Found Writings, Part 4

What follows is a review/analysis that I wrote about a book of poetry that I found in a second-hand book store called Punk Novel by someone named Bad Al.  This book is really something.  Difficult to describe, difficult to read, difficult to write about.  You can see some of the tool marks in my writing as I try to find a way to write about the book honestly but still be charitable (a little, at least) to the author.  I have never seen another copy of this book anywhere and no one I know has even heard of it.  I will try to dig it up and repost the cover here.  If I can't find it, I am not entirely convinced that I didn't just dream it up.
While looking into this a bit, I came across this quote, "Rock and Roll poetry by (probably) Shel Silverstein", which is about the only information that is available for this book on Amazon.
I did not, and probably could not, edit the original post.

Punk Novel

“So this ain't a novel

so what

look how ya grovel cause ya

think it's something hot.”

Punk Novel is a book that I bought a number of years ago in a used book store.  I knew nothing about it, had never even heard of it, but the title and the fact that it was 2 bucks was enough for me.  The book is by Bad Al and it is something of a concept poetry book although I already get the sense that I am giving it too much credit.  Let me be clear, Punk Novel is not good.  It doesn't make a lot of sense and even the author seems to be amazed that the thing was published.  The dedication reads, in part, “I want you to know that only three people in the whole fucking publishing business liked Punk Novel for any reason whatsoever.”

I call this a concept poetry book, but I might also call it a printed concept album.  The title page looks like a track listing of 13 songs (complete with run time though it is uncertain whether the time is meant to represent the time it should take to read the “song” or the time spent composing it) are split across 2 sides.  This format calls attention to the blurred lines between lyrics and poetry.  This is probably the most interesting part of Punk Novel.  The work itself is typeset in a Courier look-alike font and several pages contain collage artwork, which makes me think that this first existed as a zine.  

The poems are not good.  They are simplistic and I would say that some of it resembles slam poetry more than anything else, but I don't want to give the impression that this is as good as slam poetry.  Now, I will say that there are a lot of really dumb lyrics to punk songs.  Sometimes this is on purpose and conforms to a larger theme in the punk aesthetic and sometimes the idiocy is genuine.  But these poems contain a grating combination of idiocy and arrogance.  Bad Al seems to be pretty impressed with something but I can't really see what it is.

One poem, “Hemorrhoid,” is a story song about the community service psychologist that Bad Al's mother and sister go to in order to fix their contentious relationship.  The psychologist wants to see Bad Al, who he thinks is at the heart of the problem, “'Cept this punk don't wanna be shrunk.”  Bad Al recounts all of the tricks that he plays on the psychologist when he goes in.  He reveals what he takes to be “textbook” pyscho-babble but it is a bit it is more or less like an episode of Frasier.  The jewel of this poem, though, is Bad Al's chorus which runs: “MAYBE YOU CAN SHRINK A HEMORRHOID/BUT MAH HEAD'S A WHOLE OTHER THING.”  At the end of the poem, Bad Al reveals to the psychologist that he has been pretending the whole time and the psychologist is amazed at how smart Bad Al is.  Of course.

Perhaps the best lines in the book are the chorus to “Mother,” the first track on the second side, which runs:

I GOTTA TAKE MAH MOTHER APART

PUT HER BACK TOGETHER AGAIN

FEET FIRST

STICKIN' UP OUT OF THE HEARSE

BRAINS LAST

I GOTTA MOVE FAST

MAH MOTHER'S FUTURE'S BEEN HER PAST.

I don't know what this song is about.  Parts of it seem to make fun of “mother's” friends for being old and sometimes it seems to be about killing his mother.  But then again, there are elements that suggest that mother might be abusive or drug addicted.  Thing is, Bad Al is actually better when the poems are more dissociative.  This poem, odd as it is, is more affecting than many of the other poems that either express a unified message or present a narrative.  

Contrast “Mother” with “You the Jury,” which is about how much jury duty sucks.  This poem is pretty unified in this message but one gets the impression that the whole idea from the song is meant to be an ironic twist on either Mickey Spillane's I, the Jury or the movie adaptation of the same name, starring Stacey Keach.  In any case, the narrator of the poem is dismissed from jury duty (Bad Al does allude to Spillane in “Geronimo and Hollywood”).  So, one wonders what the problem is.

My overall impression is that Bad Al steps over decent lines and couplets in order to extend thoughts that don't really need to be extended.  Take this from “Jury Duty”:

“Me and The Knife they called him

before they hauled him in,

me and Rutherford Brown

was how they introduced him as they accused him

of buryin' two inches of ice-cold steel

into the commonweal,

me and him,

me and Rutherford The Knife Brown

made eye contact,

made a sort of pact,

signed a sort of soul contract.”

The first four lines are repetitious and could be reduced to two.  The lines “buryin' two inches of ice-cold steel/into the commonweal” is actually clever.  It is a decent couplet that expresses the dual conceits of crimes committed against individuals and communities at the same time as well as Bad Al's complicit in the community.  Fair enough.  What kills it, though, is the “contact,” “pact,” “contract” triad.  This is not necessary and pushing the stupid rhyme into the third line buries a decent couplet and a decent idea in a long stanza that doesn't end up meaning much.  This happens elsewhere, but you'll forgive me if I don't quote more examples.  

I am convinced that, at this point, I have put way more thought into this book than anyone else has (potentially author inclusive).  I don't recommend this book if you are even able to find it.  I will happily lend my copy to anyone interested in perusing the pages as long as you send me postage and promise to give it back.  There is something a little endearing about this book and I definitely want to have it as a part of my collection.  

Bad Al, in case you ever see this; I'm sorry I didn't like your book, though I doubt you'd be surprised that I didn't.  I can say that I did have fun writing about it and, based on what little I know about you, I think you would take this review in the spirit it's offered.