"In his debut collection, The Buoyancy Of It All," says Laura van den Berg, author of What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us, "Robert Walker's dazzlingly acrobatic voice is on full display. These poems are vibrant and vital, and have gifted this reader with a world of images and ideas that have taken up permanent residence in the imagination. A brillian"In his debut collection, The Buoyancy Of It All," says Laura van den Berg, author of What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us, "Robert Walker's dazzlingly acrobatic voice is on full display. These poems are vibrant and vital, and have gifted this reader with a world of images and ideas that have taken up permanent residence in the imagination. A brilliant, bold, and brave work from a gifted new writer." And Jeff Mann, author of Edge and On The Tongue, said, "I found myself grinning at the ballsy, bawdy, poignant, original, memorable nature of it all. Robert Walker's poetry is all of those things. It's also funny, flirtatious, moving, political, sexy, lively, and outrageous."...
|Title||:||The Buoyancy of It All|
|Number of Pages||:||88 Pages|
|Status||:||Available For Download|
|Last checked||:||21 Minutes ago!|
The Buoyancy of It All Reviews
The Strange Little Miracles Robert Walker Makes'Buoyancy is the upward force that keeps things afloat.' THE BUOYANCY OF IT ALL is so apt a title for this collection of poems by Robert Walker that trying to define this young poet's quality of genius takes us right back to the definition of the word buoyancy. His is a new voice, a considered revealing of secrets and of the wonders that bring him to the place where he finds himself - happy as a man who is living the way he wishes to live instead of the way his demons have warned him would be disastrous. His poems are full of polished humor, of glib noticings of the way life works, of nightmares that are really his awake way of dealing with incongruities, suggestions of pain nurtured and put away, and celebrations of naughty thoughts that crawl all over a lot of his words. He is at once ribald and coquettish, able to wrap words around erotically as easily as he is able to question the ways he walks through this strange place called life. This may be the first collection of poems published by Walker but his poetry has been celebrated by such fine journals and collections as MiPOesias, Gay & Lesbian Review Worldwide, Limp Wrist and more. But to get inside this man's mind it is simply best pull a few of his works out of context, some of his tenderness and some of his lust and some other things he writes so well: HOW WE GOT TO TOGETHER (for The Boy) Yesterday it was your glasses peering back at me from their perch atop the toilet tank - this morning it was your t-shirt I lifted from the floor. It was your scent I lifted from the T-shirt: old crayons & Neutrogena body wash. Tomorrow it'll be your contact lens cleaner taking up residence behind my aftershave. Before long your dirty clothes will fill my hamper, your pocket change will rest like abandoned tokens on the corner of my dresser, and your socks will become mistaken for mine, and I'll want to blame this acquisition of you on your forgetful nature or some strategic invasion you've planned, but I'll know it was always our hands - while our minds & bodies weren't look - that pulled random threads from our lives and began stitching us together or more philosophically Walker writes the following; MEN are strange pack animals who grunt in the daylight hold tools truths place bets on games place importance on the rules: aggression and the score scoring they shed blood sweat grunts seminal fluid and tears I touched one once on the apex of his powers he shed a wife and children and his suit and seminal fluid and shame told me to call him Daddy he tasted like abandonment and Halls cough drops he glowed in the dark To appreciate the rapture Robert Walker creates with words, arranging them in conspicuously odd place to decorate his thoughts, takes much more than an isolated poem or two such as these. Walker is a man at rest with his sexuality and one who allows everyone to enter that safe haven he has carved so that we all can appreciate him fully. He is a generous soul and a gifted one and he should go very far - without going too far away - sort of like the flame induced rising paper sphere that decorates the cover of this airborne book of poems. Grady Harp
I was recently at the Saints and Sinners Literary Festival, and at the opening party, I had many great conversations with those I'd met before as well as new faces. As can happen at these fantastic festivals, I found myself discussing writing with a poet and a novelist in turn.The novelist said there was nothing he stressed over more than his rare forays into short fiction. I said I had nothing but respect for poetry - a form of writing for which I have absolutely no talent - and that my novel-in-progress terrifies me. The poet was stunned at the breadth of a novel, and curious about the narrowness of short fiction. We had a near comic moment of praising the others for doing what we didn't.When asked to explain a poem, there's a story that Robert Frost replied, "You want me to say it worse?" I always think of this statement when I encounter poets. The mix of concise brevity and emotional punch a poet can deliver has always astounded me. The novelist bemoaned how hard it was to tell the story in short fiction, with mere pages to work with. I looked at the poet and he smiled - likely reading my mind.Mere pages? How about mere lines?Perhaps that's a long winded way to start talking about THE BUOYANCY OF IT ALL, but I wanted to be clear - and self-evident - I am not a poet.I am, however, completely won over by Robert Walker's words. There's a touch for the reader in every poem - and indeed, there's even a moment in a poem where touch is itself discussed; some are punches, some slaps, some erotic caresses varying from rough strength to gentleness. They are painful; then they are erotic; then they are confessions; then they combine and replay in a new combination I couldn't have seen coming. Throughout the collection, characters shift in and out of the narrative formed by the poems - the Boogeyman, Mr. _____, the Boy, the Therapist, family members, and more. These characters breathe and bleed. There's a visceral "now" to everything, even when discussing events obviously in the past. In fact, there's a weight given to memory that rings so completely - and painfully - true in these poems that the reader's body physically reacts alongside the voice in the poem. The arrangement of the poems bears mention. There is a progression, which I hope I'm not imagining, that evoked the stuttering of memory. Three steps forward, two or three back; shaking free of the claws of the Boogeyman, of Mr. _____, of all those remembered things that refuse to let go, was left balanced on the edge of possibility for the reader.So many lines and turns of phrases caught me throughout the collection, but if I can pick one which I hope will entice you to try this fantastic book, I'd offer this:"I'm afraid of nothing, but we poets are enchanting liars."Suffice it to say, I truly enjoyed the collection. I tried to savour it over the course of days, and barely succeeded. I'm not sure what else I can say. As I said, I'm not a poet. I would only say it worse.