Book Review by Hugh Fox

TWO BOOKS BY JOHN BENNETT
Two by John Bennett, John Bennett, Greatest Hits: 1965-2000 , Pudding House Publications, 60 Main Street, Johnstown, Ohio 43031, 31 pp., $8.95.
The Stardust Machine, Mt. Aukum Press, POB 483, Mt. Aukum, CA. 95656, 41 pp., $3.50.

    You start reading Bennett for fun, and he gives the impression he's just
a tough, fun guy, man, whack it to um, lots of bullshit and street-talk, lots
of talk about penises and stuff, and you think MACHO MAN POETRY, THAT'S WHERE
HE'S AT, but then all of a sudden it's all political metaphor,  death and
some sort of vague after-something, and the sun's gone, it's mid-winter
again. Ouch!
        My penis will fall many times
        only to rise again
        like the tides of the ocean
        to the pull of the
                        moon
        and the task at hand.,
        And one day, America,
        you will not come,
        & there will be
        silence in my house.
        Outside there will be
                        silence
        I will go with my children
        out into the night
        & you will be gone.
        I will wake all the children
        & we will walk
        in the moonlight
        of a new world.....
                        ("It is Not Simply to Be Strong,"?
                        in Greatest Hits, p.13)
    And that was written (prophetically) back in 1966.
    You go to his more recent stuff and it's just as strong, if not stronger.
                                        2.
    And I think one of the strengths is the very straightforewardness that
Bennett writes in. He was playing with experimental writing for a while (his
famous "shards") but in The Stardust Machine, sit down and brace yourself as
you start to read:
            Today is my only son's birthday. He's 37 and up to
        no good. he's out there somewhere, poised to pounce.
        I had certainly hoped things would be different.
            Mayhem and chaos are not too strong to describe it,
        my life. Setbacks and smash downs, slow constant grinding. it's
        heroic that I'm still on my feet. I spit on your quiet desperation.
            There are no self-help books after 60. The story's been
        written. There's nothing left but the postscript. It all comes
        alive for a moment, on this wet day in May. I can see two
        generations ahead, and things are not getting better.
            Power is not knowing who you are but who you've
        been. Steer clear of solutions. Travel solo. There is no
        companionship with a fool.
            Shreds of realization on the third day of May.
            How do you like your blue-eyed boy now, Mr. Death?
                    ("Epilogue" The Stardust Machine, p.41)
    At the same time Bennett loves puns, word-plays, echoing around with
poetic references that I get, but....
    Instead of Ginsberg's (Howl) "I saw the best minds of my generation
starving hysterical naked...." in a prose-poem piece in Greatest Hits,
talking about the world Mafia, he comes out with "I've seen the best minds
of my Mafia slink thru the shadows, looking for a place to relocate,
blue-eyed and pale, doing the old yass-suh."?  (p.22)
    Street stuff, Beat stuff, prayers, all mixed/twisted together: "...the
meat market, the stock market, the drug and prostitution trade, in the name
of the father, the son and the rat-a-tat-tat." (same).
    A totally apocalyptical view of the world around him, framed in funny-
                                        3.
stuff words that make you smile while at the same time you're walking the
plank of extinction. See, now I'm doing it:
         A time for everything, a time to sew buttons for eyes on
        the blind farmer's sow, a time to rape and scavenge the
        drug that will cinch things, your teddy bear lodged in
        what's left of remembrance, that sliver of sunshine from an
        innocent childhood, before you saw what they truly expected.
        Business is business. You get down to it and they scream
        in your year. Tattooed with shaved head and pierced
        nose/nipples/cunt you rock on. You don't always get what
        you want, you never get what you need, but you do what you
        have to and wait for the stock market crashed. You've pulled
        the plug on success. You're a case study, a landmark
        decision, a lady in waiting, black wedding veil over skull
        bone, bride of the future...You're the final transaction,
        spare-changing the midnight hour. It's business....
                        (p.23)
    Reading Bennet's Greatest Hits and The Stardust Machine is like eating
pistachio nuts. You crack open half a dozen and devour them, and you think
maybe tha's enough for now, but there's this straight-edged razor voice
inside you that won't let go: "More!"
       
Best,
Hugh