Even though Radomir Luza is a huge, wild presence at the microphone, his poems are often delicate and betray his gentleness and even vulnerability. Radomir is not a poet concerned with rhyme or meter; he is blissfully unworried about form, at least in a conscious way. His poems, rather, are unadulterated ejaculations of feeling: uncooked, intense, mundane, confessional, surreal, untutored, uninhibited and tender. There are starkly prosy moments in his work, followed by startlingly beautiful thoughts and images. Radomir writes poems full of surprises and gems. When he writes about his family, we see everyone as if we were sitting in the living room with them. The world is pretty brutal, crazy and unforgiving, and if you want to know why, just look at the family, and if you want to experience a real family from the safe distance that art provides, read Radomir’s More Personal Poems. If you want Romanticism and the moon, read Keats. If you want to learn about the wifebeater shirt and the mental hospital and the night with soft porn, spend time in Radomir’s orbit. He’s a natural born poet.
seeing
my father in the bathroom when he is not there
my father usually lasted a good twenty minutes in the bathroom
he walked in like a busy bear in a hurry but took his time like a bee in a bonnet
when he left the stench was all father and it lasted to Armageddon and beyond
last night I thought I saw my father in the bathroom again in all his glory and sadness his
clenched teach and his whispering hands I started to talk to him from my bedroom but
there was no answer I went out into the hallway and realized that I was talking to glued air
my father had been dead for over four months
I fell on the ground and laughed because everything in me told me to cry
my father usually lasted a good twenty minutes in the bathroom
he walked in like a busy bear in a hurry but took his time like a bee in a bonnet
when he left the stench was all father and it lasted to Armageddon and beyond
last night I thought I saw my father in the bathroom again in all his glory and sadness his
clenched teach and his whispering hands I started to talk to him from my bedroom but
there was no answer I went out into the hallway and realized that I was talking to glued air
my father had been dead for over four months
I fell on the ground and laughed because everything in me told me to cry
© 2011
Radomir Luza
Radomir Luza was a Featured Poet who read his poetry at the February 2011 Second Sunday Poetry Series
Radomir Luza was a Featured Poet who read his poetry at the February 2011 Second Sunday Poetry Series