A review of a poem by Aaron Poochigian

Review of "Club Escape"

Club Escape, a poem by Aaron Poochigian published in Rattle. Here is a brief analysis.

I do not know and I have never talked with or emailed or responded to Poochigian on any forums or X, which is a disclaimer of sorts because many poetry reviews are by ‘friends’ for ‘friends’ trying to sell a friend’s poetry to poetry friends. You know, cheerful, positive, long winded blurbs.

I can only imagine that Aaron Poochigian is a fine person, and I am sure he is a fine person. Pictured are two screen shots of Poochigian’s X account, the one with the leather jacket—an earlier one from the several years ago, and the most recent, with flowers in the background. From bricks to flowers, a progression? A number of writers have blocked me on social media, most of whom I have never talked with or posted to or from. I guess you either belong or you don’t belong to some poetry club. And I think the poetry biz cancel culture is a favorite pastime.

Find the poem in Rattle.com #86 – Winter 2024 “Club Escape” but the last four lines are quoted below for reference. To read the poem, Poochigian has posted the poem on his X account, @poochigian, or subscribe to Rattle to read the poem.

The title is a little vague. Is that the name of a nightclub or is it the notion that people go to nightclubs to escape? Going fast forward, there is a mixed message of escape and freedom. Is freedom an escape? Not well defined.

In the second line, “…the stamp of stymied heels, …” doesn’t make sense to me. How and why are heels stymied? It is a very vague notion—is it referencing high heels? In any case, the heels on a shoe are not capable of being stymied—heels are simply a part of a shoe. I think the writer is trying to say that walking in such heels does encumber the walking gait of the person wearing high heels, or heels that are high, spiked, blockish, or are designed in some other notable fashion. The line therefore is encumbered by lack of cohesive thought. Or, maybe the line is referencing the heel of a human foot. Either way, how and why are heels stymied? How are heels kept from something?

What is a “sighed frustration…”? This is an egregious cobbling of presumption. Does the writer mean that people who vape are frustrated because the smoke is not real cigarette smoke? But isn’t there nicotine in those electronic cigarettes? Either way, ‘sighed frustration’ is pretend writing because it is inferential towards something which is not clear. Also, the full sentence is way off—the sentence actually says the vape-exhaust is frustrated and sighs. The smoke coming out of an electronic cigarette is frustrated and so it sighs? Hardly.

In the hope of being succinct, many a poet has written in such a condensed manner that an idea or concept overlaps in a sentence, which causes confusion.

What is “…liner-eyed appeals …”? Well, the reader can assemble the idea—there are people waiting to get into a nightclub and people might bribe the doorman or bouncer or try an appeal, say, by women or men with heavy eyeliner, makeup and so forth. The point here is that “…liner-eyed…” is certainly a term which is not right at all. An “appeal” does not use eyeliner. Is this quibbling? Maybe, but here the writing slides into gross poeticism. Take awhile and think those two paired words over; liner-eyed suggestions? Liner-eyed meanings? It just doesn’t work well at all.

“…the thudding dazzle in that box…” Once again this is splattery writing with off-center inference. Anything that has dazzle does not thud. The two concepts are totally incongruous.

Of course, a nightclub is full of dazzle and thudding music, sure, but here the writing is simply awkward. Thudding dazzle is plain silly. And while in this line, “...in that box…” which I assume references the nightclub venue as spacious for dancing crowds and so forth, the ‘in that box’ is mere prosaic shorthand description on the lazy side. And derogatory: so far, people waiting to get into the nightclub are leaning toward bribery and heavy makeup persuasion, while wearing stymied? high heels and vaping and trying to get into a box?. But the writer does turn this all around with the theme in the poem; people appear to want to experience freedom, which is a good thing.

Then the poem arrives at the last two lines;

…steep anxious ache, belief that even brief

bottomless freedom can be found on earth.

I have never associated an “ache” with “steep.” Maybe sharp, maybe intense, not steep.

Continuing, in the poem as meaning; the ache is a belief that bottomless freedom can be found on earth. Well, Rupi Kaur is being given a run for her own poetry with that line. First of all, what on earth is bottomless freedom? I thought freedom was to soar, not sink. Bottomless? Like a rotted and therefore sunken wooden boat? Poets, get your images aligned and real.

Now, to pitch philosophy, freedom is not something to be found—freedom is to be made. Sure,

people might say they find freedom in some place or activity, but in truth they make their own freedom or their own prisons. But that is a minor point, possibly a side issue.

Back to the writing. Note that the word “…even…” before “brief” is meaningless. Even as compared to what? A tiny mistake? No, a big mistake. If the writer cannot see that “even” is meaningless, so many other things in the writing will also fair as meaningless. It is a common mistake, a kind of drop down in writerly consciousness. It is similar to someone answering an inquiry as to where they were at some given time: ‘I wasn’t even at the beach house.’ No reason for the ‘even.’

The use of ‘brief’ here is also a rhyme driven word. Do people plan on freedom being brief? No. Sure, a visit to a nightclub might be for a short time, but the ideas are not exactly lining up. Who says that they will be free in the night club and then when they leave they won’t be free? They might feel more free while dancing in a night club, but that is not what the poem says.

The idea in the poem is good; people look for love and freedom in all the wrong places, peddle influence, bribe people, wear costumes and makeup and lean and act in odd ways, and where else is there to go right now except earth, thus the “…found on earth.”? All well and good, however, the last two lines are abstract summary—pure abstract summary without image. And it also ends in what is as close to something problematic in mediocre writing, outright cliché of the worst kind: “…found on earth.” It is almost as if the writer wanted to finish up the poem and get it over with. It is also weak writing. Let me show why.

bottomless freedom can be found on earth.

bottomless freedom can be made on earth.

bottomless freedom can be lived on earth.

bottomless freedom can be bribed on earth.

bottomless freedom can be appealed on earth.

You see, the writing is not structured in the sentence but in the thought. Any number of words could be used instead of ‘found.’ You see, it makes no difference to the poem. Where is the structure, you might ask? It is snagged in the use of the word “earth.”

Until Elon gets everyone on a rocket to Mars, hardly any poem needs to use the word ‘earth’ unless for a specific reason. It is like writing something like this; ‘I stepped outside to breath fresh air, which is full of a gas called oxygen made by plants and trees on earth.’ It is like a bad fortune cookie joke: How was your day? My day was very good on earth. Well, where else is there to go? It is most likely a simple rhyme driven use of the word earth.

Also note that there is a conflict between escape in the title and freedom. Long lasting freedom or temporary escape? Does one escape to freedom? Yes, but the subject is vague in the poem. People believe that brief freedom can be found? Ok, but why is it brief? Brief escapes? Good ideas, but these ideas are smoked screened in the poem.

Lastly, this is an obvious oversight, a repetition of word use, needlessly, not expressively. Does it work? Yes, technically, but it doesn’t sound right or hold up to high scrutiny. The awkwardness is in the ‘belief —belief— brief’ sequencing.

And to be noted, often never noted, is the old ‘arguing a poem into existence’ with

“…that box is worth steep anxious ache, belief that…” You cannot argue a poem into existence with that and this and ‘that—that’.—awful, lazy writing.

I might also question “…anxious ache…” Maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t. But once again, it says that an ache is anxious. An ache is an ache, and does not become anxious, although a person with anxiety could feel it as an ache or a physical ache could cause anxiety. There is a difference in either case in the paired word structure. In the end, there is no such thing as an ‘anxious ache’ and the writing is clunky poeticism. The idea is there, the writing is not.

This poem exemplifies the current fact that most poetry published today is appreciated for subject and content and not for the art of poetry. The content of the poem is good but the writing is not good.

A poem is not a sacrosanct item because a poem is a personal handmade piece of art; no, a poem can have mistakes and in order for a work to be art it must exist in a world where mistakes in art are to be avoided not lauded. A poem is to be excellent and individual at the same time, and be exemplary as much as possible as to perfection, not just piddly runoffs or hurried summary notes.

From what I’ve read of Poochigian, he seems to be sincere about poetry, writing with great energy and at times almost with an odd aggression of sorts. Poochigian is published frequently, and he also does translating, but to me this particular poem lacks vision, lacks talent, and is only lots of the writerly energy I mentioned. I get the feeling that the writing is by a person who is not a poet at all, but more of an interloper into literature; pushy, loud, a talker of issue and an avoider of process and one who regards ego and pride as virtue—and is unaware of that fact. In other words, he uses poetry as simply a medium in which to express literary ideas. Lots of people have literary ideas—the difference is to write on the far edge of literature, to be the edge itself. But none of what I say will make any difference—Poochigian will always be published, win awards, receive accolades.

Poetry is not a club to which you beg to belong. Poetry is a steady resistance against the poetry club and against the “poetry community” otherwise the art of poetry stagnates into the affect of droning worker bees in the bee hive, servant to communistic status quo where the poets are editors are gatekeepers are style masters are writing “for the greater good” of ‘voices’ and the club effect of sharing personal stories in personal poetry. At least the poem steps away from being personal angst, and in that the poem deserves credit, because so much of poetry today is some sort of personal therapy made public.

Well, there you go, some things to consider in writing poetry, but no one will listen. The intent here is not to criticize any one writer but to show others a finer approach to writing poetry, an approach with more integrity toward the art of poetry.