
Rosal, Patrick. My American Kundiman. New York: Persea Books, 2006. 65 pp. $13.95 (paper).
Reviewed by Jonas Holdeman
The attraction of our primordial cycle of pain-and-release—like a child probing a loose tooth—is what pulls me into the poems in Patrick Rosal’s second book, My American Kundiman. Reading “Beast” from the first section of the collection, and one gets an intense, imagery-dense introduction to the poem’s subject:
___________________This Beast who is six-foot-four and speaks
five versions of Pound-and-Pummel In South Philly
I’m watching him play summer league where Beast thinks
he’s a poet even when he hauls down a brick
off the defensive boards and there’s four other
black men on the court calling to him
Beast! Beast! Beast! He answers them
with all the sensitivity of a cretic foot: a quick
pivot mid-court that knocks the opponent’s skinny
two-guard off the gawky pair of iron
skillets grown out of the poor kid’s ankles and projects him
like an old neurosis across the crud-ridden gym floor. (6-7) Continue reading this post…











