A buddy-cop dramedy starring a bottle of Advil and a headache that
won't quit Imagine you're standing in a room, and someone on the
other side of the door won't stop knocking - ever. Welcome to
Andrew Faulkner's world of the never-ending, low-grade headache, a
medical issue resolved only by striking up a committed relationship
with the slippery miracle that is Advil. Through direct address,
sideways glances, lyrical interludes and deep consideration of what
it means to overcome a condition when living is a part of the
condition itself, these poems observe the speaker's world as it
crowds around him, coming into sharper and specific focus, from the
hard wisdom of saints on suffering and a slightly unhinged
Caravaggio on the metaphysics of painting, through to the deep
meaning of a hot dog and a thoroughly botched retelling of a Norm
Macdonald joke. Throughout it all, Advil whirls around like an
unruly tornado of a sidekick, snapping Polaroids and "searching for
a cloud that resembles a plausible end-of-life scenario." Think of
this collection as a meditation on how to deal with pain and
uncertainty when life itself is an uncertain, painful mess. These
are poems that acknowledge the shakiness of the ground we stand on.
The opening poem wonders: "If you stay with the shakiness through
its conjugations? Who knows." But don't worry. Advil's on the case
and aims to find out. "These wry poems cajole the reader into
feverish attentiveness. Andrew Faulkner's Heady Bloom is that
unusual collection of poems whose aim is generous and profound, but
whose means are often comic and provocative, all jagged edges and
elbows. Chaplinesque, perhaps, but Chaplin at an all-ages hardcore
show, or having been to one and reflecting on it later, in
tranquility." -Ed Skoog, author of Travelers Leaving for the City
and Run the Red Lights "Among other issues, this book explores how
the seizures, hallucinations, and excruciating pain caused by
neurological conditions that are now treated clinically were once
thought of as visions granted to and endured by saints. Faulkner
does this in poems that are filled with seriousness but also humor,
unlikely allusions, and exhilarating wordplay. A running conceit is
the speaker's ambivalent relationship-a kind of "bromance"-with
Advil, modern medicine personified as his nemesis and doppelganger,
a taunting comedian but also a vital helpmate, a debased version of
the saints' archangelic protectors. Faulkner's imagery and conceits
surprise and delight. A strange and beautiful book. " -Geoffrey
Nutter
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