She Hands Me The Razor - Richard Krawiec

Today's book of poetry:  She Hands Me The Razor.  Richard Krawiec.  Press 53.  Winston-Salem, North Carolina.  USA.  2011

Come on.  

The title of this book grabbed you like it did me.  Just like a stranger grabbing you by your collar — the result is instant attention.  In She Hands Me The Razor Richard Krawiec grabs our full attention.

She Hands Me The Razor

when I ask

she hands me the razor

trust or faith I don't know

where to begin  to stroke

upward    downward

I press the three whip-thin

blades against her skin

how much pressure

does she need     do I want

it is always a matter of finding

another's  boundaries

one's own limits

I pull slowly

across the arched muscle of her calf

the stretched tightness of her thigh

a few wisps of black hair escape

I press harder  feel that catch

which halts my breath in mid exhaust

no rose blooms  so I return

to the world of breathing

slower now  I scrape off the lather

with mincing strokes    reveal

each dimple  freckle    curve

consider the flesh

like Michelangelo

where to daub  stroke  edge

how to reveal    the many

smooth faces of God

...

This is an almost perfect poem.  The tension is palpable, so is the tenderness, grace and finally, beauty.  All in a short narrative.

Krawiec has published two novels, a book of stories, four plays and a poetry chapbook.  She Hands Me The Razor is a formidable first collection.

Fred Chappell, former Poet Laureate of North Carolina, author of Shadow Box: Poems described She Hands Me The Razor as "powerful experiences powerfully rendered with an art that seems almost casual."  And he is right, there is a casualness to the language, the ease with which Krawiec bends us to his will, to his way of seeing.  

But there is nothing casual about the hard edge of the reality Krawiec explores in many of these poems. The blinding tragedy of a death in a family is brought full circle in these poems.  Very intimate and harrowing and all the more so because they speak in a language we all know, recognize.  Powerful stuff indeed.

Things To Do When You Lose A Child

smell the mold

remember his downy face

cry on the sidewalk

refuse to move

sit by the phone

unplug the phone

chug wine

stare out the window

call in sick

write a poem

throw it away

spit in the barrel

get stoned

walk on water

slice off foreskins

pluck out an eye

...

"Seems almost casual".  There's the rub.  There are few things harder than appearing natural at something that is difficult, writing a poem that is natural sounding but still full of poetic tension, suspense.

Richard Krawiec comes out of the gate swinging again and again - quick poems about life, loss, love, longing - all that contemporary human condition manifesto stuff.  But Krawiec is never after the gloss, these poems are an honest look at the flaws we abound in despite our best efforts.

The Waiting Room

not double hospital gowns

rumpled large as samurai robes

nor forced laughter  stretched smile

nods of reassurance

can hide how diminished she seems

shrunken like an aged child

by fear of the scalpel

and anesthesia's ability

to render thoughts

down to essence of smoke

every surgery threatens

a sunken barricade of stitches

the open seam in a cemetery

in the cafeteria's atrium

green-shaded lights reflect

on the inner glass

dew spackles

the solarium windows

a grass-sparse courtyard

studded with trees

and benches  waits

uninhabited

in the morning's gruel

of sunlight

fear removes all makeup

glares to light loose skin

lines and moles

wrinkled hands

hanging pouches

witness reflect

our train is not chugging

out on a shiny track

but lurching on rusty rails

back to the station

we tumbled into each other

outside the club car

while searching for coffee

something to force us

awake

the track is loose

with missing spikes

the tunnel much closer

than we want to believe

I pull you close

and we do the one thing not allowed

the only thing left to us

we dance in the waiting room

to songs of our making

...

Krawiec is head on heart-breaking with some of these very human poems about death and dying.  She Hands Me The Razor is an ode to intimacy.  Messy, painful and redemptive human intimacy.

And it is a strong helping.

Video:  Richard Krawiec reads Joseph Bathanti.

www.Press53.com