Scandals: Poems

“With Scandals, we are here to respect the camp, and the irreverent, flamboyant, and countercultural ethos. Osman’s willingness to defy expectations is admirable.”

American culture is, in many ways, like a killer tornado. We may feel threatened by its supernatural power, yet cannot stop chasing it. Gorgeous and hideous at the same time, it tends to alter, if not destroy, whatever it meets in its path. Some writers, it seems, live and create comfortably from the eye of the culturenado. They observe how it corkscrews and distorts and sucks up absolutely everything, whatever is precious and ordinary alike. It seems random, and maybe it is. But in the aftermath, anything (or anyone) who is touched by the storm is transformed.

A Freddie Mercury-ish death mask graces the cover of Scandals, the first book of poems by Alex Osman recently released by Filthy Loot. On the back, four words, alone, italicized: “Another dead sex symbol.” We are greeted by the first force of nature to appear in these pages, someone who resembles Mercury, the front man of Queen. The poems within, however, seem to sidestep glam and head straight for a cesspool. 

Not to imply that the writing is a waste, it’s actually working pretty hard to mean something. From “The Poet Laureate of Trash America,” as Osman has been officially deemed, we should expect things like junkies doing gross stuff, parasitic twins, herpes, and ’80s TV. This is Osman’s stage and his cast of players in it.

Freaks and geeks are Osman’s thing, and he does not condemn, but rather loves them all, like an unconventional poet-god should. It’s an aesthetic he’s developed since boyhood, following in the creative footsteps of his idol, John Waters. And even with all the dead animals, bodily fluids, and scabby drug-related tragedies, it’s not not super sweet nostalgia that’s forming in the lines of these compact little poems. There are some really lovely, faded Polaroid moments wheezing from the poetic mouth, and Super8 reels projecting on the metaphorical brain wall. And yes, it is weird stuff. But it is entirely possible that even a Mary Oliver fan could find much to appreciate in Osman’s work, particularly anyone growing up in the ’80s, having watched a lot of TV and films, knowing people who used drugs or used drugs themselves, anyone who said and did whatever they wanted, like it was all no big deal. 

And yeah, the images are so ugly sometimes you may ask: is there a soul behind all this? But of course. It takes a certain sensitivity to see and interpret and process the true and undeniable brutalities of everyday life. And you don’t need to be living on the street to know what Osman is talking about. Have you ever seen a live birth? Do you eat meat? Why should it be the wiser who covers their eyes from this:

            I could stay awake and watch her

            Slaughter chickens all day

            Spare bedroom splattered in white shit

            She took off her rings to keep them clean

            She never removed her wedding ring

            A disastrous marriage

            Them bodies sure did dance when their heads

            were removed. 

It is doubtful that Osman seeks affiliation with mainstream poets such as Mary Oliver or Ellen Bass. However, Osman’s “Chicken Shit Calamity” could be a bookend to Bass’s well-known and highly anthologized poem “What Did I Love” about slaughtering chickens. 

Even if it is pointless to compare the two poems, why should Bass be the only one to write about a chicken’s anus and still get all the respect? And actually, neither Bass’s nor Osman’s poems are about slaughtering chickens anyway. 

Osman surrenders the “respectable.” He knows how to bend and break through boundaries with sophisticated quirk and humor, and in doing so, makes some very valid cultural critiques. With Scandals, we are here to respect the camp, and the irreverent, flamboyant, and countercultural ethos. Osman’s willingness to defy expectations is admirable. Let it also be said that the drug culture, if we are going there, deserves recognition. We do well to accept the challenge to expand our notions of what poetry should signal, and how it can engage with the world.