Collins’ poetry in this world - he is a mighty-fine ambassador of the art - but for those who read his stuff and then ask, “This is all there is to poetry?” He will ax-crack more logs to store for a bucolic winter in his firewood-warmed cabin of clever poetry, while the rest of the country overdoses on painkillers. But then the rest of the book is more or less the same note, but to me it came off feeling almost like a toddler who keeps repeating the same joke even though it was only funny the first time. There were actually a couple poems I enjoyed - the first poem in the collection, for instance, which I plan to transcribe below, is very clever and funny. This is art that comes purely from the brain, and zero from the pain. I can see how this poetry would be appreciated in an America that doesn’t ever like to feel stupid (and therefore needing improvement), because this…this was nothing - disintegrating vanilla.Īnd if one reads between the lines, one must so strongly envy this man’s utterly splendorous and problemless life. This stuff is such softcore vanilla nothing, I almost shudder with contempt, but it’s ultimately harmless. I bring that up because although I am a great lover of poetry, and a great appreciator of Poetry Ambassadors like Billy Collins - people who write poetry that is accessible to the masses - for almost every poem in this book, I would read a line and then roll my eyes, almost as if my eyes were trying to complete the strikethrough created by my disappointment. There’s a little curly tail on the strikethrough.
In proofreading, when the proofer wants something eliminated from the manuscript, he or she will strike the offending mistake through, but the strikethrough isn’t a perfectly straight line like the way it’s done on computers. I remember rolling my eyes at the few poems my uninspiring professor made us read, and the book then sat on my various bookshelves for fifteen years until I noticed my reviews of books of poetry on here receive the most views and likes, so I figured I’d rip through this slim volume and present my Classic Dan response to the world. I only own this book because I took a poetry-writing class in college and it was assigned to us. What, presumably, was the pitch to the publisher? “I’m Billy Collins - the only poet in America.
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