Bobi celebrates the history of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in this debut collection of poetry.
Constructed in 1909, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway is the oldest permanent motor racing track in the world, and its marquee race, the Indianapolis 500, is hailed by some as “the Greatest Race on Earth.” Bobi gives the race and racetrack the Homeric treatment with this volume of verse that chronicles the lore, personalities, records, and automobiles of the storied institution. After a prose-heavy introductory section that explains the author’s fascination with auto racing and gives some background on the Speedway, Bobi offers themed poetry sections on such topics as the psychology of a race car driver, the relationship between man and automobile, the experience of being at the Speedway during the race-heavy month of May, and the women of the auto racing world. The vast majority of the book, however, is taken up by a section titled “Start Your Engines,” which features poems about every Indy 500 race (and many others as well), held at the racetrack from 1909 to ’95. The final section offers some miscellaneous poems, notes on other “poets of auto racing,” and reference citations. Most of Bobi’s poems are written in rhyming couplets, including “Father and Son,” which describes one of racing’s most famous families: “Two Andrettis talking away, / It was father and son on this Fifth day of May; / A gesture from Jeff, Mario gave a nod, / Would their chat get the problem resolved?” Throughout, the author provides some engaging uses of slant rhyme. However, the poems show no sense of meter, which lends a clunky, unfinished quality to the work. Much of it is narrative, but even so, there’s a lack of emotional depth to the verses that may leave the reader feeling more bored than invigorated. The prospect of reading 500 pages of poems about car race after car race may sound monotonous, and it is. And although the book is remarkable as a peculiar, exhaustive love letter to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, it’s difficult to imagine even die-hard racing fans reading the entire book.
A tome of car racing poems, loaded with trivia but short on lyricism.
A debut multigenre collection of short pieces presents vignettes focusing on the lives of African Americans from a variety of perspectives, both real and fanciful.
This eclectic anthology begins with an autobiographical sketch, “P Is for Pride and Perseverance,” in which King traces his early years from his 1979 birth to a 16-year-old mother to his incarceration for attempted robbery and his subsequent determination to do something positive with his life. “Baby Girl” reprises the story of King’s birth from his mother’s point of view, a girl whose teen pregnancy seems predestined by both her grandmother’s clairvoyant dreams and her own limited expectations. Other narratives are linked by shared characters, such as “Posse Up, Ladies First!” and “Thug Angel,” which provide somewhat idealized portraits of street gangs as building blocks of the black community. “Battle Kats” is an SF work about a group of humanoid felines from another planet who work undercover to defend Earth and its alien allies. The central section of the book is occupied by a collection of 21 poems. Some, like “Hold on to Love” and “Away From Home,” focus on romance while others, such as “The Rent Is Too Damn High!” and “Blockstars,” illuminate the experiences of working-class African Americans in inner-city neighborhoods. “Remember Me?” calls up the spirit of LaTasha Harlins, a young black woman shot by a Los Angeles shop owner in the early ’90s, speculating “I wonder what you could have been LaTasha?” King’s efforts to describe his personal struggles and the vibrant characters who populate impoverished black communities are ambitious and dynamic. His prose narratives are too short to feel really complete, but they deliver glimpses into a world mainly familiar to the urban poor, where drug dealing is one of the few available career choices, incarceration is a rite of passage, and street gangs view themselves as community leaders. While the author does have a tendency to romanticize life on the street, as in “Posse Up,” in which a girl gang maintains a strict “code of principles,” his writing presents a vision of what could happen if people worked to “play a part in the improvement of the community.”
A volume of poetry and prose that offers heroic visions of urban African Americans.
Davis recounts the confounding pressures of his 1990s childhood in this debut memoir-in-verse.
When telling the story of your life, one might as well start at the very beginning. That’s exactly what the author does in this memoir, which he describes as “a thing like a very long lie to yourself.” Specifically, he tells of how “The White-Gloved Sheriff / kicked in the door / and / Pulled me” from his mother (whom he calls his “Supervisor”; he later calls her “the Computer Science Major,” “the Waitress,” and other occupational names). Unusually, he had horns and a lot of hair at birth, he says. He was immediately at odds with the people and other living things around him—his parents, his brothers, his family dog. As a toddler, he created an imaginary world for himself known as “FU,” which was “Filled with things that looked like me / And where things made sense / I was King.” His earliest years were characterized by horrible discoveries (school work, isolation, crushes, problems in his parents’ marriage), but his teen years proved to be an even greater series of highs and lows, involving confusion over geopolitical events, friends, computers, pornography, and marijuana. Like a novice who can’t quite figure out the rules of a game, Davis bumbles forward—all horns and fur and misunderstanding—inadvertently angering authority figures as he seeks an adequate method of self-expression. The poem is composed in short, direct lines, enjambed to emphasize particular words or phrases rather than establish a consistent overall rhythm. Davis’ idiolect is inventive in its names for things (siblings are “life partners,” pets are “prisoners,” teachers are “Part-Time Supervisors,” and so on), and his outsider’s observations of society are shrewd and often funny. However, the combination of snark and self-seriousness causes some poems to come off as petulant and cloying; as a result, it’s difficult to imagine anyone over the age of 22 finding the work emotionally affecting. Even so, the tone and style, coupled with debut artist Klimov’s truly engaging black-and-white illustrations should captivate readers of a certain anarchic mindset.
A nihilistic poetic remembrance that will appeal most to older teens and 20-somethings.