paper 0-87451-878-4 This prizewinning first volume, selected by Garrett Hongo, embraces its own rudeness: an admitted —narcissistic 90's beatnik,— loncar avoids capital letters and favors no conventional punctuation. His jump-cutting style hops from image to image, creating a collage of incidents and things drawn from a hyped-up world of —post modern tv scrap culture.— Breathless allusions to road movies punctuate free-flowing narratives about a boy, a girl, and a car: in an America of —evangelists and mass murderers and movie stars,— they hurtle from motel to motel, coffee-fueled, sleepless, and grateful for jukeboxes full of Patsy Cline. At times boozy and bluesy, loncar's short-short poems risk glibness, when they—re not pared down to incoherence. The road narrative culminates in a tragic crash, and sexy Angelina (a soft-porn Garbo)dies—the whole event re-created typographically (and unclearly) in —postscript: landscape with car crash.— —Wallace P. Hipslit, age nine— nicely changes pace with a portrait of a young boy on a swing trying to impress a girl—the poem neatly re-creating the boy's rhythmic motions. But loncar's aesthetic better shows itself in the longish —the king of refrigerator poems,— full of all sorts of posturings and boasts: he's a —poetic hard ass,— with —a willingness to fuck with any/margin foolish enough to come within yards/of me.— Though he imagines himself a threat to the —fascist neo-/formalist— poets, loncar undercuts his own poetic and political conceits with much inspired self-effacement—but even that develops into another tiresome pose.
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