Vice: New and Selected Poems
by Ai
Member Reviews
A collection of poems about the worst that humanity has to offer. Serial killers, mobsters, wife beaters, pedophile priests, and corrupt politicians each get a chance to tell their story. The voice of each poem is strong and compelling, unflinching and universally dark. Still there are layers of meaning and much to meditate upon. These poems will haunt you and reveal truths if you are brave enough to accept them.
Ai is the master of persona poetry. I prefer the work in Vice that comes from her earlier collections. It is blunt, bold, and true to each persona. In the latter works, she uses more rhyme, mainly of the internal and slant varieties, that to me feels disingenuous with both the subject matter and the speaker. A possible exception to that is in the poem (and forgive me if I don't have this title exactly right as I don't have the book in front of me) "Paparazzi" where it works to light-speed staccato effect. Overall a stunning collection demonstrative of a stunning (and missed!) talent.
Three Contemporary Poets: (2) Ai
Cruelty.
Killing Floor.
Sin.
Fate.
Greed.
Vice.
Believe it or not, but these are actually the titles of poetry books by the National Book Award winning Poet Ai written in 1973, 1979, 1986, 1991, 1993 and 1999 respectively.
I remember an intense conversation last fall in my Philosophy Senior Seminar on Aesthetics debating whether things that are morally repulsive could actually be aesthetically pleasing. Can "sins", the replication of them or the portray of them be considered art? Could one rightfully consider it beautiful. In the class, the professor used a early 20th century Hitler/Nazi propaganda film which apparently is known for it's cinematography. I speak (ein bisschen) German-- and I wasn't impressed. So at the time, I was leaning towards no. Perhaps I was leaning past no.
And yet, ironically, I love Ai's poetry.
It did not dawn on me until I recently revisited Vice, that there is a contradiction in my line of thinking. Ai's poetry truly portrays the depth of human cruelty and severity. The poetry is beautifully repulsive. The poems are beautiful, the content is often unbearable.
Abortion
Coming home, I find you still in bed,
but when I pull back the blanket
I see your stomach is flat as an iron.
You've done it, as you warned me you would
and left the fetus wrapped in wax paper
for me to look at. My son.
Woman, loving you no matter what you do,
what can I say, except that I've heard
the poor have no children, just small people
and there is room only show more for one man in this house.
So was I a hypocrite to argue whole-heartedly in class that the the film was not beautiful, and inately could not be. Perhaps I could not detach my understanding of history from the impact of art. Or perhaps, the difference between the film and this poetry is intent. Ai is not writing with intent to promote human cruelty. Ai is simply revealing the truth. Is the intent important in the result of art?
from Interview with a Policeman
You say you want this story
in my own words,
but you won't tell it my way.
Reporters never do.
If everybodys's racist,
that means you too.
I grab your finger
as you jab it at my chest.
So what, the minicam caught that?
You want to know all about it, right?=
the liquor store, the black kid
who pulled his gun
at the wrong time.
You saw the dollars he fell on an bloodied.
Remeber how cold it was that night,
but I was sweating.
I'd worked hard, I was through
for twenty-four hours,
and I wanted som brew.
When I heard a show,
I tunred and saw the clerk
with his hands in the air,
saw the kind drop his gon
as I yelled and ran from the back.
I only fired when he bent down,
picked up his gun, and dropped it again...
Tonight, though, for a while you'll lie awake.
You'll hear the sound of gunshots
in someone else's neighborhood,
then, comforted, turn over in your bed
and close your eyes,
but the boy like a shark redeemed at last
yet unrepentant
will reenter your life
by the unlocked door of sleep
to take everything but his fury back.
I haven't found a writing group, yet. I do not yet have a mentor. I do not have a teacher, nor a class. So, sometimes I live and learn vicariously through my older brother, his class with their teacher. Ai was on the required/recommended reading list that I stole a glance at. Ai? Two letters. I wanted to know what it means. Male, female? Asian? Black? Native. Ai is the Japanese word for love. Her ancestry is Asian, Black, Native American and Irish. As I type, I wonder how much race matters. Now, and when she was growing up in Texas. Nonetheless, Ai is truely a gift from God helping us to understand the depths of our own fear, insecurity and vulnerability.
Love,
Lhea J
http://blackbookshelf.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_blackbookshelf_archive.html show less
Cruelty.
Killing Floor.
Sin.
Fate.
Greed.
Vice.
Believe it or not, but these are actually the titles of poetry books by the National Book Award winning Poet Ai written in 1973, 1979, 1986, 1991, 1993 and 1999 respectively.
I remember an intense conversation last fall in my Philosophy Senior Seminar on Aesthetics debating whether things that are morally repulsive could actually be aesthetically pleasing. Can "sins", the replication of them or the portray of them be considered art? Could one rightfully consider it beautiful. In the class, the professor used a early 20th century Hitler/Nazi propaganda film which apparently is known for it's cinematography. I speak (ein bisschen) German-- and I wasn't impressed. So at the time, I was leaning towards no. Perhaps I was leaning past no.
And yet, ironically, I love Ai's poetry.
It did not dawn on me until I recently revisited Vice, that there is a contradiction in my line of thinking. Ai's poetry truly portrays the depth of human cruelty and severity. The poetry is beautifully repulsive. The poems are beautiful, the content is often unbearable.
Abortion
Coming home, I find you still in bed,
but when I pull back the blanket
I see your stomach is flat as an iron.
You've done it, as you warned me you would
and left the fetus wrapped in wax paper
for me to look at. My son.
Woman, loving you no matter what you do,
what can I say, except that I've heard
the poor have no children, just small people
and there is room only show more for one man in this house.
So was I a hypocrite to argue whole-heartedly in class that the the film was not beautiful, and inately could not be. Perhaps I could not detach my understanding of history from the impact of art. Or perhaps, the difference between the film and this poetry is intent. Ai is not writing with intent to promote human cruelty. Ai is simply revealing the truth. Is the intent important in the result of art?
from Interview with a Policeman
You say you want this story
in my own words,
but you won't tell it my way.
Reporters never do.
If everybodys's racist,
that means you too.
I grab your finger
as you jab it at my chest.
So what, the minicam caught that?
You want to know all about it, right?=
the liquor store, the black kid
who pulled his gun
at the wrong time.
You saw the dollars he fell on an bloodied.
Remeber how cold it was that night,
but I was sweating.
I'd worked hard, I was through
for twenty-four hours,
and I wanted som brew.
When I heard a show,
I tunred and saw the clerk
with his hands in the air,
saw the kind drop his gon
as I yelled and ran from the back.
I only fired when he bent down,
picked up his gun, and dropped it again...
Tonight, though, for a while you'll lie awake.
You'll hear the sound of gunshots
in someone else's neighborhood,
then, comforted, turn over in your bed
and close your eyes,
but the boy like a shark redeemed at last
yet unrepentant
will reenter your life
by the unlocked door of sleep
to take everything but his fury back.
I haven't found a writing group, yet. I do not yet have a mentor. I do not have a teacher, nor a class. So, sometimes I live and learn vicariously through my older brother, his class with their teacher. Ai was on the required/recommended reading list that I stole a glance at. Ai? Two letters. I wanted to know what it means. Male, female? Asian? Black? Native. Ai is the Japanese word for love. Her ancestry is Asian, Black, Native American and Irish. As I type, I wonder how much race matters. Now, and when she was growing up in Texas. Nonetheless, Ai is truely a gift from God helping us to understand the depths of our own fear, insecurity and vulnerability.
Love,
Lhea J
http://blackbookshelf.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_blackbookshelf_archive.html show less
did not enjoy any of these poems in this book
did not enjoy any of these poems in this book
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