Hotel Insomnia

Charles Simic, Hotel Insomnia (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1992) If I ever meet Charles Simic, I am likely to ask that one question every author really hates: "Where do you get your ideas?" It's not that the overarching, grand design of Simic's work is incomprehensible or anything. In fact, in Hotel Insomnia, if anything, it's more noticeable than ever; for once, the book's title really does tie into almost everything in the book. Insomnia is a major theme in these poems, and it runs throughout like a bad infomercial on late-night TV in the background, bleary-eyed, beer in hand, in its boxer shorts, and yet strangely appealing. No, it's not that. It's in the details, those damnable little snippets of poetry that make Charles Simic's poems little gems of wide-eyed brilliance: "There's a painting over the cash register: Of a stiff Quaker couple dressed in black. They hold a cat under each arm. One is a tiger, the other is Siamese. The eyes are closed because it's very late, And because cats see better with their eyes closed." (--"Caged Fortuneteller") This is a guy who knows something about you. No matter who you are. And in every book he releases, he will reveal a little of it, until you're paranoid, hiding in a darkened room, peeking out of the blinds, unable to sleep, just waiting for Charles Simic to come knocking on your door, because you're convinced he's coming for you. And isn't that what it's all about? **** ½

I first read poetry of Charles Simic in the New Yorker. He is a great poet and evokes moods with very well-turned phrases and perfectly chosen words. I loved this book and admire this poet to an extent that cannot be put into words.