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The Moon's Jawby Rauan Klassnik
Synopses & Reviews
Poetry. The poems of THE MOON'S JAW are a portrait of rotting decadence: wastelands of body and soul radioactive with death, cruelty, and a dark gleaming perverse sexuality. The language, flow, and rhythms of Rauan Klassnik's second collection seem to revel in themselves, stagnate, bog down, wallow. As Klassnik writes, "There's no way out but we don't stop trying" and here, we find a wasteland spectrum, from a playground, a twisted eden that lurches forward—despite a swollen turgid gravity of blurred gender and godlessness and wheel-spinning ruts—to an obsessive and persistently striving narrative of death, gender, corruption, and (anti)religion.
"In the wound of a stabbed cosmos, Rauan Klassnik's moon, kin to Plath's moon bald and wild, bucks against despair. Anytime we devour the queen, we will be forced to vomit her back up, a clean saint out of our foaming mouths. A pretty swell in the music. We're not afraid of the cinema, even though it houses all our nightmares. We're not afraid to die. Marble, Tequila, Rotted, Flapping. The myth of biological sex, the myth of biological stability [l]ike cathedral meat. Wrapped in a thin red towel."—Danielle Pafunda
"The poems of Klassnik's second collection are fragments, built from what Klassnik calls a series of erasures. Though his poetic shreds never exceed more than about six lines, they are far from flimsy. The erasure process that they have been through has left behind only the most skeletally vivid and provocative imagery. Reading this collection feels like walking through a post-apocalyptic world where the sounds of torture are mistaken for orgasm, and vise versa: 'Everything's An Orgasm — Growling Frozen — /Mauled & Writhing — Furious & Ecstatic As We — Sail On.' The collection is divided into five small sections titled, 'In Shadows,' 'A Man & A Woman,' 'The Great Poet,' 'Suicide: A Girl,' and 'In The Sky.' Thought the sections blend into one another in form and often content, Klassnik's dark lens takes a slightly different funhouse focus to each. One poem is written from the perspective of a woman, while another states, 'I'm Two People — Me & A Woman — Abruptly — /Then Playfully.' In the final poem of the first section, an old man eviscerates his daughter: 'floods of red surging smoke: Crows, falling, like bits of ice.' If one can navigate past the sexual puffery and sensationalism of this book, the reader will discover stunningly beautiful and inventive imagery." Publishers Weekly Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
About the Author
Rauan Klassnik was born in Johannesburg, South Africa. In his early teens he moved to Dallas, Texas, with his family. Much of his time is now spent in Mexico.
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