Today I read a book of poems by a friend and was delighted. A female Bukowski, I knew it all along! The book is called The Art of Bars: Twelve Steps in the War Against the Self by Mickey J. Corrigan, a not particularly prepossessing title, sure, but the poems are terrific! Very much in the spirit of Hank Chinaski, but not limited by their conscious tribute to his style and approach. They have their own voice and their own character, and well, let her speak for herself:
You pose, display what’s on tap
for the night. Bog Woman.
Out of your black cave
into the ragged firelight.
I also read Killing the Math today, the second book by fellow Whiskey Titter Joey Truman, and found it charming—much to my delight. I read Truman’s first novel Postal Child last year, and, um, “charming” is not the word … but this one turns out to be a pleasant and engaging bildungsroman full of filth and innocence, surely ripe for cinematic conversion. One of those road trip movies, you know? Like, say, Y Tu Mama Tambien, only in Wyoming.