®

Today's poem is "I'm Drinking Again, Let's Start a Family"
from Pain Fantasy

Red Morning Press

Jason Bredle is the author of Pain Fantasy, Standing in Line for the Beast (New Issues), A Twelve Step Guide (New Michigan Press), and A Pocket-Sized Map of My Heart (with Leigh Stein). His many accolades are so numerous and impressive that listing them here would be meaningless. He lives in Chicago's Jefferson Park neighborhood and works at a translation agency in Evanston, Illinois.

Other poems by Jason Bredle in Verse Daily:
May 8, 2007:   "Hell" " I wouldn't be surprised if some oratorical..."
August 24, 2006:   "The Idiot's Guide to Faking Your Own Death and Moving to Mexico" " Every few seconds I check the Bible..."

Books by Jason Bredle: Pain Fantasy, Standing In Line for the Beast

Other poems on the web by Jason Bredle:
Two poems
Three poems
"Horse's Adventure"
Five poems
Two poems

Jason Bredle's Home Page.

About Pain Fantasy:

"Whitman said of his own Leaves of Grass, 'Who touches this book, touches a man.' Id say the same about Pain Fantasy, except Ray Carver already said it about a book of poems by Denis Johnson. As far as I know, Denis Johnson has never touched Pain Fantasy, though no doubt he soon will, as some books really do get around. Maybe what I can say, then, is that whoever touches this book touches everyone else who has ever touched this book, and by extension touches the many books that those nameless readers, in turn, have touched. Therefore, by touching this book, you yourself could touch someone whos touched someone whos touched Walt Whitman. And that is just an amazing accomplishment."
—Josh Bell

"Loved. O he was. Jason Bredle. A small person except for the love. A person except for the crying. Remember how much of him there was to go around. How wanted his love was. Him with tiny noises. His voice banging against the keys. An old typewriter surfacing. There was no cliff. No sea. No one else thrown off. Really to me he was only a set of minutes. A few turns of phrase. The lathe of the typewriter. The pages and pages he went on. I remember the first time we met. Not wonderful. Not at all. A child myself. We spent our hours unwisely. We became too large in each other's eyes. We tried to start a famous argument. He admonished me. And now I you. Take this book. In your hands and finger its edges. Cut your teeth on its binding. Prepare for the judgment of your own dreams."
—Mark Yakich



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