Poetry Review: Pop Culture Poetry, The definitive collection
“Pop Culture Poetry” by Michael B. Tager is weird. A little weirdness is good in our lives. A great deal can be a gift. Too much and we may end up sitting there trying to figure out what did David Lynch mean in that one scene. But we aren’t here for David Lynch today so you can put away your theories and carefully constructed graphs. I am here to talk about Tager’s truly unusual and beguiling collection of poetry. I have read this collection in a healthy state of mind, I have read it while ill with covid. I am writing this review while in the throes of covid and so all of my words -like this collection will be full of intense emotion, and there is no room for shame for we are too weary for that energy to be lost to such nonsense. Let’s get weird together.
We have many poets who explore the natural world; plucking out pleasing metaphors that politely touch our hearts and make the reader think, “Hrm yes, I do feel this way about the shore and my desire for stability and to be perceived on this swiftly moving rock.”
I am grateful to such poets, and these days they get a lot of play on instagram stories as people shyly share a sliver of their vulnerable hearts. But what if you are ready for that next step in your poetic life. What if you want that poetry that covers ground you are much more intimately familiar with? Yes you know trees, blades of grass, and lonely autumnal sunsets but let’s be real, what many of you really know is pop culture. You are the person who might have read People magazine as faithfully as John Donne might have read The Common Book of Prayer, or
you were on various forums and read recaps in the early 2000s like 18th century poets might have done in salons while debating a new pamphlet of ideas. You hear the Spanish guitar-like opening to TLC’s “No Scrubs” and a cascade of emotion touches every nerve-ending in the same way that Emily Bronte’s “Long neglect has worn away” grabs the souls of others. Wordsworth had the Lake District to bring his words to life, Tager takes us to a pasture so familiar and intimate. Instead of fields of daffodils, we experience Hip-hop stars, David Attenborough, Anime, the god damn internet, Justin Bieber, the emotional/physical response to Taye Diggs, K-Pop, emotions, the most holy man Patrick Swayze, and reruns of childhood television without nostalgia. It is that first poem “Requiem for the Only Idol I’ve Ever Truly, Deeply Loved” that has a tone set of unironic layered feelings that a generation may not have had a safe place to lay them until now. There is that internet meme of not messing with Gen X people because they are hard and don’t a good god damn because they raised themselves and walked daily to school through a thicket of pedophiles, asbestos and rusty nails and were forged on a diet of processed cheese and multiple step parents. But what if we set that silly little meme down for a while and terrify the wide universe with pure electric emotions that would make Walt Whitman shiver a little.This poem does just that. Tager bares his heart for so many in a way that might make a few giggle before one goes quiet in the discomfort of being held and understood with great kindness. Some readers may need to go for a little walk after that one.
There is one section I really loved. Lucy Liu is Beautiful and That’s My Problem, Not Hers.
It is a mosh pit of fantasy and reality. From the poem “Virginity” which stands out to me because it isn’t often we see such enthusiastic vulnerability from a man about their first time having sex. I have run across too many poems where there is regret, or worse detachment from the memory and scene. This poem is protective and sweet with first sensations and how they can set you up for life. Good and bad. I want more poems like that from men. LOVE your gentleness my fair lads, it will serve you as you age. The next poem pivots to that love wanting that fantasy to be much more and everything in the imagination and from life experience is tossed at it. That last line is the great human want so plainly explained.
“I want more from the world than what I’m given.”
The next poem then GIVES Tager more. What if that more isn’t quite what the heart expected. Oh sure one wants to slum it up a little and then the true slumming begins -direct to video. Does one pick it up and love the extra? Or does one deny those feelings? I suppose this is that moment in life where we try and recreate the narrative. We tell ourselves a new story. Or if one is in academia they try and tie that slumming to some great artist’s work or beliefs. This may be the covid talking but we as humans are good at changing the story when it is too much. I think of the conversation I had with my sister about how narratives will keep changing after a grand collective traumatic event. (She was a history major so we often have discussions about how there are millions of versions of one story.) I think we do the same with love. Especially when we see beyond our first version of events and sensations. As our artist friend Jasie (Chunky Brewster on instagram) put it “A crush is a lack of information.” Tager accumulates information in this section of the collection and still he loves. He loves all at once with maturity and that same heart of youth.
Another section that I am mildly in love with is Tao of Swayze. It is like a beautiful chant. Somewhere between Psalms and other meditative prayers for and with the coolest guy who truly could be incredibly masculine and tender. The thing about Patrick Swayze is that if he was going to do something, he truly believed he had to go and be the very best at it. Be it roller skating while throwing a whip around, kicking ass with Sam Elliott, or being the most elegant drag queen in a small town. The essence of Swayze is to fully commit to every single moment, and this is what we received in these poems. We cannot be Swayze and these images on screen but we can give fully to our lives.
And at heart this is what Michael B. Tager does throughout this entire collection. He fully commits to the experience with the subject and every feeling that comes along the way. The reader may laugh and say, “What the fuck man?” but with a little time the reader may also say, “Okay, maybe this feels right.” Or “I don’t entirely get it but this means something.” If you are extra fortunate as a reader you may reach the moment where you nod and turn away for a moment as it is all too much. Sometimes a mountain, a juicy pulpy nectarine, or poppies will bring lush intimate responses. But it is wonderful to acknowledge that it can also be The Golden Girls, Bjork, or Black Pink. This collection is a reminder that our daily culture is worth honouring and dissecting in a much more untamed way. Sometimes we must set aside the intellectualizing to give our love legitimacy and just be beautifully feral with our feelings. Go forth and dance with the poetry and ignore whether it is cool enough to love.
