Taste of Cherry

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Months ago, University of Nebraska sent me a list of books to review.

They had a number of non-fiction books related to Native Americans of which I chose one, even though the focus of my study lately has been the history of what is now known as New York City. Instead, I chose titles of fiction and poetry that for one reason or another stood out--a charcoal colored eyelid on the cover, an intriguing premise. The first book to arrive was Taste of Cherry. The picture on the back reminded me of a quiet, impeccably (impeccably, impeccably, impeccably) well-groomed girl I remember from elementary school. (I think her name was Larissa.)

Jealousy disclosure: Before attempting to criticize this collection of neatly packaged words, I feel I must disclose my subjectivity. By no means under-privileged (privileged, privileged, privileged), daughter of conservative land-grant-college graduates, I have happened to have arrived at the age of forty living in sub-standard housing with some regrets, no career, few friends who will take my calls and little in the way of funds and marketable skills.

Skepticism disclosure: I have developed a deep skepticism of given identities of artists and writers I have not personally known for many years. After reading a Michael Foucault passage on the subject, I have begun to refer to all unknown authors as Author Function (AF=Kara Candito), thereby circumventing the doubt that this is a single artist's work or the only identity of a given person.

That said, I am making some effort to suppress (suppress, suppress, suppress) my sense of jealousy/hatred for (to empathize with) a narrator who reminisces (reminisces, reminisces, reminisces) about New York hotels and taxis, trips to Sicily, Miami night clubs, stray cats on the ruins of Pompey, then sips hibiscus iced-tea in Egypt while a friend text-messages Brooklyn.

Like the poems of Charles Bukowski, Candito does not avoid disturbing images or themes. Unlike the poems of Charles Bukowski, the author does not have a consistant voice. The idenity of the narrator shifts more than a Liz Phair album. Perhaps this is because Candito is a professor and takes on identies of her students.

The collection is divided into three sections. The first simply titled, One, includes: Self Portrait with Ice Pick; La Bufera: Our Last Trip to Sicily; Floristic Elegy for the Year I Lived with You in Coconut Grove; Notes for a novice Flaneur; Postcard: I've Been Meaning to Write...; Egypt Journal:; The Poet's Condition; and Egypt Journal: Christmas at the Great Pyramid (Pyramid, Pyramid, Pyramid).

The second, subtitled Portraits, includes: Carnivale, 1934; Epic Poem Concerning the Poet's Coming of Age at Attis; Gilead Red; and Girl in the Grass

The third, Three, includes: Taste of Cherry; Barely Legal: Upon Finding My Father's Porn; A Necessary Fiction; He Was Only Half as Beautiful; California; Sleeping with Rene Magritte; Polarity; Strange Zippers: A Poem in Which the Heroine________; The Fitting; On the Occasion of our Argument During a VH1 Best Power Ballads Countdown; Last Happiness

I love the titles and have come to really like the book. In the later poems, the narrator seems (more mature?) less romantic than the earlier poems and the themes seem more substantial.