But that’s exactly what I did when I purchased Quan Barry’s poetry collection, Auction. The cover: a transparent blue toilet. How could I resist? It reminded me of how often I have searched for a see-through toilet for my grandchildren. You might laugh, but those toilets used to exist and were ideal for toilet training. The young like to observe their bodily functions.
I loved Barry’s novel, When I’m Gone, Look for Me in the East, a mesmerizing, beautifully written read about Buddhism and Mongolia. I expected Auction to be another book on religion and culture. To some extent, that’s an accurate description, although Auction, unlike the novel, feels deeply personal.
Also, because of the cover, I thought the book might include a reference to Martin Luther. I know that might sound odd. But to my mind, a toilet + religion = Martin Luther. Luther’s toilet (which you can visit in Wittenberg, Germany) has been referred to as “the seat of the Reformation.” It is also the seat of some seriously horrific anti-Semitic writing. Chronically constipated, Luther composed treatises on the lavatory, and he was forever praying for relief. God’s answer to his prayers—a serious case of hemorrhoids.
As a young monk, Luther, perhaps like Barry, struggled with the question: how do we deal with our inherently sinful nature. He drove his confessor nuts by confessing endlessly, never feeling cleansed. While Barry’s poems present a more eastern perspective, they pose similar questions. In her poems, the sacred and the profane are mingled, as are the horrific and the spiritual.
90° AND IT’S STILL SPRING
I paint my nails mint in an attempt to cool myself.
High winds and the Strawberry moon paddle is canceled.
At the all-day retreat at Deer Park, the lama tells us
we must wish that all sentient beings have the tools
to achieve happiness. Bub, look around, I silently think.
We are born of a nature to burn. We have not gone beyond burning.
Behind me, the kid with the prayer wheel like a god with a wheel.