranger & corner, I test the lock politely, this other person recedes into rent, sometimes I’m cool with the colors being flat, mantle thumps behind my spine, wash tannins off mugged conscience, should I read this shit in progress to the wifi stranger to my left, phone dead you can’t find me, who can’t quite understandably the understanding platform eraseth, wear the whether suits, I’m a skin that bears slovenly dress to uphold a counterpro invisibly, there were hole histories in every body that spoke, directly or half, near and to me the ledge commands a conclusionary charcoal magenta smog the others stammers a gentle subsidy to go
Pregrets is published by Black Square Editions. You can check it out here:
drawing by Brendan Lorber