Poetry Books

Arranged in five parts, with each segment unfolding to reveal the constant yet changeable essence of relationships, the poetry of Anthony B. Ashe as compiled in "Relationship Related And Other Poetry" is contemporary in their themes and universal in their appeal. These are very highly recommended and intellectually stimulating free verse compositions that deftly utilize metaphor, simile and symbolism to reveal complex elements of human kinship. 'Kiss Me Now': succulent lips/or forever hold your piece//keep the measurement and directions/we're not trading recipes//cook with raw/unadulterated skin on skin//;when we scream/when we moan/when we writhe and grind//are you giving all to me?/does that make you mine?

Reviewed by Debra Gaynor for Reader Views (6/07)

Anthony Ashe offers a unique poetic look at relationships. One part of the book speaks to physical relationships. It is obvious he has experienced a deep love for someone. His words speak of missing a loved one's touch, and of lips meeting for a tender kiss. He speaks of being comfortable in one's presence "like flannel bathrobes." He tells how the touch of a lover is a gift to be cherished.

"Was It You" is like looking in a mirror and wondering who that person is. As we age, our appearance changes but sometimes we forget that now our hair is gray and our waistline is different. We look at others and wonder why they are changing but we don't always look at ourselves.

"Friday, In the Crowd at The Nuyorican Poet's Café" is a delightfully sensuous poem hinting at the thoughts a lover has for their mate. I will share this one.

Ashe uses his poetry to reflect upon days gone by. He poetically tells of the nightmare of slavery, the result of living in poverty and the damage of alcoholism.

The words of talented author Anthony B. Ashe flow off the page like a brook of water streaming over moss covered rocks. The cover of "Relationship Related and Other Poetry" is exquisite! A man with his wife posing for a photograph, his arm gently draped over her shoulder as if to show how much he loves her and is proud she is his. The smile on his face says it all. The words Ashe used to describe relationships also say it all. He uses words to create a picture of people in love. I could relate several of the poems to my own relationships. "Musings" was one of my favorites. I recommend "Relationship Related and Other Poetry" to fans of poetry.

Anthony Ashe is regarded as an experienced poet who possesses a range and poetic forms as variant as Haiku and Villanelle, and at times everything in between. The poems are enticing and the delivery is acute.

From the succulent musing appropriately titled 'Musings', he shares the soothing, enticing cocoon that elevates a contented heart even when doing a task as mundane as laundry. 'Romancing and Alone' takes readers in another direction, into the depths of a lonely heart yearning for deliverance. 'My Metaphors and I are Mixed in Your Presence' is a Pandora's Box for lovers of metaphoric verbosity; it will tickle the intellect. These are mere tips of the iceberg as Ashe launches his thoughts.

RELATIONSHIP RELATED AND OTHER POETRY is richly political, but candid enough to connect the reader to the subject. Ashe successfully lends his flair for combining the serious academic study of one art form with street and cultural maturity. His tendency toward classic meter and rhythm are inspired by how he revels in reality that he camouflages with the feel of something fantastic. This is poetry that draws its life from the aura of relationships. If you are in a relationship or simply longing for one, RELATIONSHIP RELATED AND OTHER POETRY is something worth experiencing.

Reviewed by aNN
of The RAWSISTAZ Reviewers

Someone once told me that writing good poetry is the same as dancing well; all rhythm and steps placed effortlessly, words gliding images across a page. I have never seen Anthony B. Ashe dance but after reading his book Relationship Related and Other Poetry I know he must cut a rug till it's threadbare.

True to its title Ashe's poems are interconnected by the theme of relationships. They are grouped by romantic involvement and also by a more spiritual association. Part One is full of lips and hips and jazz wrapped up in summer sunset beaches and chocolate covered metaphors. These poems are sultry but in no way cliché and are not retailed, as Ashe puts it in his last line of the book, when he writes, "we pimp our verse for valentines." These are poems with form, where you can become lost in the space of rhythm. They are smart with a subtle humor. I love the poem My Metaphors and I are Mixed in your Presence. It flaunts wit with lines like "I'll refrain from trite verbosity / and acceptable lyrical latitude / in avoidance / of tending toward the obtuse." Other poems are more sensual. I loved Friday, In the Crowd at The Nuyorican Poet's Café. It is full "of things that would make you blush" and is the kind of poem you could read across a pillow. It is lovely in all the right places.

The second part of Relationship Related is a collection of poems that are more political and also more somber. These are poems that reflect upon the past and are haunted by themes of slavery, poverty, and alcoholism. Though their subject is darker than the first collection these poems are not bitter and have great zeal. Ashe's sense of style in the poem Blackstone gives power and depth to a subject that could otherwise be made prosaic. The first and last stanzas really hooks the reader "Stone cold / Like black rock / Like black stone / Like Blackstone, Virginia" and "Just cold / Like cold rock or / Black stone in / Red Clay in / Blackstone, Virginia."

Ashe's collection of poetry has me relating images and experiences of my own to the subjects of his written muse. I find we have a relationship related. This is by far one of the best collections of poetry I have read in a long while. Ashe's writing is studied and complex. I find myself rereading and still pondering much of it. If you are thirsty for poems Relationship Related and Other Poems is a fine wine, so don`t gulp!

There is this great perception masking itself under the catch phrase "universal" and some warped idea of political correctness causing a number of black writers (or any writer of color) to bury their cultural identity and in many cases their politics for larger success in the literary world. In the process, many have become what Langston Hughes termed "lily ponds," art by black writers which evades any kind of social context to imitate so-called mainstream standards devoid or divorced from the slightest hint of cultural identity. Anthony Ashe, happily to report, doesn't fall into this class of writers. As the back cover of RELATIONSHIP RELATED AND OTHER POETRY suggests, Ashe exhibits styles called Haiku and Villanelle, but the difference is he makes them his own without giving up his identity as one proud to be black and and proudly political.

Ashe's book of poetry is divided up into two parts, Relationships Related I and Relationships Related II. The first half of the book pretty much concerns interpersonal relationships with black women who Ashe reveals a great deal of respect, admiration, and love towards, a political stance itself today. Hughes has been described as the first and only black male feminist for his platonic attitudes of respect and admiration toward black woman in his entire body of work . If the first portion of this book is any indication, the resolutely and enthusiastically straight Ashe will soon join Hughes in this honor. One of the many standout poems in this section is "Romancing and Alone" which those concerned with the universal element can admire because it speaks to everyone regardless. Reading many of the poems here, the immediate sense is how great they would sound spoken aloud. Poems like "Flavah or," "Big Sistah Thighs," or Ode to Youthful Romance on the Upper West Side Prior to Gentrification.", all of them honestly.

Relationships Related II is perhaps most political and strongest part of the book. Here, it is pretty difficult to choose one particular poem to highlight. "Writing Block (prior to September 25, 1985)," "Mobility Justification," and "Postcard Ruminations" are reads not to be missed. All the reads in part 2 are not to be missed.

Overall, the best thing about Relationships Related and Other Poetry is the readability of the work. It doesn't pretend to be above the head of anyone, but is accessible to everyone. Anthony Ashe should be proud of himself.

This book was give to my daughter for Christmas when she was 18 mos old. It is a wonderful book depicting various stories in the Bible. They are very short and told in verse form. 'God made the land/And God made the sea,/God made the flowers/And God made me.' and 'David was/ A shepherd boy,/Who sang to God/Great songs of joy!' Each story is accompanied by a lift the flap or touch and feel picture which makes it interesting and fun for little ones. I give it 4 stars because it is in spiral bound form and the pages are easily taken apart by busy little hands. I keep it separate from my daughter's other books and read it to her instead of letting her 'read' to herself and thus removing the pages. Other than this drawback, it is an excellent book.

My three year old loves to be read to from this bible. He asks for specific stories by name! He enjoys it as much as any of his secular, popular books.

I am a KJV only but, this is great for children. I was amazed at how smooth the stories flowed. A must in every home library. wonderful pictures. I also bought the toddlers version. RHYME, RHYME, SPEEDS THE TIME.....

My kindergarted sunday school class loves it. They pay attention, then beg to read it again. I have an audio tape version that I play while I just turn the pages. Unlike some children's translations, this one is truly age appropriate for young children. The rhymes and paraphrasing are exceptionally clever.

Original Bible Stories(unchanged) told in rhyme form. A marvelous way to teach children God's stories, and a marvelous way for them to be able to remember the stories. Simplicity in the eyes of a child. Wonderful, wonderful! Wish I had this when my children where samll.

I love this book, and it's a must if you are getting Wishes, Lies & Dreams. I wish that he had more poetry for younger children, with tips on how to help them understand it.

.
This is one of my favorite books:

"I like to write about poems. I like poems.
Some girls are like poems."
-Eric Filisbret, 3rd or 4th grade

"Dog where do you get that bark?
Dragon where do you get that flame?
Kitten where do you get that meow?
Rose where do you get that red?
Bird, where do you get those wings?"
-Desiree Lynn Collier, 3rd or 4th grade

"Come with me and I'll show you my heart. I
know where it is and I know all about it...
Come with me, I'll take you to a world, not
a world that you know. Not a world that
I know. But a world that nobody knows,
not you or me... "

It's ironic, the good kind, for me to learn
so much from a book about ok, teaching
children about poetry.

A follow-up to the author's equally wonderful "Wishes, Lies, and Dreams," this superb volume is one of the best sources for teaching poetry that I've ever read. How many of us found that school crushed any budding love of poetry we had, rather than nurturing it? Well, Kenneth Koch will bring that crushed bud back into full, glorious blossom! He has a rare gift -- he removes the barriers to poetry, the ones that say it's too deep, too different, too complex, for the likes of ordinary people; yet he never removes its mystery, its wonder, its beauty. If anything, he makes it available & familiar to all in a way that only enhances its rapturous qualities. He makes us realize that a poem is as obvious & rich, as subtle & tangible, as a flower. The poem is there for anyone, for everyone, to savor & enjoy.

Most highly recommended!

This excellent book seems to be a missing link in writing instruction. Other books provide somewhat mechanical methods for generating writing ideas, but Koch's book leads the reader into natural lines of thought which connect the reader with his or her experience of life, experience from which the writing must flow. I am pretty sure this would work for any kind of writing and is not limited to poetry. Don't be too proud to use this book on yourself!

Mr. Koch will not underestimate children. He will not talk down, dumb down, water down, because a passion for the subject matter animates this book as it must animate his instruction. He carefully documents and shares children's work as if it is as important as the poetry that inspired it.

Like anything truly sublime, the unspoken lesson enlivens this book . If you really share what you love with students, guide them instead of showing them, ask instead of telling, and treat their products with the respect you'd give a visiting artist, they will produce art as amazing as Mr. Koch's students did.

Forget teaching poetry to children- teach poetry instead. Take the concept and apply it to all creative acts. Teach art from great and challenging art. Teach music from powerful, sophisticated music. They can not only take it, they'll take it and keep it.

Vague enough to enfuse with personal meaning. Meaningless read hard, and broad read softly. A good book if you want to sway in the romantic waters of an indefinite God, but hardly the work to peak behind the curtain. It studies the fabric. Full of delicious quotes, irresistable.

Kahlil Gibran is a very powerful, dynamic writer. He does it brilliantly each time a book goes live.

Wisdom is poetry that sings in the mind. If we could enchant man's heart and at the same time sing in his mind, Then in truth he would live in the shadow of God.

The quotes from "SAND AND FOAM" enhances the thought process and I find better understanding of the people around me.

Our god exists in ourself. It takes thought provoking book to make us aware.

What a beautiful compilation!

I read Kahlil, when i was 14.
I was astounded by his words,
and compostion.
He seemed to define them very well.
When i read this work?
i kept learning the aphorisms,
and the value of his thoughts.
I had never seen, or read another book
without some knowledge of great worth, and wisdom.
besides the Bible.
Gibrans paintings, also speak to the soul
The painting of The Prophet?
depicts a man who seems to
be an ancient, and of whom Kahlil
says he had never been without
since Lebanon .
When i first started to read Gibran?
i knew that i would read
all his works.
And they will continue
singing theyre words, and theyre thoughts
to the serinity and the solitude
of my mind.

Gibran continues to inspire me in this book. It is written from the depths of his soul and from every beat of his heart, as every one of his works are. Some readers criticize his writings becasue they say it is "too hard to understand". This is a complement to Gibran, because the most precious things in life are not supposed to be easily understood. One must read his books and reflect the meaning into their own lives in order to even began to understand. Don't be afriad to challenge yourself.

We can all only hope to live our lives with kind of heartfelt passion that this author chronicles. Truly inspired and inspiring!

The only problem was that as I read it from cover to cover, I kept crying - it was the darndest thing. But my tears fell continuously.

I thought I will write her after I have finished reading it. I can't finish it! Every time I start, I have to begin again at the beginning. I never get very far.

"A Scrapbook for Sandy" was sent to me by a dear friend who lives far away, who I don't see very often but with whom I shall always have a very close bond. I received the book after a long days' journey, too full of too many different airplanes and airports. Just as I was thinking how exhausted I was to be back in New York, I saw this large package on my desk, awaiting my return. Upon opening it, I sat for at least two hours reading and laughing, smiling and thinking, completely unaware of tasks in front of me and the exhausting trip behind me. What warmth and inspiration! What a passion for loving and living the book contains! For any of those most dear, I recommend sending a copy of Cecile Mactaggart's "A Scrapbook for Sandy" right away! They will cherish it for years to come and they will return to it often for sustenance, solace and delight!

"A Scrapbook for Sandy" is a marvelous love poem. Its author has worked her pictures and text together so that both, reinforcing each other, present a large and moving serenade.

There are several editions of this book published. They have been thoroughly reviewed, so I will just review this edition, not the material itself.

As you can see by the photograph, it has a red cover and black spine. On the front cover and the title page there is a picture of a shirtless horned man. This book contains black and white photographs, by Robert Mapplethorpe, placed just about at the beginning of every section. I do not like them and I think they are a distraction from the text.

This is a very well constructed book. The pages are made out of a high grade thick paper. On the left side of the book is the original text in French. On the right side is the translation in English, which is done by Paul Schmidt. Since I can not read French, I completely enjoyed the English version.

In the collection of prose poems and verse fragments that make up the short book A Season in Hell, begun in April 1873 in an outbuilding at Rimbaud's family farm at the village of Roche and completed by the end of August, he looks back in despair over his life as a poet. In one of the fragments, titled "Ravings number two" he talks about "the history of one of my follies. I invented the colors of the vowels!" he claims, and goes on: "I flattered myself that I had created a poetic language accessible...to all the senses...I expressed the inexpressible. I defined vertigos...I ended up regarding my mental disorder as sacred."

Rimbaud draws a picture of his affair with Verlaine in cynical terms, painting Verlaine as a weak and foolish virgin and himself as an "infernal bridegroom," a monster of cruelty. It wasn't far from the truth.

The last chapter of A Season in Hell is titled "Farewell." It has an air of exhaustion and relief about it. "I have tried to invent new flowers, new stars, new flesh, new tongues. I believed I had acquired supernatural powers. Well! I must bury my imagination and my memories. A fine fame as an artist and story-teller swept away! I! I who called myself magus or angel, exempt from all morality, I am given back to the earth, with a task to pursue, and wrinkled reality to embrace. A peasant!" A Season In Hell was finished in August 1873. Rimbaud somehow persuaded his thrifty mother to pay to have the book printed in Belgium. He sent his six author's copies to his friends and to men of letters in Paris. Many people see this manuscript as his farewell to literature. It certainly reads like that, although Enid Starkie believes that it was Rimbaud's farewell to a certain kind of literature--visionary, mystical, growing out of the selfish and hallucinatory lifestyle that had crashed to a halt only a few months before with his shooting and the jailing of Verlaine--and a commitment to something more humble and realistic. "Well, now I shall ask forgiveness for having fed on lies," Rimbaud wrote. He hoped that the French literary world would offer him the forgiveness that he was now prepared to seek, and give his book favorable reviews. He the proceeded to Paris to see how his book had fared.

Favorable reviews? He must have been mad. To those literary men, the dilettantes Rimbaud had mocked and despised a year or two earlier, Rimbaud was the insolent catamite who had destroyed their old friend Verlaine: sponged off him, wrecked his marriage, corrupted his soul and ruined his life, and then, when he had used him up, had turned him in to the police to face hard labour in a Belgian jail.

We have an eyewitness account of Rimbaud on the day when the last door in Paris had been slammed in his face, at the moment when he realized that the literary career he'd embraced so passionately was over. It was the evening of the first of November, 1873, a holiday, and the cafés and restaurants were crowded. The poet Poussin had joined some writer friends at the Café Tabourey. He noticed a young man alone in a corner, staring into space. It was Rimbaud. Poussin went over and offered to buy him a drink. "Rimbaud was pale and even more silent than usual," he later recalled. "His face, indeed his whole bearing, expressed a powerful and fearsome bitterness." For the rest of his life Poussin "retained from that meeting a memory of dread."

When the café closed, Rimbaud--who hadn't spoken to anyone all evening--set out to walk home through the late autumn countryside. It took him about a week. When he got to Charleville he built a bonfire and burned all his manuscripts. He didn't bother to collect the remaining five hundred copies of his book from the printer--they moldered there until they were discovered by a Belgian lawyer in 1901. That should have been the end of it. But Rimbaud couldn't quite let go. The following year in London he carefully copied out his prose poems, gathered together under the title, Illuminations. The year after that he tried to get them published. For the anguished but brilliant Rimbaud, giving up poetry must have been akin to weaning himself from a potent drug.

These are the brilliant and mystical hallucinations of the original "enfant terrible" and his visionary raptures about poetry, innocence and guilt. Verbal deliriums suffused with pain and hatred, remorse and desperation, but also with a parodic, pathetic and fatalistic megalomania. The "mystical rage" transformed into pyromaniac wording. Poems in prose, of very high quality, which reflect the fury of the love-hate relationship of Rimbaud with life and Universe.

In the collection of prose poems and verse fragments that make up the short book A Season in Hell, begun in April 1873 in an outbuilding at Rimbaud's family farm at the village of Roche and completed by the end of August, he looks back in despair over his life as a poet. In one of the fragments, titled "Ravings number two" he talks about "the history of one of my follies." "I invented the colors of the vowels!" he claims, and goes on: "I flattered myself that I had created a poetic language accessible...to all the senses...I expressed the inexpressible. I defined vertigos...I ended up regarding my mental disorder as sacred."

Rimbaud draws a picture of his affair with Verlaine in cynical terms, painting Verlaine as a weak and foolish virgin and himself as an "infernal bridegroom," a monster of cruelty. It wasn't far from the truth.

The last chapter of A Season in Hell is titled "Farewell." It has an air of exhaustion and relief about it. "I have tried to invent new flowers, new stars, new flesh, new tongues. I believed I had acquired supernatural powers. Well! I must bury my imagination and my memories. A fine fame as an artist and story-teller swept away! I! I who called myself magus or angel, exempt from all morality, I am given back to the earth, with a task to pursue, and wrinkled reality to embrace. A peasant!" A Season In Hell was finished in August 1873. Rimbaud somehow persuaded his thrifty mother to pay to have the book printed in Belgium. He sent his six author's copies to his friends and to men of letters in Paris. Many people see this manuscript as his farewell to literature. It certainly reads like that, although Enid Starkie believes that it was Rimbaud's farewell to a certain kind of literature--visionary, mystical, growing out of the selfish and hallucinatory lifestyle that had crashed to a halt only a few months before with his shooting and the jailing of Verlaine--and a commitment to something more humble and realistic. "Well, now I shall ask forgiveness for having fed on lies," Rimbaud wrote. He hoped that the French literary world would offer him the forgiveness that he was now prepared to seek, and give his book favorable reviews. He the proceeded to Paris to see how his book had fared.

Favorable reviews? He must have been mad. To those literary men, the dilettantes Rimbaud had mocked and despised a year or two earlier, Rimbaud was the insolent catamite who had destroyed their old friend Verlaine: sponged off him, wrecked his marriage, corrupted his soul and ruined his life, and then, when he had used him up, had turned him in to the police to face hard labor in a Belgian jail.

We have an eyewitness account of Rimbaud on the day when the last door in Paris had been slammed in his face, at the moment when he realized that the literary career he'd embraced so passionately was over. It was the evening of the first of November, 1873, a holiday, and the cafés and restaurants were crowded. The poet Poussin had joined some writer friends at the Café Tabourey. He noticed a young man alone in a corner, staring into space. It was Rimbaud. Poussin went over and offered to buy him a drink. "Rimbaud was pale and even more silent than usual," he later recalled. "His face, indeed his whole bearing, expressed a powerful and fearsome bitterness." For the rest of his life Poussin "retained from that meeting a memory of dread."

When the café closed, Rimbaud--who hadn't spoken to anyone all evening--set out to walk home through the late autumn countryside. It took him about a week. When he got to Charleville he built a bonfire and burned all his manuscripts. He didn't bother to collect the remaining five hundred copies of his book from the printer--they moldered there until they were discovered by a Belgian lawyer in 1901. That should have been the end of it. But Rimbaud couldn't quite let go. The following year in London he carefully copied out his prose poems, gathered under the title Illuminations. The year after that he tried to get them published. For the anguished but brilliant Rimbaud, giving up poetry must have been akin to weaning himself from a potent drug.

This is a brilliant encapsulation of the rage of the artist. He has a contempt for mankind, society, it's progress, and yet can't escape society. He can be a "..." as artists where called back then, refuse to live a middle class existence, live a life of drunken debauchery, and yet that is just another societal role.
His imagery is powerful, his language self-deprecating and insanely sincere. It draws you in with its suffering.
At the end he finds his life as an artist, his passion, empty. It all ended with the gunshot to the hand that ended his affair with Verlaine. In short, he equates his artistry and homosexual affairs with hell, and a return to society redemption. This explains how he became a materialist later on in his life, a trader, even considering trading slaves.
It is a sad fate for someone who had such a poetic gift.
I still enjoy reading A Season In Hell, even after having read it many times. Ultimately, the work is flawed; it has a little too much affected insanity, angst, the sign of an adolescent work, but it is also full of pure poetry and promise.

Nick Carbo has us see New York through the eyes of a Filipino immigrant with such candor, humor, and savvy that it's amazing to me that this book hasn't been optioned for a movie! Or maybe it has? It's poetry to be sure but it's also a screenplay, a novel, a multi-genre cyber cartoon. Carbo enlarges world poetry and what it can do!

I would never have purchased this book, nor would I have even become familiar with the (frickin' awesome!!!) work of Carbos without my needing the book for a class... some classes really are worthwhile!! I recommend (highly) ANYTHING by Nick Carbos.

I've just discovered Nick Carbo. Thank God. Thank God.

Nick takes it to the hilt on this one. I felt like I was reading a suspense thriller as I get taken through the life of one Ang Tunay ng Lalaki who interacts both in the "real" world where he meets Nick Carbo but also falls hobnobs with kindred icons of advertising and lore: Hello Kitty, Orpheus from a previous Carbo poem, and Barbie. And it's only in this in between world where Carbo can take on Asian and American ideals head on.

One of the reasons I like to review books of poetry is it gets me out of the "ME" kick that poetry is too well known for. Ask yourself this: how many poetry readings have I been to where I spoke soley of someone else's work? Someone who is alive, but that I don't personally know? Not just to say that I like their work, but what I like about it and how it inspires me? Can I, as a poet, go for a month, talking about this person's work, pushing this person's book, without ever mentioning my own poetry? Poet Karla Huston turned me on to Nick Carbo's Secret Asian Man and he's the latest poet I'll be pushing. His new book is full of satyrical irony and poem after poem makes you both cringe and laugh out loud. This is one of the few books of poetry that I'd like to see Quintin Terrantino or the Zucker Brothers make into a movie. Carbo lives in two worlds, the American's and the Filipino immigrant's. But the reflections and dichotmy don't stop there. His main character is Ang Tulay Na Lalaki, is the Filipino version of the Marlboro Man. Carbo starts each poem off "Ang Tunay Na Lalaki..." does something. Like Lyn Lifshin's Mad Girl poems this gives the reader an instant image of who the main character is in a series format. Unlike Lifshin, Carbo forces his white American reader to face up to accepting a non-white- American name. In some poems he does shorten it to 'Lalaki' within the poem, again forcing us to confront our written prejudices. Carbo plays on both sides of the prejudice field. In one poem he criticizes American film makers for having no roles for Asian American Men (only women), while in another he pokes fun at a visiting Filipino friend who's accent is too thick. He has Wonder woman fight a fetus-eating Filipino demon-goddess, picks up Barbie from a shopping bag to tell here about her about her part overseas Asian slave labor, and as Secret Asian Man, helps unite Hello Kitty and Barney the Purple Dinosaur. Even one step better is how Secret Asian Man flows. It reads in part poetry, in part story. No poem should be randomly turned to. Like reading a Richard Brautigan story and the more you read from the beginning, the more you understand the sequence. Early on in the book, Ang Tulay Na Lalaki meets up with a character, Orpheus, who tells him that he feels like a character written by poet Nick Carbo. Later on, Ang Tulay Na Lalaki takes a writing workshop from Carbo and we get to see how Ang Tulay Na Lalaki's poetry differs from Carbo's and how Carbo would run a writing workshop. To add another layer to Carbo's maze of mirrors, I got the book from someone who attended Carbo's workshop. Now I'm beginning to wonder if she is a character written by Nick Carbo? Pushing Secret Asian Man, one might only conclude that I am just an ongoing workshop exercise by Nick Carbo.

Terry Matthews, Reviewer

There are multiple viewpoints about the utility of including the Evans-Wetz controversy. However, reader, please be aware that this is actually an Apendix and not the main part of the book. Therefore, the author/scholar has no obligation to the reader, imo, as to whether to include or not. As an aside, I found the appendix quite interesting.

As to the main part of the book; ASTOUNDING. Some of the best, most lucid, crystal clear instruction on the topic.

This book is a commentary on the titled Terma text. The text is terrific (worth 5 stars), reminiscent of Norbu's "The Supreme Source" or Longchenpa's "Precious Treasury of the Basic Space of Phenomena." While addressing Dzogchen's Trekchö view, it includes very interesting & refreshing statements. It uses "empty" differently than other books & Mr. Reynolds commentary--not signifying dependent-arising (or interdependent) but actual emptiness (page 13, stanza 8): "Since it is empty and not created anywhere whatsoever, it is the Dharmakaya" and (page 14, stanza 10) "It is certain that the nature of the mind is empty and without any foundation whatsoever. Your own mind is insubstantial like the empty sky...It is certain that self-originated primal awareness has been clear (and luminous) from the very beginning."

Per most Tibetan to English translations, it seems literal vs. figurative (i.e. concerned with an "accurate" translation rather than with reader understanding). Mr. Reynolds states (page 115) "what is important at this primary level is to discover what the masters of the Dzogchen tradition actually say about their own tradition." I disagree. The most important thing is for the reader to UNDERSTAND Dzogchen and be enabled to practice it. For example, "nature of the mind" and "mind" are intermixed in a confusing manner. The author's explanation of his choice (pages 47-8, stanza 6) is unconvincing vs. his alternative, "Mind Itself," Padmasambhava's term "intrinsic awareness," or the commonly used "ground of being." Per other texts, "meditate" is translated as meditate upon (transitive), so Mr. Reynolds uses "contemplate" in stanza 8. That's fine, but in English "meditate" is a dual verb, it can be either transitive or intransitive (check your dictionary). Indeed, Padmasambhava states (page 13, stanza 8) "you are meditating without finding anything there to meditate on" (inferring intransitive meditation).

In his commentary, appendix, and notes, Mr. Reynolds provides concise and precise explications of standard Dzogchen, Vajrayana, and Buddhist doctrines-though scattered in location and more like Apologetic vs. explanation-largely to justify extensive criticism of Evans-Wentz' (E-W) prior translation, in "The Tibetan Book of the Great Liberation" with Jung's Introduction. Some criticisms are well-founded. Mr. Reynolds greatly details Evans-Wentz' life, Vedanta, & Theosophy. He seems to take a Sensate view (Myers-Briggs Type "S": preference for details, low level of abstraction, past vs. future). Strangely, several of Mr. Reynolds' criticisms appear to conflict with the Terma! The text is VERY interesting in that (page 12, stanza 6) Padmasambhava provides many synonyms for intrinsic awareness such as--the Self, the Mind, Alaya, etc. Yet, Mr. Reynolds criticizes E-W for using virtually the same terms.

But, Mr. Reynolds rightly criticizes some E-W excesses (e.g. implying that Rigpa as "the dew drop slips into the Shining Sea", poetic but not entirely accurate) and claims E-W inserts Hindu, Vedanta, and Theosophist views into Dzogchen (ignoring the possible influences of Western mysticism). But most Westerner readers must translate Eastern terms into understandable language-not just English, and analogy facilitates communication. Any differences (e.g. between Cosmic Consciousness and Rigpa, page 103) would need explication, but differences among Brahman (Upanishads), ground of being (Dzogchen), and Ein Sof (Kabbalah) seem elusive. IMHO, Mr. Reynolds overrates such differences due to his low level of abstraction viewpoint. He writes as an historian, not a scientist. He seems unable to comprehend that there are differing perspectives-like the colors coming from a prism or facets of a diamond (Vajra). A true master can step out of his/her culture to see the pristine truth sans bias. I'd recommend reading "Mind at Ease" a Mahamudra text by the English-speaking Tibetan Traleg Kyabgon.

Mr. Reynolds points out several real errors in Jung's Introduction (e.g. the asserted lack of Buddhist critical psychology & philosophy--page 148, note 53), but his grasp of Jungian psychology is deficient: he misinterprets Jung's mapping of Buddhist deities/Samboghakaya onto the unconscious when Jung clearly refers to their peaceful/wrathful duality (e.g. Manjushri/Yamantaka) vs. Mr. Reynolds realm-gods. Mr. Reynolds misunderstands active imagination and the difference between psychotherapy & individuation. Contemporary Tibetan masters (e.g. Thrangu Rinpoche, Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche) admit such deities can be/are mental. Mr. Reynolds seems oblivious to the mythological, allegorical, symbolical, and sometimes anachronistic aspects of Tibetan Buddhism which are normal components of religions--Mt. Meru is not the center of 4 continents (page 106), whether the Buddha knew it or not (who knows?). Also, Mr. Reynolds strongly objects to Jung's "a slavish initiation of Buddhist practices by Westerners is bound to be fruitless, if not dangerous" which seems self-evident to me. What's oddest about this book is what's missing:
-- the differences between Christian Bhakti Yoga (of devotion) vs. Dzogchen Jnana Yoga (of wisdom)
--the connection between the "other shore" (pages 145-6, note 47) with the standard Buddhist simile of the Yanas as boats across the sea of Samsara, not to mention Jung's night-sea journey.
--the differences between Gelugpa (to which Mr. Reynolds seems to refer) and Kagyu Mahamudra.
--that the Buddha's era has been reevaluated into the 5th century BCE instead of the 6th or 7th
--the similarities of some of E-W's statements to Vipashyana meditation
--that E-W/Jung's use of "Alaya" could refer to Absolute Alaya (as in the Terma)-page 113.
--that symbols are psychological in both East and West-page 146.
--the openness of Vajrayana (e.g. the Lojong mind training a la Pema Chödrön's many books/tapes)
--the Maitri and compassion at the heart of Mahayana Buddhism-including Dzogchen
--the awesome mind-expanding view of Dzogchen vs. (page 113)-seeing the forest vs. the bark of a tree
--the simple beauty of Mr. Reynolds prior (wonderful) book, "The Golden Letters"

Prospective readers of this work may wish to know that it has a descriptive subtitle -- "An Introduction to the Nature of One's Own Mind from *The Profound Teaching of Self-Liberation in the Primordial State of the Peaceful and Wrathful Deities* A terma text of Guru Padmasambhava expounding the view of Dzogchen, rediscovered by Rigdzin Karma Lingpa." In other words, it offers itself as a "postponed revelation," a terma (treasure) re-discovered and offered to the world centuries after its composition. As such it is part of a large class of Tibetan Buddhist works.

The text had previously been translated into English at the instigation of W.Y. Evans-Wentz, who published that version in "The Tibetan Book of the Great Liberation" which appeared in 1954 as the last of four volumes in the pioneering "Oxford Tibetan Series," which had begun in 1927 with another terma text, the "Tibetan Book of the Dead."

The "Self-Liberation" treatise there followed an abridged translation of one of the traditional biographies of Padmasambhava, the legendary "Apostle to the Tibetans," and one of their patron Bodhisattvas, who is regarded as the real author of this and other works. These texts were surrounded by commentaries by Evans-Wentz and C.G. Jung. The latter is probably important for students of Jung. Evans-Wentz's contributions generally reflect a lack of information about esoteric Buddhism, and a tendency to substitute material from Hindu and Theosophical sources.

Having compared the present translation (pages 9-28) with that offered by Evans-Wentz, I can say that it appears to be superior in clarity. Given the present, far more advanced state of Tibetan studies, it is certainly more likely to be accurate than the ad-hoc attempt provided by Evans-Wentz's translators. Additional features include the Tibetan text in transliteration, a glossary of Tibetan Buddhist terms, and an extended commentary. This is undoubtedly an advance on Evans-Wentz, although its devotional tone may seem cloying to some readers (including this one)

There are also extended discussions of the Evans-Wentz and Jung interpretations. The dismissal of Jung is particularly interesting; although I don't much care for Jung myself, I felt that he was not being given sufficient credit for trying to take Asian traditions as seriously as he took those closer to home. (Of course, given Jung's reductionist approach to religion, this may amount to 0 = 0.)

Of all the myriad Dzogchen texts I've read, this is the very best. It is clear, the translation is understandable (he doesn't use weird made-up circumloqutions for terms like rigpa, yeshe, rigpai tsal, etc, like some translators do), and really and truly Self-Liberation is a text which is introduces the reader to the nature of mind every time it is read.

I haven't seen John since way back 1981, when at Lama Gonpo's I loaned him a text of the Hevajra Tantra before he left for India to receive the empowerments. He's gone on to bigger and better things since then, but this early translation of his will never be bettered.

John Reynolds (aka Vajranatha) exposed me to Dzogchen thru this book. He associated himself with Namkai Norbu (who wrote the foreword) and had the assistance for this translation on others who know Dzogchen, including Lama Tharchin who I had the great fortune to hear speak once.

If Dzogchen can be applied successfully, then it must be through reading books like this one that one "reaches" that understanding.

When I was new to Dzogchen, Vayranathra's commentary was helpful. It remains so, but to a lesser degree today, but that may be due to overfamiliarity with it on my part. The appendix, which discusses how Evan-Wentz and Jung viewed Dzogchen, was never very helpful to me and I am not clear that it would benefit anyone but scholars. My assumption is to ignore Evan-Wentz translation and go with Vayrarathra's, since it was the first I encountered, it was supported by some Dzogchen teachers, and it excited me about Dzogchen.

Since that time, having read "You aee the Eyes of the World" from Longchenpa, Self-Liberation is no longer my "favorite" Dzogchen text but it continues to seem to be one of the three most important I know of, these two and the other one being the Bon text "Heart Drops of the Dharmakaya". I confess that my practical understanding of these texts remains small after about 10 years of studying Dzogchen on and off, but it does seem to me to remain one of the more important possible ways of facing the world constructively.

Vajranathana has continued his studies of Dzogchen (both in Tibetan Buddhism and Bon) and remained closely associated with
Namkai Norbu. My impression is that he is one of the most, if not the most, reputable scholar/translator of Dzogchen. His other translations include "The Golden Letters" and "The Cycle of Day and Night". I'd suggest reading "You are the eyes of the world" postponing the introduction and commentary but rather reading first the main text of "Self-liberation through seeing with naked awareness", also postponing its commentary and seeing what effect they have on you. If they make sense, you may be on your way to being benefited by Dzogchen in a way you could never have anticipated either yourself or by what modern day writers try to tell you. My bias is to trust the modern translators and ancient text writers for the time being and see where that leads me, because the translators may be constrained by the ancient texts and the ancient text writers may be had less to gain in worldly ways then some modern teachers.

Well, that's just my two cents on how I have approached Dzogchen. It isn't certain to me yet that anyone at any time has really applied these teachings constructively: it may be a well-meaning comfort system and it may be a long-lived deception. That it means something to indicate I am conscious in a way that seems incredibly creative, without boundaries, and with staggering presence I won't argue with, but that may be natural aspects of what we find as our consciousness and being in the world, it doesn't mean that anyone is a master of it or that it is some great perfection that already exists but for which I should pay people to confirm. Be wary and enjoy this creative ride and be glad, as "Self-Liberation through seeing with naked awareness" points out that your present thoughts will liberate of their own accord and not clutter your mind for too long.

When I was living in the Philippines, my dad brought this with him from the States (I asked for it). I read it in a day and a half. Going to a school I hated and feeling trapped and boxed up, being an outcast, was a lot easier with this book (and a guitar, but mostly that came afterwards). This was my first Bukowski book and I love his work. I wanna read everything they've got of him.

In the previous review I was telling that this book was published in spanish but ONLY the stories, not the poems. I can't understand why the guys at Anagrama did this. I cant understand why none of Bukowski poetry books are published in spanish either. And I say that this book is good, not Buk best, but good. (you'll wonder why 5 stars then? Because the good books deserve 10 or more stars)

Este libro apareció en Anagrama como "Hijo de Satanás", pero sólo conteniendo los cuentos, lo que es una verdadera vergüenza. Es incomprensible por qué mutilaron un libro. Tampoco alcanzo a comprender por qué la poesía de Bukowski es ignorada olímpicamente en castellano. Ah, este libro es muy bueno, leanló, etc., o sea.

HE WAS never a very good suicide. 'I gave it a go now and then but something always used to go wrong.' As we stand on the brink of war and global recession, what better than to trash the poll tax demand, order a hat trick of tequilas and settle down with an uplifting collection from Bukowski? These poems and prose are so clean and sparse one almost wants to rummage through Bukowski's bin for all the adjectives and adverbs. They are cut-throat tales of the back alleys of America, ergo the West, of a world more dire than that of Ivan Denisovich.

Of course, Bukowski always has a companion, wherever he walks there is always another, wrapped in brown mantle, beside him. But it's only a chemical. It produces a kind of gin-soaked doggerel that is surely the perfect form to describe sleeping on park benches, working the assembly lines, and pensioners with a dollar to their name who pull triggers to alleviate terminal disease. Tragic humour is strewn liberally. In one poem, the Barfly who thanks to Mickey Rourke now drives a BMW, muses on suffering for art as he fingers his Gold Card. He writes of how the critics prefer the poems about him freezing and starving on cheap wine.

With his easy transition into post-Hollywood prosperity he has shown himself to be not just another angry young man although his 'difficulties with women' as the press release puts it, show him to be no less misogynistic. But luckily, the years of body-abuse have not affected the clarity of his vision. It is of a people for whom the word 'change' means distraction, for whom thinking is painful. They move in circles of hopelessness. This sometimes infects his words with the sour, if inevitable, tang of decadence. But then, as he himself demonstrates in his poem Nowhere, most English-language authors are writing dross. With so little competition, he can only soar.

(from 1990 and by the author of "The Dream of the Decade - The London Novels")

This is my second favorite volume of Bukowski. I know this because it has the second greatest number of pages dog-eared over so I can find them again.

Why do I like it? OK, it is because when I read most modern stuff, or watch modern films for that matter, I wonder what planet they are living on. It is seldom anything I recognise. When I read Bukowski, either the poems or the short stories or the novels, I recognise the real world. It is just so damn refreshing to see that there is someone being published that is not totally disconnected with reality- at least working class reality.

Will you like this book? Well, skip to page 282 and read "the masses." If you don't like it, then you ain't going to like the rest....

There is another reason that I like this book. It emphacises that the old horseplayer beat the odds and actually made it into his seventies. He "Buk'd" some steep odds there....

Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
(Sonnet 26.)

How to do justice to the legacy of literary history's greatest mind -- moreover in such a limited review? Forget Goethe's "universal genius" and his rebel contemporary Schiller; forget the 19th century masters; forget contemporary literature: with the possible (!) exception of three Greek gentlemen named Aischylos, Sophocles and Euripides, a certain Frenchman called Poquelin (a/k/a Moliere), and that infamous Irishman Oscar Wilde, there's more wit in a single line of Shakespeare's than in an entire page of most other, even great, authors' works. And I'm not saying this in ignorance of, or in order to slight any other writer: it's precisely my admiration of the world's literary giants, past and present, that makes me appreciate Shakespeare even more -- and that although I'm aware that he repeatedly borrowed from pre-existing material and that even the (sole) authorship of the works published under his name isn't established beyond doubt. For ultimately, the only thing that matters to me is the brilliance of those works themselves; and quite honestly, the mysteries continuing to enshroud his person, to me, only enhance his larger-than-life stature.

The precise dating of Shakespeare's sonnets -- like other poets', a response to the 1591 publication of Sir Philip Sidney's "Astrophil and Stella" -- is an even greater guessing game than that of his plays: although #138 and #144 (slightly modified) appeared in 1599's "Passionate Pilgrim," most were probably circulated privately, and written years before their first -- unauthorized, though still authoritative -- 1609 publication; possibly beginning in 1592-1593.

Format-wise, they adopt the Elizabethan fourteen-line-structure of three quatrains of iambic pentameters expressing a series of increasingly intense ideas, resolved in a closing couplet; with an abab-cdcd-efef-gg rhyme form. (Sole exceptions: #99 -- first quatrain amplified by one line -- #126 -- six couplets & only twelve lines total -- #145 -- written in tetrameter -- and #146 -- omission of the second line's beginning; the subject of a lasting debate.) Their order is thematic rather than chronological, although beyond the fact that the first 126 are addressed to a young man -- maybe the Earl of Pembroke or Southampton, maybe Sir Robert Dudley, the natural son of Queen Elizabeth's "Sweet Robin," the Earl of Leicester -- (the first seventeen, possibly commissioned by the addressee's family, pressing his marriage and production of an heir), and ##127-152 (or 127-133 and 147-152) to an exotic woman of questionable virtues only known as "The Dark Lady," even in that respect much remains unclear; including the nature of Shakespeare's relationship with the two main addressees, regarding which the sonnets' often ambiguous metaphors invoke much speculation. #145 is probably addressed to Shakespeare's wife; the closing couplet plays on her maiden name ("['I hate' from] hate away she threw And saved my life, [saying 'not you']:" "Hathaway -- Anne saved my life"), several others contain puns on the name Will and its double meaning(s) (exactly fourteen in the naughty #135: "Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will;" and seven in the similarly mischievous #136), and the last two draw on the then-popular Cupid theme. Sometimes, placement seems linked to contents, e.g., in #8 (music: an octave has eight notes), #12 and #60 (time: twelve hours to both day and night; sixty minutes to an hour); and in the famous #55, which praises poetry's everlasting power and as whose never-expressly-named subject Shakespeare himself emerges in a comparison with Horace's Ode 3.30 -- in turn written in first person singular and thus, denoting its own author as the builder of its "monument more lasting than bronze" ("Exegi monumentum aere perennius") -- as well as through the number "5"'s optical similarity to the letter "S," making the sonnet's number a shorthand reference for "5hake5peare" or "5hakespeare's 5onnets," echoed by numerous words containing an "S" in the text.

Of indescribable linguistic beauty, elegance and complexity, Shakespeare's sonnets owe their timeless appeal to their supreme compositional values, the universality of their themes, and their keen insights into the human heart and soul; as much as their transcendence of the era's poetic conventions which, following Petrarch, heavily idealized the addressee's qualities: a form new and exciting twohundred years earlier, but encrusted in cliche in the late 1500s. Indeed, Shakespeare's "Dark Lady" Sonnet #130 owes its particular fame to its clever puns on that very style, which went overboard with references to its golden-haired, starry- (beamy-, sparkling, sunny-) eyed, cherry- (strawberry-, vermilion-, coral-) lipped, rosy- (crimson-, purple-, dawn-) cheeked, ivory- (lily-, carnation-, crystal-, silver-, snowy-, swan-white) skinned, pearl-teethed, honey- (nectar-, music-) tongued, goddess-like objects. "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;" the Bard countered, proceeded to describe her breasts as "dun," her hair as "black wires," and her breath as "reek[ing]," and denied her any divine or angelic attributes. "And yet," he concluded: "by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare."

Arguably, Shakespeare's very choice of addressees (a young man -- also the subject of the famously romantic #18: "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day;" the first of several sonnets promising his immortalization in poetry -- as well as the "Dark Lady," in turn introduced under the notion "black is beautiful" in #127) itself suggests a break with tradition; and compared to his contemporaries' poetry, even the equally-famous #116's on its face rather conventional praise of love's constancy ("Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments"), echoed in the poet's vow to vanquish time in #123, sounds fairly restrained. But ultimately, Shakespeare's sonnets -- like his entire work -- simply defy categorization. They are, as rival Ben Jonson acknowledged, written "for all time," just as the Bard himself immodestly claimed:

'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
(Sonnet 55.)

Also recommended:
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
Shakespeare: For All Time (Oxford Shakespeare)
Much Ado About Nothing
Love's Labour's Lost
William Shakespeare's Hamlet (Two-Disc Special Edition)
BBC Shakespeare Comedies DVD Giftbox
BBC Shakespeare Tragedies DVD Giftbox
Olivier's Shakespeare - Criterion Collection (Hamlet / Henry V / Richard III)
William Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice
Twelfth Night

Katherine Duncan-Jones in the Arden Shakespeare's Sonnets is closer to Stephen Booth's linguistic approach from Helen Vendler,s artistic analysis of the Sonnets. I think she made a mature choice because Old Will in his love lyrics is ambigous and misleading.His words are loaded with meanings and accordingly are open to more than one interpretation.Publishing the detailed notes and commentry on the same page looks more practical and helpful, not only for the students but also for the general reader.Nevertheless, Hank Wittemore's version of Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, recently published for the first time , emphasizes that the dedicatee of Shakespeare,s Sonnets is Henry Wriothesley, Third Earl of Southampton and not William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke as the Arden,s editor of the Sonnets suggests in her introduction. Since 400 years the dedicatee,s identity had been masked. A.L. Rowse in 1964 published his version of the Sonnets and held that Shakespeare dedicated his poems to his close friend and patron Earl of Southampton. Now Wriothesley proved what Rowse had cocluded in his literary and historical researching half a century ago.
In the next edition of the Arden,s Sonnets I hope Katherine Duncan-Jones sheds more illuminating light on this issue which puzzled many Shakespearians for a very long time.


Abdulsattar Jawad
Duke University

Ms. Duncan-Jones' Introduction is an extraordinary example of scholarship. To say that the Sonnets have been controversial throughout the time since their publication is a mild understatement. Ms. Duncan-Jones casts a brilliant and unwavering spotlight on these controversies and resolves them.

Any serious student of Shakespeare must read this Introduction.

If there is a failing in the book, it is in the actual footnotes to the Sonnets themselves. But in the context of Booth's footnotes, for example, this failing is insignificant. Anyone who wants a line-by-line exegesis of the Sonnets has many resources available.

Go get this book and read the Introduction!

I recently used the Arden edition of the Sonnets in a graduate level course on Renaissance literature. It's useful, too, to have Helen Vendler's "Art of the Sonnet," as well as the Penguin edition (fewer notes than the Arden). Quite simply, the Arden excels in the scholarly apparatus. Also, for a concise, readable supplement, include Greenblatt's "Will in the World" (the chapter on the sonnets). But for a close study of the sonnets, if you need a single edition, Arden is terrific.

The secondary source material found in the appendices, the fantastic footnotes, the capacioius introductions, the big clear typeface, the textual editing decisions, all make the Ardens the best single-volume Shakespeares by a long shot. The rest pale by comparison.

The only drawback, god forgive this y-chromosomed curmudgeon, that I can see in this particular Arden is that the editor, Katherine Duncan-Jones, often tends to lean a bit too far to the left, indulging into too much gender politic-ing.

Duncan-Jones also spends a quite a bit of time arguing in a rather extended manner for composition dates that are self-consciously 'provocative' and seem to be much too speculative for an introduction.

One could match this with Booth's version, which by comparison seems perhaps a touch more shallow and hidebound-- but more solid, and get a nice complimentary set of typefaces and editorial views that would balance out nicely, I would suspect.