Andrew Demcak’s collection of poems, Night Chant, published by Lethe Press in 2011, are erotic, dark, and viewer discretion is advised for its adult content. Mr. Demcak has published three books of poetry such as Catching Tigers in Red Weather (Three Candles Press, 2007), Zero Summer (BlazeVox Books, 2009) and A Single Hurt Color (GOSS 183::Casa Menendez 2010). His work has appeared in numerous literary journals, magazines, blogs and more. Night Chant is a collection that is not for the faint of heart or for those who are uncomfortable with erotica in all of its forms. There are poems that extend outwards into nature, into childhood, into dreams. Below I am happy to share a sample of poems:
The bottle-flies flock to taste the blackberries lavished on fingers.
Buzzing protest, cacophonous, from the hairy cane-nest.
Big and blue-green, plump bodies soar abreast,
coming one by one for the juice.
Swollen bellies flush against my wrist,
lush beneath the lit panes of their wings’ whisk.
A pond collected in my palm’s basin,
guests to accommodate, and the heaving blush of sweet.
I love that Mr. Demcak can take what most of us would consider a nuisance and turn into a visual and sensual experience. These are not just flies interrupting the poet’s ability to enjoy blackberries, it is a lustful gathering of blue-green flies at the feast of summer’s ripened fruits. I find the poem eloquent and beautiful.
Corn flowers, incandescent, mouth the air.
Lemon colored against a Seurat hillside,
window-eyed houses wake up.
My lover’s hands alight, twin swallowtails.
There is no old Japanese man sweeping an afternoon path.
Not even the hopeful dust.
I use a teapot to water the seedlings:
trills of basil, catnip, and rosemary.
This moment waits pregnant for planting.
I picture a couple who have been together for a long time working together in a garden. I picture a subdued neighborhood, quiet hours, with the mention that “no old Japanese man sweeping an afternoon path.” The quiet moment building to the planting of a garden that will burst with activity in the future, this poem is a wonderful build to the anticipation of an ever-pleasant future.
It is merciless desert here, this page.
The nouns wince, jot by jot.
Swathed with ink, charcoaled serifs,
the glint of one sage sun.
Between watching words held in a link,
or riding spry type, the salamander proof.
Significance fancies right inside its spelling.
From white landscapes, burnt letters emerge,
from snowcaps dully cardboard.
Poem unrolled, a disposable map.
Yes, I cannot help myself. I love poems about writing, what can I say? I love the “merciless desert, this page” and “burnt letters emerge.” The last line is my favorite line of the poem, I picture a long scroll of handwritten poems being carefully considered for keeping or disposing of by the poet. I wish I had a long roll of beige paper to create such a scroll, don’t you?
If you enjoyed this review, you may purchase a copy of Night Chant by Andrew Demcak for $15.00 for at:
*Please note that the collection does contain adult erotica so please make sure that if you decide to give this as a gift that the recipient is old enough to receive such a gift.
To learn more about Mr. Demcak and his work, check out his web-site at:
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