Michael Bazzett

Okay, full disclosure. The poet is my nephew. Even fuller disclosure: except for a very few poems here, THE ECHO CHAMBER leaves me feeling mostly mystified, completely confused, fully flummoxed. (But I will freely acknowledge that I usually prefer prose over poetry, with a few exceptions, Mary Oliver, say, or Raymond Carver. Oh, and maybe some Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman, or ... Oh, never mind.) That said, I very much appreciated "Fifty," about aging, and about children who grow up and away from us -

"the years quick as a whisper ...
But this is hardly a rant / about death. It's too in love with life / leaving us, on a bicycle. / Strangely tall now, suddenly / handsome, not once looking back."

Though I am far past seventy, I remember fifty, both my sons gone, to the Army and college. The years are indeed "quick as a whisper," and continue to pick up speed.

Other pieces here are extremely timely, relevant. Like "The Man on the Screen," about police brutality (the poet lives in Minneapolis); or "Inside the Trojan Horse," with its intimations that our country has been subtly taken over from within by "thousands" of "invaders," fueled by "A ten-year, aching, blue-balled rage."

"And where did the invaders lie? / Deep in the courtyard / of the sacred temple - / And who put them there? / We did - / Who put them there? / We did."

There are also several pieces here, long and short, that spring from mythology and legend, especially Echo and Narcissus. Not surprising, as Bazzett has been much acclaimed and honored for his painstaking and poetic translation of the Mayan creation epic, THE POPOL VUH. (I have not read it, but I did study THE EPIC OF GILGAMESH in college. Does that count, Mike?)

I've read through THE ECHO CHAMBER about five times now, and I'm still scratching my head over much of it. It seems insanely clever and also maddeningly obtuse all at the same time. And I mean that in the best kind of way. I will leave the more intricate interpretations to the poetry pundits. And I know they will love it, because Michael Bazzett has carved out a very impressive niche for himself in the poetry world over the past twenty-some years. So I'm going to quote an old Army sergeant who once instructed me in the mysteries of Morse code - and this was his highest praise: "You done good, Son." And, as far as I can tell, You're still doin' good, Mike. Keep it up. All us other Bazzetts are proud of you.

- Tim Bazzett, author of the memoir, BOOKLOVER… (plus d'informations)

Full disclosure: Michael Bazzett is my nephew, so naturally I was eager to read this book. YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS is Bazzett's first full collection of poems (although he has previously published a chapbook, THE IMAGINARY CITY, in 2012).

For someone of my generation, the book's title is perhaps misleading. I guess I was expecting something more in the "a kiss is just a kiss" vein of poetry. No such luck. These are poems to ponder, to wonder over. I won't lie. There are some pieces here I'm still trying to figure out and may never fully understand. Maybe it's because his influences are so diverse and, for the ordinary reader at least, pretty obscure. European poets Antonio Machado and Tomaz Salamun ("Imperfection") figure in, and maybe a little Borges. Homer's ODYSSEY ("Cyclops" and "Elpenor") are in the mix, as are Saul Bellow's HERZOG, and even a nod to former Sex Pistol Johnny Rotten ("September Picnic").

Dreams figure prominently here, in "After Machado" and "In Vladivostok" for example. And settings range variously from Mexico ("The Horse") to Canada and Siberia. And there is a definite playfulness displayed in poems like "Recollection" in which a nameless narrator puts himself together from his various parts, from his tongue in an "embroidered box on the bedside table" and "pale twinned arms / lie nestled together in a battered cello case," to his pelvis "on a wooden saddle" and "the hairy coil of my privates / rests on the dresser, next to a pile of coins." And there is the "silent" ink central to the fanciful "The Sinclair Gift Emporium."

Sex and sexuality also play frequent roles - in "Manhood," "The Crisis," "Aria," "Some Party" and others.

A few poems here particularly resonated. "The Dark Thing," a creature stoned and poked with sticks, evoked the "kill the pig" frenzy of LORD OF THE FLIES; and "The Book of _________" maybe Heinlein or even Stephen King. And "Orangutan," in which a daughter's dalliance with an electric ape produces a result reminiscent of James Dickey's "The Sheep Child."

I am sure that my brother (the poet's father) will find a favorite here in the final poem, "The Last Time I Saw God," with its nameless narrator rocking along in a night subway car, seated next to God - "That is when I noticed his slight resemblance to my father."

For some reason as I read this book I kept remembering the Housman poem, "Terrence, this is stupid stuff." There's probably no correlation, except that I want to say: Michael, this is strange stuff. But then poetry often stumps me, and if obscurity equals talent, then Michael Bazzett is full of it. (Talent, I mean.) Highly recommended.… (plus d'informations)