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A Journeyman’s Poems
by Jacob erin-cilberto
41 Poems ~ 44 pages
Price: $10.00
Publisher: Praying Mantis Press
ISBN #: 9798309065400
To Order: Amazon.com
Reviewed by Michael Escoubas
The term “journeyman” caught my eye from the get-go. Poet jacob erin-cilberto truly meets the criteria of journeyman in his chosen profession of poet extraordinaire. My debut in the printing industry began as an apprentice. As such, I worked side-by-side with proven craftsman learning the trade by watching and taking instruction. After four years of training and classes I passed as a “competent” printer. Thus, I entered the rarified company of other journeymen. Competency equals journeyman: one proven to excel in each facet of the trade. Erin-cilberto’s twenty-fifth collection, A Journeyman’s Poems, highlights more than mere competency: his vivid imagination and exciting use of literary tools, sets him apart in the world of letters.
Erin-cilberto describes himself as a “blue collar” poet. Comfortable fit for the collection’s title and life attitude of the poet. There is nothing pretentious or “highfalutin” here. What you see is what you get. I find, in his work, common sense and a heart for the human condition. My goal is to demonstrate this.
“Morning Mass,” grabbed me right away. Erin-cilberto portrays a “frail woman in mourning.” Her “back-alley” husband has “collapsed into Sainthood.” Without a doubt, the protagonist has had a hard life. The poet’s use of irony is palpable. No Hallmark Channel ending here. This lady’s life has been hard … now it is harder still:
now her hands
once folded in prayer
reach out for alms
a benediction
into poverty.
Every serious poet should read “a few beers and an empty page.” Erin-cilberto deals with writer’s block. He can’t locate the gumption to put together a decent poem. Complete honesty here. Is there even one among us who hasn’t been blocked? Here’s a teaser:
the panic in my thoughts
tries to rouse me
to expend the energy
to type
but nouns are so passive
when there is no structure
to their sentence.
I am thwarted …
Yet, within this tension, a truly fine poem reaches the page. Wallace Stevens, among the twentieth century’s premier poets, knew about writer’s block. His poem “The Man Whose Pharynx was Bad,” is an example, as is erin-cilberto’s, of authoring an overcoming poem.
When writing reviews, I look for great titles. “inebriated pens and unfinished poems,” drew me in:
the poet’s complexity
is a standing-room only crowd
of withering thoughts
Creativity was the theme of the cocktail party
but the drunks fell over their own versions
of life
the phrasing tipsy
Rhymes argued
there was uncomfortable silence
dramatic pause
empirical loneliness
the silent drive home
the poem never quite made it
and the pen behind the wheel
didn’t survive the crash.
Mary Oliver once wrote: “Sometimes we must let a poem die.” Erin-cilberto has a way of reaching the heart with reality. Not every poem works. In the swamp of life, we slog and clog our way to excellent writing. The poet’s attitude comes forth: as writers we must be “persistent.” Erin-cilberto knows whereof he speaks.
A Journeyman’s Poems includes shorter forms which highlight the poet’s command of genre. Sprinkled throughout the work are two septets and six poems split between haiku and senryu. “Irony’s Assault” hit me with a hard dose of its title:
froth with rage at the empty page
pounding the keys sounding less than sage
coffee shivering stale
bitter morning warning
of the blank thoughts that fall
like a cold snow
in August.
Thus, the poet’s “face-on” confrontation with poetry unveils this truth of his craft. There is a certain ironic facet we poet’s live with … too often, your reviewer’s writing efforts “fall, like a cold snow in August.” Even so, I write in solidarity with erin-cilberto’s homage to Walt Whitman:
sliding into the figurative
Whitman’s poetry
leaves grass stains
on the knees of my mind
For a refreshingly honest look at the writing profession, run, don’t walk, to a bookseller near you where A Journeyman’s Poems waits to entertain and stimulate the poet’s heart.
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