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Book: The Memory Theater Burned
Written by Damon Krukowsk (Turtle Point Press)
Reviewed by Erick Mertz
Were I the king of poetry, I'd decree that all tomes of verse come in pocket size. That way, we'd be all be able to pull out our favorites and quote them to each other on the streets or in barrooms, on the off chance anyone would listen. No one would discriminate. We'd shout TS Eliot over the television news that prevails over our lives like white noise.
Of course, I'm not the king of poetry and my decrees need be much simpler. Bringing it back another step, I'm not quite sure I'd want to read the poems I enjoy to everyone. My favorite poems become in small ways mine, even if someone else is writing them for me to read. A 'someone' like Damon Krukowski is writing that type of frighteningly private poem now.
Yet his book The Memory Theater Burned is practically pocket sized.
Damon Krukowski is the Damon of Damon and Naomi, and former member of seminal rock band Galaxie 500. His debut book of poems speaks of all sorts of ruins; ruined memories, old buildings out of function, the places people fail. He isn't afraid to in his collection of prose poems decide what has abandoned him and what he's chosen to forget for whatever reason.
Does this description sound elusive? Good, because misleading anyone that Krukowski's deceptively simple style is, well, simple would be a travesty. Krukowski conjures images up with his deliberate style that as quick as his readers grasp a hold of, he evaporates. He does so throughout the book, no more evident than in "Ghosts" where he begrudges six ghosts lodging with him. They smoke, they play loud music and all the while, the image of the peeved and ponderous mortal seems clear. But these ghosts are Krukowski's friends, and in the end, the poet states: "It was difficult having six smoking ghosts in my house, but when they left, I told them: next time, please bring more." Krukowski is filled with ghosts - his poems teeming with those he's chasing away and others who he's begging for another moment and often times, these vespers come in the same stanza.
Perhaps The Memory Theater Burned is pocket sized because it practically begs repeat reads. It is bus stop, coffee table poetry ponderous enough in its simplicity to make for conversation starter and koan for meditation. Krukowski is onto something, and is delivering it with devastating style. Poems like his are far too private to keep hidden; at the same time, much more public than could ever be offered up for conspicuous consumption.
© 2004 - Erick Mertz