HOLY TOLEDO – The Sonnet River Volume
Poems by John Dorsey
Sleepy Brooklyn Press, 2008
luc.simonic@gmail.com
$30  

I don’t believe in deceit, well not the overt kind, so in an effort of (you know) full cathartic disclosure – I’ve got to confess that John Dorsey and I (let’s call it like it is) are friends. We correspond. He’s a buddy; a pal; a chum; a mate.  One of my favorite weirdoes. We hang-out together once or twice (sometimes three times) a year. We drink together. We smoke together. Travel together. We tell each other jokes, riddles and funny stories. Pass judgment upon others as we see fit. I send him money occasionally. He sends me books occasionally. He is very generous in a weird mid-western dorky Dorsey sort-of way. Most importantly (at least to me) John has it within him to be one very funny fucker.  

Which leads to the obvious conclusion that this is not so much an objective review of the latest opus original contribution to the Dorsey cannon, but a bold-faced and full-blown promotion of Johnny D’s latest little hunk of poetic pleasure.  

This little gem of a collection includes a mess of poems written from 2003 through 2007. I’ve read them all (probably you have too) in all the usual publications and through-out cyber world. All of them are good, a number of them are great, and a couple of them are breathtaking. They will make your grandmother cry for the promise of the old country, or some such silliness. One of my favorites:

blues for a 9 millimeter ghost town

on most days you
will find them here
detroit land of the
casual werewolf they
will sing you to
sleep on magic ave.
they say to drink
dark milk wait for
the commentary of shadows
here even the ghosts
carry 9 millimeters through
streets of broken dreams
tucked inside a book
your language has yet
to be written down
you’ll see the sun
doesn’t shine here god
lost a coin toss
and decided to build
housing projects on the
outskirts of heaven the
earth was hand made
a paradise of masturbation
where the children tell
stories in silence hungry
the dead send their
street sweepers through to
collect your dreams and
gather in a circle
before eating their
                                 young 

And speaking of ghosts, this book is 137 pages of poetry bliss, and fewer than half of them mention ghosts of any species, gender or form. Believe me, I counted it for you. 

True collectors of all things Dorsey will not want to wait until Sukkoth to purchase this limited edition slice. Only 100 hard-bound copies are included in the first edition. All of them signed and numbed by our man. Don’t tell anyone, but S.A. Griffin did the cover art and graphics. The brilliant John Walz provided the photography, which makes the other-wise unfortunate looking Dorsey, pretty damn handsome here. And speaking of hard-bound, I’m sure like me you will experience a wave of cheap nostalgia over the look of this book, cause it reminded me of the cool Golden Books I had a kid, and like those original buggers, this baby ought to worth a bundle in fifty or sixty years. 

But really, it’s all about the poetry. And here John Dorsey is as tightly tuned as a bongo drum, and just as extraordinary.

© david smith, 2008