Can Leonard Gontarek write a bad poem? I mean, can he write something that one is unable to cherish? A poem that fails to amuse? One that slips up a bit in the diction? Or rather, can he please stop writing poems because it just ain't fair. People shouldn't be able to write poems like this. These poems that he has learned and shares are the poems of the ancients via the modern sensibilities called: media and the other five plus the heart and soul. That makes about eight and any poet with eight senses ought to be thrown out of town.

Here is an excerpt from a poem called

i w i l l r e a d a f e w o f t h e s e t o s e e i f t h e y e x i s t

...The revolution will be shown without sound.
The war is over so we protect the reasons for it.
Our dreams are troubled by murders from movies.
This revolution will come with more beautiful imagery.
I have answers to all your questions. Are you talking to me?
I was kicked out. It was quite a ceremony, solemn, stark:
bells, chants, roses in winter, incense, the door opening.
Creaking gate of Purgatory. The Master wiping away a small tear,
dust of centuries. My ass smarted for a week.
.....


Now, let me just tell you this, you could extract any line from just about any poem of his and find a *nougat in there. It isn't hard and one doesn't need to be a high falutin poetry priest to chew these delicacies and in fact, you don't even need teeth. Eyes help and I do wonder if poets ever think to have their chapbooks put into Braille for the less fortunate sightless peoples. I'll bet the blind love poetry more than those who can see.

Here for instance in the opening line of a poem called Life On Earth

"I was afraid the hearse passing would make you sad."

Now come on now...that is just so simple and pure isn't it? The poem itself is one of the weaker yet it still manages to grip at the neck and ask you, Isn't this what things look like? When Mr. Gontarek says in his poem Amnesty this:

Your ex-girlfriend leans over & kisses you in the coffin.

....you believe him. Amnesty goes on to say this too:

Two clean college kids “for Christ” banged on my door like angry mailmen.





You have the wrong house. I knew right away that was not the smart thing to say.





There are no wrong houses when it comes to Jesus.





I’m Buddhist. Christ accepts everyone.





I am not exactly depressed, just a little sad.





Trace the tattoo on your arm or leg, if you have an idea of what I’m talking about.





When the earth & snow is apricot for seconds & your dreams fall fast as water





Out the window, wouldn’t you say in the middle of that uncontestable joy, is sorrow,





Like a metal sliver? Wouldn’t you say a sign with a couple letters out





Makes you sad. You could say those women eating snow in a racy manner





Is sad, but you wouldn’t. I can’t explain. I follow the lovely wild horses





With my eyes. They become lost in the shadow of mountain & then, darkness.





I love the way that happens. But who can be certain, when it comes to imagery.

...so the poem becomes what we call, Self Conscious. Happy within itself, discussing itself as if itself was the whole reason the world revolved. Man this guy is good and if I lived in America, I'd buy each and every one of his books. I'd do that and al'ham'du'lillah for the internet. Where would I be without it?

You can find Mr. G at his own site here:

http://www.leafscape.org/LeonardGontarek/poetry.html