Never verbose, most often relentless in his poetry jabs at the world's bulging absurdities, Michael Waldecki is at his most political in this new book--a revelation of the misuse of power and the consequent poverty of the body and spirit created. Waldecki, like his patron saint Russell Edson, is among the few Absurdists still writing today. "But these things happen in cycles/ like foreign affairs/ with passive resisters/ who pelt Iraqi cab drivers/ with stale donuts." These poems are packed with awareness, often lightly encoded but most often undeniable in its exaggerated declaration: "The constipated Global Village/ is at the brink/ of disastrous relief./ Down wind, you can almost/ smell the plutonium."
Waldecki continues his original poetry into a third decade of publishing--a court jester with his eyes and heart still open.--Larry Smith
This review originally appeared in TapRoot Reviews #3,
Contact the editor, luigi-bob drake, at Burning Press
Copyright Burning Press 1993, 1995.