By David McGimpsey
If you happen to tore off the tops of canola —
yellow canola ﬂowers —
would you bounce in a bath of canola margarine
just to make the easiest of despair?
Implored through involved readers to be 'classy' and 'real' for as soon as, David McGimpsey has composed a series of canonical note-books on all issues 'poetic' and 'poetical. ' Birds! vegetation! heritage! unhappy leaders! The be aware 'aubade'! They're all right here, in a serial, kingdom Fair–bound choice of lyrics set within the working-class belvedere of Asbestos Heights.
Among the fresh lemon-lime sodas of the realm and the rousing lyrics to 'Bootylicious,' Asbestos Heights amps up McGimpsey's trademark sideswiping of formal rhetoric and prosody with pop savoir faire to ﬁnd his boldest assortment. think Petrarch in a Tweet warfare approximately the place to shop for a superb pair of father denims. think Yeats yet with much fewer swans. think a poet who was once instructed in the past that not anything solid ever comes out of a spot like Asbestos Heights.
'David McGimpsey is unfuckwithable, poetry-wise, and I'll stand on John Ashbery's espresso desk in my cowboy boots and say that. '
— Michael Robbins
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Extra resources for Asbestos Heights
A little paper that he owned himself and called the Liberator. You see, the big papers then even in the North were owned by folks that were getting something out of slavery or thought they were. Naturally, they wouldn't print Garrison's stuff. No, of course not. They not only wouldn't print it but they smeared him for saying the things he did in his little old paper the Liberator which didn't have many readers and no advertisers. You wouldn't have thought they'd have paid him any mind no more than you would some kind of little bug buzzing around but he must have bothered them a lot judging by the way they slapped and swatted at him.
Cliff James watched his family going across the field the five backs going away from him in the wet red clay among the dead cotton plants and soon they would be in the woods his wife young Cliff the two girls and the small boy . . They would just have to get along best way they could because a man had to do what he had to do and if he kept thinking about the folks belonging to him he couldn't do it and then he wouldn't be any good to them or himself either. There they went into the woods the folks belonging to him gone gone for good and they not knowing it but he knowing it yes God , :° knowing it well.
APPALACHIAN LANDSCAPE Sick and scrawny lies the land, denuded Of forest, sapped of fertility, Gutted of coal, the integument of life Flayed utterly from it and bleeding Its last weak pulse away down washes and gullies. Scrawny and sick on the stoops of their shacks, Idle, dejected are the folk of this land. One sometimes observes them crawling About their irremediable fields or plodding Unwashed homewards from their failing mines. VEX NOT THIS GHOST Deep in the moss-draped woods you come upon it, A ruined church where the first rice-planters worshipped, Herding their wild Africans into the choir-loft While in blessed Christian unity master and slave Like Judas, Wasn't It?
Asbestos Heights by David McGimpsey