Divina Is Divina

In this posthumous collection, attention is paid to the present moment. Wiler examines, with humor, compassion and fearlessness, the pleasures in life—especially the varieties of love–from friendship to sex—and how we are capable of ruining those pleasures for ourselves or for others. Jack helps us understand that life and death are each, in its own way, gifts we must live with relish, abandon and commitment.

Jack Wiler was raised in New Jersey and lived in Jersey City until his death in 2009. Diagnosed with AIDS in 2001, Jack spent the last years of his life writing and educating students about poetry. For much of his life, he worked in pest control, most notably for Acme Exterminating in New York. He worked for Long Shot Magazine for many years and in association with the Geraldine R. Dodge Foundation worked as a visiting poet in the schools. Jack’s words can be found online at http://jackwiler.blogspot.com and in his two CavanKerry collections, Fun Being Me (2006) and Divina Is Divina (2010).

Spring Peepers

My friend Bob writes to me about spring peepers.
Frogs that make a lot of noise in the spring.
It’s a mating thing.
In South Jersey where we were young the frogs were everywhere
and their peeping filled the spring night.
I can remember coming home after a spring thunderstorm to find
frogs everywhere.
Dropped by a storm.

There aren’t any spring peepers in Jersey City.
There are a lot of small birds and there are two mourning doves.
There are a few flowering trees and a dozen or so daffodils
on a two block stretch.
On the first beautiful day of spring I lay in the sun
drinking cold Corona with lime and salt.
I went downstairs to Caribbean Nights and shot eight ball
with Franklin, Louisa’s boyfriend.
I came back and cooked ribs.
Seven stars shone in the sky.

When I was sick the sound of peepers and crickets filled the air in Wenonah.
My ears were thick with their buzzing and peeping.
The air was fragrant with spring flowers.
You could lie drowsy in the spring day without a care.

Cares I had then and cares I have now.
The sweet smell of spring is a blessed gift.
The noise is still there ringing in my ears.
Far away I can hear an approaching thunderstorm.
There is a brief flash of light.
The taste of beer and salt is sweet on my lips.

I’ve been publishing Chris Bursk’s disarmingly intimate and unflinchingly honest poetry for nearly forty years, and I continue to be awed by his vulnerability and courage. Also the man can write: his love of language is palpable. You can tell he chooses each word carefully, yet the overall effect is of a flowing conversation. It’s a conversation that’s sometimes uncomfortably direct – say when he explores the darker sides of sexual desire – but his humility and generosity of spirit make him an always-trustworthy guide.
– Sy Safransky, Editor, The Sun

Christopher Bursk confesses that until he was seventeen, he solaced himself by inventing an imaginary companion. The quiet triumph of this book is that he enlists the reader as such a secret sharer. In A Car Stops and a Door Opens, he takes us on a “road trip” that includes his troubled upbringing. On this journey, he explores relationships with honesty and empathy, while disarming us with his rueful, quirky wit: “No one else was willing to be Judas, so I agreed…” Bursk is America’s bard of adolescence.
— Philip Fried, editor Manhattan Review

September 2010
124 pp
Trade paper – 6 X 9.25
$16
978-1-933880-20-4