OF BLOOD & INK

Ragged verse that exorcizes its author’s most visceral emotions.

Nearly everything about Of Blood & Ink suggests spontaneity. When the cover and introduction explain that Phoenix not only wrote but also “compiled” these poems, the implication is of a lack of premeditation. The author’s decision to arrange them alphabetically by title suggests a similar haphazardness. Although this order recalls that of a dictionary or encyclopedia, the book’s content is far less varied than these parallels suggest. In poem after poem, Phoenix expresses violent dissatisfaction with himself and with others, the latter of whom he alternately threatens (often with rape) and begs for forgiveness. Stylistically, his form matches his content, an endless stream of gruesome metaphors and demonic imagery flowing through each new address to the constantly invoked and nameless “you.” The book’s greatest mercy lies in its self-contradiction. The reader who makes it past the halfway mark will begin to find the author’s claim to disorder highly suspicious. Despite appearances to the contrary, the book traces a subtle trajectory from dejection to redemption, with the final poem reflecting comprehensively on what has come before. Reflection is much of the book’s crucial missing ingredient, as may be judged from the relative success of those poems, such as “Mothers and Fathers” and “Suit and Tie,” that turn away from obsessive preoccupation with their author’s psyche to offer tentative social commentary. The latter of these even features some of the book’s cleverest moments, re-imagining the conformist’s necktie as a noose waiting to hang him. Despite lingering awkwardness, the later poems’ capacity for empathy gives credence to the author’s claim that his depiction of darker human impulses seeks to heal rather than glorify.

A heartfelt but trying rehash of the thousand natural shocks that human flesh is heir to.