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Poetry Review: Spiral Staircase by Hirato Renkichi

Renkichi’s poetry is a bulge and is a sag and is a canker. It is a rupture. A sore. Sour and undeniable.

Hirato Renkichi is the affirmation of the truly explosive resound of Futurism and the subsequent avant garde. A reflection across the world, the poetry found within this man’s mind is the mirror taken, polished, and shattered. Renkichi’s work forms the bang that comes off the reactions of violence toward the status quo, offering a quivering rigor, a vigorous rancor beyond the Europeans and Americans experimenting in their own scraped, industrialized and war-torn weight.

Renkichi’s poetry is like teeth gnawing at bone.

Renkichi as Japanese poet is an offer of candid spirited performance, his life a bang in itself (born: 1893; died at age 29: 1922). Ugly Duckling’s translation and extended preservation of Renkichi’s work appears to be one of the most important avant garde publishing moves in recent years, a gift for all of us to remember the scrape and weight of the world of systems of masses, of new ways of looking. Here we have a poetry that is exciting and universally acceptable: a spirit that is dynamic, carrying a poetry particularly resonant with the contemporary conflagration of information, the contemporary torrential migraines of superimposed media, and the contemporary dynamite disassociation of our everyday world. A world we know well and a world Renkichi knew well and knew how to describe.

In the depth of your scalding, scalding heart The cooking stove of every craving is boiling Both Heaven and Hell God and Satan And above all, the beautiful aspiration And baove all, the indecent activities And also violence and gentleness Love and jealousy Become one Tottering Making your heart dance The endless human craving The endless strength of steel kneading

– from “A Tropical Poem”

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Dedicated to the ideas of Thomas Walton, channeling Keats, but not with permission of either to publish this channeling. In other words, this post means as much nothing as intended.

#nc17poem 1 a leg I hopped like grasshoppers floating between fence posts and flames (burnt forest) sang our history

#nc17poem 2 spools of women and the allies too noticing discarded signs anyone can continue the skies continue blue

#nc17poem 3 it isn’t near give the face a lift with your hands cupped round mallets made of stone

#nc17poem 4 exquisite in this lighting moon in retrograde human in reprimand missing our warmth missing her flesh’s heat

#nc17poem 5 a courtroom of machinegun fire fires out fire alighted like fire or flame old wrinkles are charred

#greg bem #poem #altpoem