Book Review for Hotels:

Subterranean Blue Poetry

Volume IX Issue XII





HOTELS: T.S. ELIOT REVISITED



Byline: Subterranean Blue Poetry

Title of Book: Hotels

Author: George Bowering

Publisher: above/ground press

Date of Publication: 2021

Pages: 16


“And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.”
- from The Waste Land
by T.S. Eliot


An elegant surrealist progression of the post-modern, a broken internal monologue that blooms into a New Age event, Hotels by George Bowering and above/ground press. George Bowering (poet, novelist, historian, biographer, teacher) is one of the founders of TISH poetry journal. He is the first Canadian Parliamentary Poet Laureate. He has high honours for his work, including The Order of Canada and The Order of British Columbia. Bowering has published 5 Chapbooks with above/ground press amongst other Chapbooks, seven collections of critical essays, five memoirs, three books of historical nonfiction, and six plays.

A broken interior monologue that spins, spinning into the night, the time of writers’ haunts. This work was inspired by Hotel Victoria by Artie Gold, and a posthumous book by Gold, Romantic Words Bowering is editing, Hotels being a response Chapbook.

On the surface, a travelogue written in a series of hotel rooms, San Francisco, Frankfurt, B.C., New York, Verona, Peurto Limon, Calgary, Lund, Guatemala, Chinatown . . . a description, walls that don’t meet the ceiling, walls, locks, “a little loop, that slipped over a nail”, windows that we don’t look out of. As if something/someone escapes us, the name, the dress, the year of time, exists on the periphery of the highway but is not there. Perhaps a desert, perhaps a game of lost and found, perhaps the last verse of The Waste Land (T.S. Eliot), this work spins DaDa, spins time. Esoteric, mystic, as if a burning blunt of sage, the smoke drifts up to the sky. The mention of a girl, a night, a dream, the lost song of Summer.

“This strange
author thinks he is at sea with dead sailors,
trying to stand before a wooden magdalene,
tears all over his face and shirt.”

Hard spaces of third world countries, exile, outside, for what slips through your hands, for the pen and paper, for what stays in your hands, the hard spaces rounded.

Mysterious and surrealist, a fantastique poetic event in New Age literature, Hotels by George Bowering.

Available @ above/ground press.





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