America, My Whore
by Doron Braunshtein a.k.a. Apollo Braun
Doron Braunshtein Books
I thought I was done with overwrought love poetry and whiny unfulfilled sexual fantasies when high school ended. At least back in 1975, it all revolved around boy and girls and the back seat of a dodge, but Mr. Braun adds a new dimension, the unrequited love of an adult victim for those who abused him as a child. Mr. Braun is a prolific yet iconoclastic artist, spinning out techno mixes of Jewish wedding songs and disarmingly crude dance music. His latest opus is this imposing 300 page volume of vaguely rhythmic poetic diatribes about sex, and it’s not a very pleasant read.
When I say “sex”, don’t think about dreamy romantic interludes with wine and perfume and Montovani. Rather, here the sex is abusive, scatological and not necessarily consensual. Opening the book is an excessively graphic description of an early abuse, and it sets the tone. Further pieces ask for, beg for, and demand actions few of us might be willing to commit under any circumstance. If I sound vague here, it’s on purpose – this poetry pushes me past my limits of acceptance.
This book is not for everyone. Actually, it’s hard to think of exactly for whom it might be appropriate. The pang of internal loss and misery here is not only hard to accept, but the method of saying it makes it harder. It’s the poetry of a damaged man seeking resolution through further damage, and that’s not very pretty.
