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msarki

M Sarki

Besides being a poet with four collections published, M Sarki is a painter, film maker, and photographer. He likes fine coffee and long walks. 

M Sarki has written, directed, and produced six short films titled Gnoman's Bois de Rose, Biscuits and Striola , The Tools of Migrant Hunters, My Father's Kitchen, GL, and Cropped Out 2010. More details to follow. Also the author of the feature film screenplay, Alphonso Bow.

Currently reading

L'Appart: The Delights and Disasters of Making My Paris Home
David Lebovitz
We Learn Nothing: Essays
Tim Kreider
Elmet: LONGLISTED FOR THE MAN BOOKER PRIZE 2017
Fiona Mozley
Limbo, and Other Places I Have Lived: Short Stories
Lily Tuck
The Double Life of Liliane
Lily Tuck
At Home with the Armadillo
Gary P. Nunn
American Witness: The Art and Life of Robert Frank
RJ Smith
Autumn
Karl Ove Knausgård, Ingvild Burkey, Vanessa Baird
Inside Out: A Personal History of Pink Floyd (Reading Edition)
Nick Mason
American Witness: The Art and Life of Robert Frank
J.R. Smith

Brazil, Indiana: A Folk Poem

Brazil, Indiana: A Folk Poem - Brian Beatty https://msarki.tumblr.com/post/157999950593/brazil-indiana-a-folk-poem-by-brian-beatty

Though decidedly unconventional, Brazil, Indiana delivers. There is no guaranteed comfort provided for a seeker of poetry, only endless vistas and claustrophobic instances. Irony as verse. Rarely recreational, the poet Beatty claws his way into a reality, leaving himself a bloody mess and his reader scurrying for a tourniquet and gauze. But all is not what it appears. A cleverness abounds and exhibits itself not only as a good time, but as a perfected method into our deepest thoughts, not only about ourselves but those around us. It is about finding place among others in the world. Not easy for some of us who choose instead to quell this human need with alcohol and drugs, or prescribed medications designed to deaden these feelings finally once and for all. But to really feel is what is human, and to courageously deal with the iniquities that a life lived hands us on a daily basis. What better way to prepare for our coming death than to establish a basis for it? Crazy talk coming from a fellow poet, but a concept accepted for centuries by some of the brightest and best among us.

It only tastes like nails going down.

The unconscious plays a most important role in establishing any artifact. Resisting efforts to ignore or disrespect, creativity can raise its ugly head, announcing a relevance in motion. Unable to resist its mirrored gaze, the substance of art presents itself in ways often unimaginable, but still remains familiar, as is often the case in things perceived as uncanny. What is often discounted and deemed frivolous breathes as a fiery entity. And the horror of the unknown profits by our unseeming understanding.

I was what sweet neighbors called odd.

The cohesiveness of Brazil, Indiana is astounding. Beatty manages to keep his outside mediators at bay. Any need for agenda or social politics so prevalent in verse today are absent from his page. Only Beatty’s world of Brazil, Indiana, enlarging upon itself with a young character’s steady voice proclaiming his own right to exist and then daring the reader to think otherwise. A difficulty overcome in remembering the irony and dishonesty of adults. A small town ripe with contrasts of distinction.

Killing is deep all the way down.

It must be further noted that poems are rarely written with an execution as precise as Beatty’s work. It is refreshing to read a work that is not contrived or laced with sentimentality. And never nostalgic, but always directly gazing into the past. Poems are song and Brian sings beautifully. Absent flowery language, pretty words, and tags with feeling, the poems speak their language truthfully. A thing unusual these days.

The sad, sour eyes in there stayed locked doors.