raulrsalinas
Red Salmon Press, $12 paper
From the book’s first selection, the droll yet cutting “Shame On The Shaman,”
Salinas (who profes-sionally uses his name lower-case and without spaces) lets
loose with a fluidity and musicality that’s only been hinted at in his earlier
works or recent readings. Freeway opens up an intriguing paradox in
Salinas’ work: Although it seems like the work would carry more resonance off
the page, it’s important to see the word play on the page to fully understand
what Salinas is doing with language. The word splices, pivots, and typewriter
dances he executes on pieces like “At The Methadone Clinic,” the “Poet Meets
Computer” series, and the superb “Via Crucis 150” sing more flexibly than
spoken versions of the poems would, and much of the joy in reading Salinas is
taking on those various twists and turns. The collection lays out a healthy
cross-section of Salinas’ work, spanning nearly a quarter-century and bridging
his various styles and forays into style-blending. Although there’s an
undercurrent of emphasis on the political, it doesn’t come out as emphatically
as in his earlier works. On one hand, that’s a shame, for pieces like “Reel
Absurdity” take icons like Marilyn Monroe and fuse them with political concerns
in a smart, concise voice, but are arguably too few and far between for a poet
like Salinas. But that seems to be the point — that Salinas isn’t necessarily
that type of poet. While a few of the individual pieces don’t neccesarily
warrant inclusion into such a comprehensive, self-defining work, the collection
seeks to define a more complete, versatile Salinas — and in doing so, carves
out a more definitive, all-encompassing space for Salinas as an observer of
life from both sides of a variety of prison walls. — P.W.
This article appears in March 21 • 1997 and March 21 • 1997 (Cover).