The Human Remains

This first collection of poems was written from when I was 19 to 24 (or somewhere around there). A few of these poems are products of workshops I took at Indiana University with Roger Mitchell, Catherine Bowman and Lucia Perillo. But the majority of this book was written while I lived and taught English in Prague, CZ. I was listening to Radiohead (particularly ‘Kid A’ and ‘Amnesiac’), Marilyn Mason, Tom Waits and PJ Harvey. I was reading Kafka, Poe, Blake, Plath and Rushdie. I don’t know if any of these artistic influences, or my lifestyle at the time, permeate or project from these poems intensely – but the influences are completely apparent. At least I can hear Tom Waits and Thom Yorke singing Kafka and Plath as I stroll the labyrinthine streets of Prague. That is how most of these poems were initially conjured.

While I was living, teaching and writing in Prague, the working title of this book was ‘Infected.’ The themes of alienation, loss of faith and family illness all appear within the poem “infected” and this seemed like a suitable title (and it still is). The final title wasn’t discovered until the book was being complied for publication – and then, September 11th happened. Like everyone, I was glued to the television for two days after the attack. I was horrified. Simply horrified. As all of the news coverage washed over me a phrase began to ring in my ears: the human remains. Workers at ground zero said they were no longer looking for living survivors but rather the human remains so that victims can be identified. This idea stuck with me and I began to think about what we leave behind when the curtain is drawn for the last time. As I worked on the book, these poems became my remains – what I would leave behind.

Some of my personal favorites in this book are “we’re out,” “still here,” “where have all the children gone?,” “independence,” “doublethink,” “infected (section ii – six inches),” and “the corner.” I think the earliest poem in this collection is “oval.” This is one of the first poems I wrote that seemed to write itself and I actually liked the end product. Once I set my pen down, I knew I had raised the bar for myself with that poem. Have you ever had that feeling? That you have written a piece that is better than everything that proceeded it and that you have found the new watermark where you will measure the rest of the surging tide?

There are a number of pieces in the book that are basically experiments with sound and placement of words on the page. A few of the poems are “a better place,” “re(place)ment,” “HANDICAPPED,” and “all in a day.” I don’t participate in this extremity of experimentation so much any more but I do like how these poems turned out.

As with any artistic project, flaws present themselves over time. This book has not been saved from the weight of time and my progression as a poet but it is a statement of where I was at a specific time.

(to top)