Michael Robbins: Status: Alien

Yesterday, I had the illuminating experience of hearing poet Michael Robbins read from his book Alien vs. Predator (Penguin, 2012). He began by addressing the group, about half faculty (for which he was auditioning to be next year’s WFU Poet in Residence) and the other half students. His sardonic vibe was immediate. He commented on the name Wake Forest and how he had envisioned it in three ways: first as a tree hauled behind a boat, secondly as a group mourning the dead amongst trees, and lastly as the imperative, “WAKE!” forest, imagining thousands of college students shouting to rouse the forest. He decided on the third. This offhand, sardonic humor explodes from his poetry. Robbins often laughs at himself, taking pleasure (as the audience does) from his own twisted sense of humor sandwiched between pop culture throw backs and poignant literary and political references.

Music informs both content and form as Robbins’ euphony and cacophony create a musicality often analogous to rap music. Although his invocation of 80s bands (he reveals The Sex Pistols as his early muse) can certainly appeal to a specific generation, I didn’t mind that many shout outs shot above my head; his appeal is universal.

Robbins seems trapped between Whitman and Jay-Z-with a Beckettian sensibility. His poems are simultaneously apathetic and inspiring and his sharp tongue bites with bitter sarcasm, humor, and affection.  It is clear why Paul Muldoon is one of Robbins’ greatest influences. His lyrics are candid and provocative, colliding the sacred and profane in a cacophonous explosion of profundity and irony. As a result, Robbins relishes in the musicality of words and his connotations are often secondary.

I Did This to My Vocabulary

By Michael Robbins

The moon is my alibi. My tenders throw hissy fits.
My scalp’s at the foot of the precipice.
My lume is spento, there’s a creep in my cellar.
You can stand under my umbrella, Ella.

Who put pubic hair on my headphones?
Who put the ram in Ramallah?
I’m just sitting here spinning my spinning wheels—
where are the snow tires of tomorrow?

The llama is burning! My heart is an ovary!
Let’s chase dawn’s tail across state lines,
sing “Crimson and Clover” over and overy,
till wonders are taken for road signs.

My fish, fast and loose, shoot fish in a kettle.
The boys like the girls who like heavy metal.
On Sabbath, on Slayer, on Maiden and Venom,
on Motörhead, Leppard, and Zeppelin, and Mayhem . . .

In reference to his title, Alien vs. Predator, Robbins admits having never seen the movie, but rather the quirky identifier has more to do with the implications of “alien” and “predator” than the subpar sci-fi flick. Robbins labels himself “alien”, considering it his permanent status in the canon of contemporary American poets.

Regardless of his self-proclaimed outsider status, Robbins' poems sing, shout, (dare I say rap) the words of a generation. Not only his own, but Robbins gives voice to a generation of people just entering society: the group of 20 somethings jaded by the political, social, and economic turmoil of the last decade who must now enter the world and try to make something of it. In a society where more people read 50 Shades of Grey than Ulysses his poems shed some light (or dark) on our current culture. Needless to say, he gets my vote.

 

Posted by Nicole