Dream Horse Press
Dan Rosenberg's The Crushing Organ
Praise for The Crushing Organ
"Dan Rosenberg drank all the great masters, took them inside, dead and alive, all alive. He explodes them and then he says: I want the sun to be potent and kind. The sun listens. Or: The heavens are bleached out with streetlights and we all feel larger. The readers body reacts. Only the power of true poetry can make this happen. Here. In this book."
"At once tranquil, blighted, and ravenous in a time all its own, The Crushing Organ leaves no room for allegory, prophecy, or symbolic disclosure of any sort. Dan Rosenberg has a new kind of system where things already apprehended are things already agreed upon, which is to say filthy, annoying, and complicit in the horror these poems both survive and indict. But it is also a system for learning new joys, wakefulness, and physical kingdoms which have not yet begun. yellow my finger in the lily. It doesnt keep to itself. Nor will the liberties in this striking book. To read it is to feel volition do its work on you."
"Quick, immediate, and deeply compassionate, Rosenbergs poems cover the vast range of the immanent quotidian. Through all their impossible turnings, were nonetheless convinced that were in the presence of the concrete, even the documentary. And while they recognize pressing catastrophe when they see it, yet they also see a way outin a burst of flame, in storms with eyes, in a wire hanger bent to the shape of a human heart. Rosenberg has given us a tour de force of hope achieved through, rather than despite, a clear view of the current world." Cole Swensen
About the Author: Dan Rosenberg holds degrees from Tufts University and the Iowa Writers Workshop. He is a Ph.D. student at The University of Georgia in Athens, GA, and a co-editor of Transom.
From The Crushing Organ:
FRACTURING AS A KINDNESS TO BE MINED
Couple blunting the edge of I love you,
you hammer each other home
against the full range of color:
the doorframe, the domestic honeycomb
opening itself, unfurling to the flat
pastels of couple. You burnish each other
nightly as abutting doorknobs.
To resurrect: to shake the ant farm,
the reproductive will. Couple, unclench
your nudity; stand no longer naked
at the microwave reheating. Offer
more silence, less backwash masquerading
as communion. Not forbidden,
not whetted inside a moonstone.
Copyright © 2012 Dan Rosenberg