Brett Evans and Christopher Shipman
186 Pages: $16.00 (February 2018)
Gamut, consider yourself run: Keats moves from grief to hope, horror to hilarity, subtle subversion to guerrilla mischief, without ever losing Evans’ and Shipman’s trademark collaborative cool. How do they make being utterly original look not only Easy but Big? Under their guidance, insurgency thrives, frustration is nothing more than raw material, and the unobserved life is not worth living. These poems are salve for a demoralized world, and they belong to the canon the way art belongs to life. Anything else is ersatz.
—Amber Qureshi, Gadfly
“Which are by Evans and which by Shipman” are questions for accountants. Did Shakespeare write Shakespeare’s plays? Is a Christ shroud necessary to divine the Jesus? Like taint tag and rainy foolscape, fuck hot divorced and end-times tangy, Shivans and Evman juxtapose into a third eye on the prize.
EvansShipman have merged to form a durable romantic monster with one big clear voice, scarifying at times as poetic monsters should be, but also amiable amidst the ruins of New Orleans. In this “Land of the Living” ouija is a verb and cockroaches with fuzzball sidecars avert an open death sentence by pure mercy of a vibrant line. Among “the monsters/ who pass for boring citizens” ChrisBrett’s monster book of wit & wisdom rolls down Almonaster Boulevard barely averting a lucrative accident with Morris Bart’s Bag of Donuts amid all the “fucking folly of man.” The unreal surrealism of New Orleans has found its double mouth and quadruple ear so let’s dance “losing dog” while we still all have four legs.
—Rodger Kamenetz, author of To Die Next To You
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