Bad Poems by Ross Vassilev: A review by Chris Butler

The belligerent genius of the Bulgarian poet, editor and pissy pessimist Ross Vassilev is in full bloom with his new collection of poems, inaptly entitled Bad Poems. The collection opens with the title piece, and with the common comment from nearly every poet who has ever struck the pen to the page, he questions the editors who have chosen the poems he regarded as purely recycle bin material. Like any self-critical writer with some semblance of an ego, he writes “most of ‘em are pretty good but there’s some that are real shit”. Of course, the writing of these bad poems can’t compare to the social and political issues presented throughout the collection, with the final line that his poems are “certainly not as bad as poverty and endless wars”.

The recurring theme of poverty emerges numerous times, including the poem “Learned a Few Things”, in which the speaker evokes his youthful aspirations of pursuing admirable careers, such as police work or firefighting, but instead settles on the notion of distributing heroin as his dream job. In “Long Ago and Not So Far Away”, the speaker recalls his time as a temporary employee performing light assembly for minimum wage with no unionized benefits, a task so tedious he describes it as “death by boredom”. In “Eggs”, the favorite food of the less fortunate is explored, along with the penniless consumerism of coupon cutting and food stamp collecting that is exemplified by the title embryo, while a woman strolls through the supermarket with a shopping cart packed with egg cartons. But, some hope is expressed in the final lines as the “lazy and stupid” multiply through uneducated, unprotected sexual relations and multiply to the point that the poorest class outnumbers the digits in the richest bank accounts. The blue collar poem, “Tax Cuts for Millionaires” once again features the speaker working for unions in such venues as supermarkets and warehouses, but this time with the lack of benefits of his previous non-union assembly job. In this piece, he looks on in disgust towards his fellow “sheeple” as they spend their lunch breaks, designated for chain smoking and stress-induced shitting, by playing card games.

Bad Poems is laden with remarkably memorable lines that grip the imagination with unrelentingly original descriptions. Most notably, “Family Heirloom”, is overflowing with visuals that entice the reader to claw over every word just to see what the next will be. Particularly, “the starry night sang an ode to my cage of the mind” traps the reader in a Vincent Van Gogh afterworld. The natural imagery in the line “lonely as a cricket on a cold night” taps against the ear drums with howling Northeastern winds during the frosty seasons. And “I was circling the electric night in a Ferris wheel of schizophrenia” enlightens the eyes with controlled lightning bolts shot towards the reader’s rounded irises. The most noteworthy description of the collection arrives early, in the poem “Long Ago and Not So Far Away”, as the speaker reflects upon his self with the line “if I had a soul I would say it was like an opium poppy turned to stone”. This visual of a living entity (similar to the public’s perception of the human soul) becoming a cold, solid mass of nothingness relays an overshadowing darkness in the speaker that seems to build throughout the collection. This internal darkness then reflects upon the state of his exteriors, as he faces legal troubles in the last poem, “X”. But in harsh contrast to the night skies of previous pieces, the finale shows the speaker’s troubles spotlighted below a sunny day, as he wanders from the courthouse, across the street to his first visitation with his probation officer, signifying that this instance will be a recurring theme in his life, as his sentence of a probationary period for one year progresses beyond the pages.Ross Vassilev strikes with a vengeance yet again with another unrelenting display of anti-Americana with Bad Poems, and hopefully his next collection will meet this standard of excellence.