There’s a fine, rumbling power to Crisler’s poetry, a daredevil blend of humor and anger that pays homage to the everyday glories and frustrations of the human condition. At least, that’s what some Meyerhofer guy had to say about one of Crisler’s chapbook, Black Achilles. I think he was on to something, though, because that seems to go just fine with the wit, power, and cinders of this month’s Poetry Feature.

I’d also like to steer eager readers to his latest book, “This” Ameri-can-ah, from Cherry Castle Publishing. And don’t just take my word for it. Here are two more recommendations—both from poets who, coincidentally, also happen to have been featured on Atticus Review:

“Curtis L. Crisler is the man—the bone man, the heart man, the roaming coyote-man howling from the breath’s bowels.” – George Kalamaras, Poet Laureate of Indiana, author of The Hermit’s Way of Being Human

“People, people. Read this book. Or, rather, say this book out loud. The poems are built of the language we Americans hear and speak daily, but Curtis gives that language a measurable pulse. His poems scrub away the sweet outer sheen of what we’ve come to call Americana and find a truer definition of the term, while at same time, somehow, hearkening back in spirit to what cultural critic Greil Marcus has called the ‘old, weird America.’” – Justin Hamm, author of Lessons in Ruin

Oh, and don’t forget to check out Don’t Moan So Much (Stevie): A Poetry Musiquarium, from Kattywompus Press (my copy’s on the way, probably already making all the surrounding mail parcels jealous).



mOde for friend who used to be a skinhead & asked me to go to church w/ him 

mOde for friend who used to be a skinhead and asked me to go to church with him


In Detroit, Dead Musicians Still Kill for a Set


Licking the Salt in Ocean Air mOde


Richard Pryor and me




For photo credits, click through to the poem.