Customer Reviews

Crush (Yale Series of Younger Poets)

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I just finished reading Richard Siken's Crush, the recent Yale winner. It is a phenomenal book. And I don't say that lightly. What strikes me the most about this book is the absolute command of the line Siken has. That might sound like mumbo jumbo to some, but his lines seemed guided both by cadence and by rational thought. Add to this a hauntingly dark, brutal, violent landscape and what you get is something absolutely memorable. At times, Siken's poems are pure lyric, love lyrics, but always there is the grit to ground such poems.

These are poems with speakers who want desperately to understand what is going on around them, want to explain them. But time and time again, the poems demonstrate that we are incapable of ever really recounting experience with any real degree of faithfulness.

And gorgeous, these poems are. I am glad there are poets like Louise Gluck out there judging book contests because the world needs books like this one. It is easily one of the best first books published in the last decade. It heralds the arrival of a stunning new voice. I will be anxiously and "faithfully" looking for Mr. Siken's work in the future.

Richard Siken, Crush (Yale, 2005)

When I compile my list of the ten best reads of the year, I have no doubt whatsoever that Richard Siken's first book, Crush, will be on that list, possibly at the top. I could stare at the cover for hours-- a close-up of a mouth, and a hand, thumb wet with blood, or perhaps motor oil. It fits perfectly with the contents of the book, which are clingy, suffocating, obsessive, and uniformly brilliant. Louise Gluck writes in her introduction that "[f]or a book like this to work, it cannot deviate from obsession (lest its urgency, in being occasional, seem unconvincing)...". She is, of course, correct; how obsessive can you be if you are not constantly turning your obsession over in your mind or your hands? And Siken provides a picture of obsession that is hauntingly pure.

"...Your name like
a song I sing to myself, your name like a box
where I keep my love, your name like a nest
in the tree of love, your name like a boat
in the sea of love-- O now we're in the sea of love!
Your name like detergent in the washing machine.
Your name like two Xs like punched-in eyes,
like a drunk cartoon passed out in the gutter,
your name with two Xs to mark the spots,
to hold the place, to keep the treasure from
becoming ever lost. I'm saying your name
in the grocery store, I'm saying your name on
the bridge at dawn. Your name like an animal
covered with frost, your name like a music that's
been transposed..."
("Saying Your Names")

There is something not right about this, and it's obvious from even a cursory read. In the hands of many (perhaps most) other poets, a passage like this would come off sappy-sweet. Siken makes it distressing, darkening it until finally the reader is trapped there in the pit with him, for no matter how dark this collection gets (and this is the tip of the iceberg), there is always that seductive, lilting quality to Siken's lines that never quite lets the reader go, even long after the back cover is shut.

This is one for the ages. *****

Richard Siken's Crush is urgent, its voice an aggressive invasion. From the first sentence of his first poem, the reader engages death, love, and longing. "Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake / and dress them in warm clothes again" (3). There are no subtleties here, only language that literally forces the reader to engage the writing and the beauty of the rhythm on the page. It is in this language and rhythm that Siken develops a very tight and eloquent structure.

Siken's voice is consistent throughout the collection - at times raw, uninhibited, escaping the clothed bitter aftertaste of conventional language and in other parts soft, rhythmic, alliterative, and safe. "The Dislocated Room" is crafted in just such a manner. It begins on a beautiful evening where it would seem all is at peace:

It was night for many miles and then the real stars in the purple sky,
like little boats rowed out too far,
begin to disappear.
And there, in the distance, not the promised land,
but a Holiday Inn.
(46)

But the dislocation begins. The reader quickly peels back the layers of the poem and finds something sinister and raw in a Holiday Inn somewhere, anywhere in America.

This is the in-between, the waiting that happens in the
space between
one note and the next, the part where you confuse
his hand with the room, the dog
with the man, the blood
with the ripped up sky.
He puts his hands all over you to keep you in the room.
( 47)

The sky is no longer purple with stars "like little boats rowed out too far" but violated, filthy, stained.

Yet, what still pulls the reader further inside the poetry is Siken's use of "you". We feel a part. It's as if an anonymous ghost haunts the page and Siken continually addresses it. We welcome this ghost and, eventually, feel that when Siken uses "you" he is speaking directly to us, the reader.

In "Boot Theory", for example, Siken uses repetition to provide a certain structure. "A man walks into a bar and says:" (20). These are simple words, simple declarative statements, but what follows, explores, crosses boundaries, creates an invasion of sorts, and seeks to develop the ghostly "you".

You take him home, and you make him a cheese sandwich,
and you try to get his shoes off, but he kicks you
and he keeps kicking you.
You swallow a bottle of sleeping pills but they don't work.
Boots continue to fall to the floor
in the apartment above you.
(20)

It isn't the repetition of "A man walks into a bar and says" that is attractive about this particular poem, but rather the repetition of "you" because it allows the reader to walk into the poetry and become its words. Towards the end, the man in the bar becomes "you" and the transition completes itself - the reader sees a man in a bar, "you" take him home, but then eventually "you" become him, sad and alone. The eloquence is in the fact that the repetition gives the reader an attachment and forces them to react emotionally to Siken's poetry.

Crush, then, is a gripping portrayal of what can happen when a poet unclothes, determined to write not for audience approval, but for the sake of expression, voice, and self. It is because of this nakedness that the reader reacts emotionally to the text, draws meaning from this aggressive invasion of the psyche and walks away feeling they have experienced a beautiful violation.

I am in love with this book. I bought it a couple of years ago on a recommendation and have read it over and over and over again. Other reviewers have sung the book's praises brilliantly and I agree with many of their descriptions. Violent, haunting, tender, unflinching. I think my favorite adjective for these poems is "seductive." The way you're lulled into reading a nice little love poem ... and then sent reeling. It's breathtaking.

"An all-night barbeque. A dance on the courthouse lawn.
The radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night
is thinking. It's thinking of love.
It's thinking of stabbing us to death
and leaving our bodies in a dumpster.
That's a nice touch, stains in the night, whiskey kisses for everyone."


The scenes are so alive, so vivid, so intense and immediate. Very cinematic poetry. I wish I could write like this, and I wish there was more of Siken's work out there to be found. I've been searching ....

I have to agree that the first poem is depressingly, astoundingly good. It made me feel like I shouldn't bother writing anymore. Siken seems like a hipsters dream come true--sexy, violent, crushed, and ironic. His use of tiny sentences and tons of periods reminds me of a myspace page, and his storylines that more than once involve a gunshot wound are dubious at best. They seem almost pornographic in their immediacy--that is to say, you don't learn why this person was shot, or where they will g...more I have to agree that the first poem is depressingly, astoundingly good. It made me feel like I shouldn't bother writing anymore. Siken seems like a hipsters dream come true--sexy, violent, crushed, and ironic. His use of tiny sentences and tons of periods reminds me of a myspace page, and his storylines that more than once involve a gunshot wound are dubious at best. They seem almost pornographic in their immediacy--that is to say, you don't learn why this person was shot, or where they will go, but the extreme romance of taking a bullet, especially, in one case, to protect someone that you love who tortures you, is something the kids will love.

This book probably deserves the buzz it has received. Siken's technical dazzle, fine ear and provocative subjects work together beautifully in some of the poems. Gluck is right in her introduction--this is obsessive material. I wish, though, that Siken hadn't stuck so tenaciously to that material. The pleasure and shock I felt in reading the first part of the book turned into tedium by the end.

It's easy to drown in Siken's words. He's real and heartbreaking and his poetry is not only felt but a physical sinking in your chest. Recommended for any poetry lover, or first time reader.

"You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you're not miserable."

- Richard Siken, 'Seaside Improvisation'

I first heard of Richard Siken from a friend and when she said he was amazing, she was NOT exaggerating. All the poems are gorgeous crafted in such a way that leaves you with shivers. Siken writes with so much emotion and every line has a special meaning. My personal favorites are "Scheherazade", "Little Beast", "The Torn-Up Road", "A Primer for the Small Weird Loves", okay I'm going to stop because I'll list more than half if I continue. This book is filled with some of the most amazing poetry I've ever read; definitely recommend for anyone who wants to read something with meaning.

- kathey

Crush is a three part collection of poetry. The first two parts are almost flawless while the third has some moments of weakness. That said, the first two parts are so good that the third part can not detract from their power.

Part One establishes several motifs that wind their way through the poems of parts two and three effectively binding them together. The mood of part one also throws the reader into a sense of claustrophobic grief and yearning that pervades the poems.

While at times difficult to read, the poems are strikingly honest and immediate. The sexual undertone is both symbolic and explicit at once: in The Torn-Up Road, Siken provides the powerful metaphor of "a boat slamming into the dock."
Siken frequently uses "You" turning the reading experience into a conversation between the reader and the poet. Although the poems are often tragic they are also filled with surprising humor. "We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor...When I say this it should mean laughter, not poison."

Part Two is similar to part one but the poetry is even wilder and more tightly focused on the crush. "Boot Theory" is a spectacular opening poem and "Saying Your Names" provides an equally exquisite closing.

The final section is the most philosophical and at times the meaning becomes opaque as in the mammoth poem "You are Jeff" it is unclear what emotional argument Siken is trying to capture with his extended metaphors.

However, the final poem "Snow and Dirty Rain manages to summarize the emotional journey of the collection and brings a sense of closure. Siken hits several helpful notes and provides a thesis for the entire collecion: "We can do anything. It's not because our hearts are large, they're not, it's what we struggle with."
Part

After reading Crush, you will probably just hate other poetry ... ones that are not in this book. Perhaps this book will make poetry in general more accessible. Easier to appreciate.

This book ripped into new places inside me. Told me things I've always wanted to say. Put the right words in the right form in my mouth. It's like listening to your deepest thoughts ... or someone else's deepest thoughts. Beautiful. Rich with feeling. I don't know what else to say. It hurts, complains, mocks, ridicules, scowls, scoffs, spits in your eye, stabs you in the throat and then sings you to sleep with a sort of satisfaction; something like sweet revenge.

I'm not a poet, but I've seen real poets fail to describe this book, so I'm not too ashamed that I can do it no justice. Read the book. You wont regret it. Chances are, it's a book you will read more than once. Like a bible of hurt and release.