A boyfriend introduced me to Andrei Codrescu's work when I was sixteen. A few years later, I started listening to and reading Codrescu's commentaries from National Public Radio. I have always been intrigued by his lively and poetically written observations of Romania and the United States. I admire his fertile imagination and the ability to write thought-provoking and humorous work. Codrescu has a very prolific writing career, and in his latest book of poetry, it was today, he seems to be considering middle age and youth. Though, on the cover of his book, we see a painting of a twenty or thirty-something Codrescu with a mop of dark hair staring pensively while holding a beer can. He has his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel, which alludes to his sexuality, a subject he discusses often in his work. An anonymous hand holds the painting, and I assume it belongs to Codrescu. Perhaps Codrescu used this miniature painting to show he is contemplating his life.
Throughout the book, you can hear the Beats' staccato and jazz in the rhythm of Codrescu’s poems, and the tone is conversational. Most of the poems lack punctuation or proper use of capitalization. In fact, in "greetings they weren't used to them" and "dream of january 11, 1999 after the copies of messi@h arrived & laura & I celebrated at molly's and it was gwen albert's birthday too", you can get a sense of him as a young poet. What disappoints me is that Codrescu is in his fifties, but like the photo on the cover of the book, his poetry hasn’t evolved. The tone and the style are so similar to his earlier work that they could easily belong to his past publications. This can be interpreted in two ways; it can be viewed as remaining loyal to his muse and the rhythm that inspired him, or as stagnancy. Unfortunately, I am afraid it is the latter of the two interpretations. I am a long-time fan of Codrescu's, and I enjoy his caustic sense of humor, his keen insight into American society's inconsistencies, and his unconventional exploration of spirituality. I am normally enthusiastic about his work; nevertheless, I am frustrated that Andrei is stuck in this rut.
Still, Codrescu has a stash of good poems here. His poem "often after a public event" instructs fans of Eastern European descent how to preserve their heritage. He gives very simple but encouraging advice to these youngsters:
Now we are here what should
we do with our accents
do like me I say
keep talking
For "9/11", Codrescu stews over and pokes fun at the resurging patriotism that surrounded the event. He’s nauseated by the commercialism surrounding the tragedy, and shouts, "9/11, I can barely remember you, they've buried you in so/much hype!" He seethes over how one atrocity gives birth to another—the media and government milk the 9/11 tragedy for all it is worth, while everyone else either buys into the publicity or uses it to protest and make a name for themselves. "Lu Li & Weng Li" is an exceptional series of poems in which Codrescu channels these 1300s Chinese lovers into verse through his literary wizardry. Though this series proves his mastery of language, it seems like it is a chapbook all on its own. Another notable poem is "my son came over," where he speaks of his age and crankiness with humor and hope. He describes a day with his son and feeling indecisive about what father and son activity they should do. Finally, after much oscillating and shooing his son away to come back the next day, he says:
we will translate poems
from the spanish they
are about how hard
the world is and I
think that they are also
about mean old men but I
hope that they are about joy
Despite my earlier criticisms, these poems make the book worth reading. Still, I wish Codrescu would add more of the lyricism of his prose into his actual poetry.
- Jesmia Avery