Clinch

Selected poems by Michael Scholnick (1953-90)

Edited by Gary Lenhart, Steve Levine, Greg Masters and Bob Rosenthal

With a preface by Eileen Myles

Coffee House Press. Minneapolis. 1998

87 pages $12.95

"I'm so glad to learn what spirit is/Now I'm not hungry/I'm a disciple peeling an orange"

--"Catskill Song and Dance"

Following on the heels of his two previously published chapbooks, Perfume and Beyond Venus, Clinch is the first major (posthumous) collection of the poems of Michael Scholnick.

Born in Queens, NY, Scholnick began as an athletic youth in the Bronx, moving from all-star baseball status to a decade-long stint as co-editor of the literary journal Mag City. A prominent figure in New York's downtown cultural scene of the '70s and early '80's, Scholnick has been described as one of the few poets who "successfully bridged the gap between the New York School and the Beats."

Perhaps his background as a catcher contributed to his supple grasp of life's detail and depth. Scholnick's work is lithe and loaded, sensual and moral, Jewish and universal. Seizing intently on observation, the 87 poems in this volume convey integrity and an uncommonly intimate contact with life and its import. Scholnick's phrases possess a sudden, surprising clarity, like clouds parting to reveal rinsed city streets in dazzling afternoon sun.

A divine quality pervades these poems, which have been described as "like an angel stepping onto a bus" and as "wickedly impish," aptly evoking their celestial ethic and earthy passion. At times curiously imbued with the urgent language of Old Testament prophets, these verses dwell also on landlords and new jobs. Two stanzas from the poem "Valentine's" demonstrate how Scholnick successfully grapples with disparate worlds: "Jerusalem is/A crucial place--/disaster and insistence reign/The food vendor's done,/reattaching axle wheels to/his scoured cart..." Such passages are frequent in Clinch.

Faultlessly precise, Scholnick's attention extends from the heavens to yellow-lined highways. The title poem offers these lines: "Inside sings,/Zeus molestation,/Mind rages, still-- /Fingers tap/Thighs, crossed/Legs, naturally/Awaiting..."

Scholnick has been called a sculptor of words, but his poems remind me more of music, and not merely because of their aural beauty. Dreamy and rhythmic, his verses consist of amassed one-line observations seamlessly strung into a delicate counterpoint of spirit and sense, light in tone and weighty in impact. The result is a fresh, pleasantly startling harmony. One concludes that Scholnick summarizes his life's philosophy in the closing lines of "Ernie": "Life not enjoyed/To the utmost is a sin."

Sensitive and simple, urban and ecclesiastical, these poems are as surprising as Scholnick's sudden death in 1990, at the age of 37.

--Gena Mason

This review was originally published in the Poetry Project Newsletter, Spring 1999