Bøker av Ricky Garni

The 2015 poetry rev (Rev 2.015) contains many of the signature moves you might expect from Crispy: fancy foreign phrases, so-so ponderous philosophical enigmas, unbridled name-dropping in the extreme (Van Gogh and Henry James come right to mind), squiggly lines, Melba toast, the immortal Ford Pinto, Conrad Veidt and a variety of tasty chocolate desserts.Yet something new this year is apparent before you open the book: an illustration, a real one, by a wonderful young artist: Gus Svara. And once inside, you will discover the absence of a table of contents, and the addition of a much more sensible and handy Index in the back. So now when you want to read a poem that contains the word "UGH" or "amuse-bouche" (fancy foreign phrase) don't start at the beginning: start at the end! And please, continue on, in whatever cockamamie fashion you care to. We don't make the rules here, we just break them.Enjoy this rev, because, honest - this rev's for you.Happy reading,The AuthorFEH5313

One day I saw an old guy with a poodle filling up his gas tank, the poodle sitting patiently in the driver's seat as he committed to a full tank. It was a hot day in November, and the poodle was panting furiously. I realized at this moment that it was my duty to write at least three hundred poems about it, and I did at that, plus a few more, and here you have them. As you peruse, though some of them may appear to have little to do with a gas station and a poodle, a hot day or November, but I promise you, in their hearts, they are all in one way or another, are indebted to all of these things plus a camera for their creation. Also don't forget the old guy with the gas pump who lost his little hat shortly before he was immortalized. As dudes go, he is a mighty righteous one.Love,Ricky

A year that begins in November and ends with October. Although you cannot meditate on fun, this book is clearly about that, I mean, the first poem even says so right there. But who cares about fun? Well, we all do. OK. But as with all recipes, one must add one and a half cups of grief, a pinch of Howdy-Do and a tablespoon of What Gives? and you have got yourself some good ol' time Butterscotch, and thus you got yourself a tome of donuts marriages, Hollywood dogs fetching bones near swingsets, Jalapeños Muchos, Marilyn Monroe at lightspeed, the word 'scythe' for some reason and a vaguely randy Emily Dickinson - blame it on the booze, I think - and more, for this honey of a door stop is close to 700 pages and is not for the faint of eyeballs or weightlifting - in fact, it is the ideal book of verse to carry with you in sketchy neighborhoods and to have by your side when you buy your own island and you need a softcover pillow on which to dream and stuff just like that. When I buy my island, Lord knows, I am going to buy one of these just like this, for you. I ain't lyin'. And I hope you enjoy it.

My first collection to be written in first draft with typewriters only. I recommend it, and with great enthusiasm, and with this I offer my sincere and heartfelt thanks to the designers and makers of yesteryear's Royal, Groma, Smith Corona, Olympia, Olivetti, Rheinmetall, Voss, Erika, Triumph, and RC Allen typewriters, whose fleet of finger joywork machinery made dull work less plain and often both sweet and tangy.