The Emily Valentine Poems by Zoe Whittall
Publisher: Snare Books, Paperback, ISBN: 0973943831, Page count: 70 ppl, Released Sept. 2006
I’ll admit I’ve never seen the appeal of prose-poetry. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m an inexperienced twenty-something writer. A part of me always wants to accuse the writer of masking pretentiousness with poorly structured prose. “Sure, it’s badly written,” I imagine they would reply with a roll of their eyes, a snap of their fingers, and a sip of their expensive vendi-trendy-mocha-whackochino (probably coming to Starbucks by 2011). “But that’s just because you’re not enlightened enough to understand that that’s the point!”
Fucking ignorant, am I right?
So colour me impressed when I actually found myself laughing at half the poems in this collection –when I was supposed to! Though that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve been completely converted to the realm of
it does mean I’ll grab my fork whenever someone plops down a large plate of verbal wit in front of me.
Zoe Whittall’s works in The Emily Valentine Poems will have you smiling, sneering, smirking, and just plain irking in no time at all. At times it seems Whittall is intentionally poking your inner poet with a drollness that all writers should possess whenever addressing the issues of breakups and hang-ups, ending one such poem with the line “Writers make poor housewives, but excellent stalkers.” Other poems will have you laughing in agreement at her observations on the abominate nature of socially successful others (22-year-olds who own their houses piss me off too, Zoe!).
However, I’m not sure this is a collection I should recommend. Sure she pokes our inner poets, and yeah, some works tug on our heart strings, but what about our black-heart strings? If you have ever written a poem or lived in a downtown area at thirty-something, give Whittall a read. You’ll need to look elsewhere for your naughtiness fix, though.
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