Darryl Wawa

Darryl Wawa

Darryl Wawa is a Port-au-Prince born Haitian-American who studied Photography and Creative writing. He enjoys chocolate and good books. That said, maybe a movie is a good book. He loves to work with images and words and their pairing.

The news is presented grosso modo, but the pleasure and humor in the work is in the poetry more than the facts and in how Beau Blue’s specific word choices play on how one had perceived the events.

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The title is ironic, playing on infinity and the number 8: if cats had nine lives, then we’d have one less, 9-1. The foreverness of loss. Are we lucky or unlucky to fall in love? Passions and thrills, heartaches and grief, walk hand in hand.

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The identity in of the author is quite certain and solid, grounded in local pleasures, tastes, weather and emotions. The questions that these poems ask are valuative, a weighing of what matters.

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Internet. Information. Rain pouring into
the glass cunt of my mind
Momma always said I told you so
before beating the glass

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The book is a psychological sci-fi filled with non-sensical gadgets, absurd dialogue, and all out madness, a batlle royale of good against evil, of womanhood against male perversion that follows William Burroughss Naked Lunch in reverse, if we consider the gender roles of the protagonists.

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The poet here is playing with the impression of snow, bringing us back to our senses, the cold felt through an open palm. She creates a hot and cold sensation with the beautifully contrasting images of cold and tropical weather through the specifics of snow and a tropical tree shaped like a hand.

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It is at its core, a criticism of the innate sexist culture of Sri Lanka and the poems vibrate with action, gesture, and compassion, describing horrible realities. However I have to note that, sadly, there are too many faults of language, concision and sentimentality.

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"I scheduled you for a 'Wow!' class today at two O’clock. They have new videos on how to interact with the customer and push for more Wow! Cards. We have to educate the customer about the rewards and benefits."

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Roberta Feins commands these sensual lines with grace, simplicity and feminine caress. She makes the sensual spiritual, through food and cloth, a commanded indulgence that suggest that all feeling starts with skin and tongue, and withers with time.

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We tend to expect a lot of pretense from poetry: fancy language that makes for unreadable lines. Pieces of writing so pseudo-intellectual or obtuse that they can only be qualified as Machiavellian ploys to satisfy the author’s ego.

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