Dickman skillfully uses blank space and sparse lines to convey meaning in ways that aren't overburdened with language. These are dark poems, but not without humor and heart. There are lines such as these from one of the first poems, "Scary Parents":Ian broke his mother's nose because she burned the pancakesShe left hypodermicsbetween the couch cushionsfor us to sit onThat tell you, in four short lines, all about the horrors of drug addiction, the affect it has on family, friendship. How heroin can take even the mundane tasks of every day life, such as making breakfast, and make them surreal. There are glimmers of hope, moments of connection even within the alcoholism of a grandparent, the heartbreaking scenes of 12 year old children shooting up between their toes. Take for example this lovely snippet from the poem "Late Meditation":The yellow crocus just outside the front door is not a miracle of lightBut pretty closein its paperystillnessSimple lines that promise the miraculous in the ordinary, beauty in the small and simple. Good stuff. Well worth the read. "In her blue-lightcha-chaafterlifeAre you thirsty?YesI'm thirsty"I read this collection twice, and as is usually the case with collections of poetry, it was better the second time around for me. Dickman is skilled at examining where life is beautiful, where life is disgusting, and then showing us where the two perhaps overlap. I was reading another user's review here on goodreads, and they were sort of disgusted with this passage:"Do you think there's a differencefor The Lordbetweenslow dancing in the kitchen at night, no music, your arms around my neck, and latermy facein your ass?"I get why those lines are vulgar, but they ask a very interesting question: where is love elegant and refined, and where is it crude and primal? And is one better, more noble, more memorable than the other? Another perfect example where Dickman overlaps the lovely and the disgusting:"Poppies in the snowBlood in the toiletHe wants to takeand be taken"Dickman is spot-on here. Drops of blood in the white, white bowl of a toilet are beautiful in a troubling way. This poetry is so complex because of these unsettling juxtapositions. Rather skilled at writing lists into his poems, Dickman gives many words their own line, words that pop like firecrackers on the page, and are evocative and relevant to the poems overarching intent. I'm kind of swooning over Dickman's style, and I'm excited to read more of his work!
What do You think about The End Of The West (2009)?
Michael>Matthew any day of the week, sparse and cutting and gorgeous
—Olivia
I thought I wouldn't like this and then I liked this.
—pinkyallamsetty
