The Poetaster

Why does Homer’s Muse disdain me?
Why won’t nymphs touch my flute?
When heroes sail the wine-dark sea
why do I stay home and salute?
When will I know love from lust?
Why do both turn my brain to peat?
Why are lies the only words I trust?
Why is mud the only pie I eat?
My muse is a mouse in a cage
who refuses to obey my command
and when I touch the cold, chaste page
it slaps the dry pen from my hand.
Wicked muse, eat your stale cheese
but breath your stench on another fake,
allow my feeble tongue to unfreeze
for I’ve forms to fill and calls to make
and I’m near the end of my coffee break.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

The Past is Epic

Don Winslow’s City of Dreams is the second installment in the Danny Ryan trilogy. As with City on Fire, the first installment, Winslow continues to be inspired by Homer and Virgil, as he sprinkles quotes from the Iliad and the Aeneid throughout. For example, City of Dreams opens with this from the Aeneid: “Of wars and a man I sing, An exile, driven on by fate.” Referencing these ancient epics might be a gimmick, but it works because the quote describes Danny Ryan as much as it does Aeneas, though I would argue the series, so far, has more in common with the Odyssey. Let me know when I start sounding pompous. Oh, wow, that was fast.

The story opens with a potential bang. It’s 1991 and Danny Ryan is in the California desert. He’s on his knees and someone is holding a gun to his head. So suck it, Homer, that’s how you start an epic. Virgil, meanwhile, is wondering how we got here. Fortunately, there’s a flashback to provide that answer.

Danny and his small crew of Irish mobsters are fleeing Providence, Rhode Island, after losing a gang war to the Italians. His wife has just died of cancer, so his infant son comes with him. His elderly, alcoholic father is along for the ride too. They make it to San Diego doing off-the-books jobs. Life is tough, but at least he’s still alive. Soon a shadowy government figure gives him an opportunity to make some real money – the kind that could provide him a new life. It sounds too good to be true. No one ever gets a new life, right? “You might get a fresh start, a second chance, but your old life stays with you.” Danny should say no but he says yes. And so the story goes until Danny lands in the desert giving the side eye to that pistol.

The futility of trying to escape your past is the major theme here, and many of the characters, at least the ones who didn’t die in City on Fire, return. To the reader’s delight, that includes Danny’s mother. She’s a modern-day goddess who knows the secrets of many powerful people.

Lots of things happen, and lots of poor decisions are made as Danny travels to the desert. His brief foray in the movie business is chief among those poor decisions. To Danny’s great surprise, Hollywood is making a movie of the gang war he barely survived. Anyone who’s seen a Martin Scorsese movie knows Hollywood “gets off” on the “exploits of real-life gangsters.” There’s much humor here, but for Danny there’s also unneeded publicity. More poor decisions are made.

Hollywood is all about reinventing yourself, and Danny tries but he’s no movie star. He runs all the way to the city of dreams to get away from his past, “But nothing is more persistent, more patient, than the past. After all, the past has nothing but time.” City of Dreams is a great read and a welcome installment in the Danny Ryan trilogy. It does exactly what it’s supposed to do; it leaves the reader wanting a third installment.

Gladiola Overdrive, Chief Editor

The Poet Taster

Why does Homer's Muse disdain me?
Why won't nymphs touch my flute?
When heroes sail the wine-dark sea
why do I stay home and salute?

When will I know love from lust?
Why do both turn my brain to peat?
Why are lies the only words I trust?
Why is mud the only pie I eat?

My miserable muse is a mouse in a cage
who refuses to obey my command
and when I touch the cold, chaste page
it slaps the dry pen out of my hand.

Wicked muse, eat your stale cheese
but blow your foul breath on another fake,
allow my feeble tongue to unfreeze
for I've forms to fill and calls to make
and I'm nearing the end of my coffee break.

Luvgood Cap, Editor-in-Chief

The Poet Taster

Why does Homer's Muse disdain me?
Why won't nymphs touch my flute?
When heroes sail the wine-dark sea
why stay at my desk and salute?

When will I know love from lust?
Why is it both cause a stomachache?
Why are lies all that I trust?
Why is drool all that I make?

My muse is a mouse in a cage
who refuses to obey my command,
and when I touch the cold chaste page
it slaps the dry pen from my hand.

Wicked muse, eat your stale cheese,
blow your foul breath on another fake -
allow my feeble tongue to unfreeze
because I've forms to fill, calls to make,
and I'm near the end of my coffee break.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief