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 A Glance into Ilja Kostovski’s Selected PoetryIt is a slightly smirking smile that accompanies the voice calling on Muses in Ilja Kostovski’s epic poetry and final book, Sisiphus and I. In this seminal production of the poet’s work, an eager, if slightly sarcastic, voice cries out from the woodpile of modernity:Don’t tarry You envious GodThis minute I will go Into the deep forestsAnd will chop for you Firewood in piles.As for Kostovski’s readers, they are the “connoisseurs of sorrow,” the “suicide…leaning on the railings of bridges,” the “self-despisers,” for he is a poet of the lone wolves, the melancholy wanderer we read about in Blake and imagine among the happy crowds at Coney Island in the 1920s, or among the tripping multitudes of Haight Ashbury in the 1960s, or in the city where he made his last residence, the throngs of the upright and enraged of Washington, D.C.Kostovski’s verse is prayer to a God who is or is not there, a nearly desperate, repeating “Come unto me.” It is not merely exhortation to the deity. He invokes, too, the gathering crowds of the lost and broken-hearted, as though the divine could only be conjured by those numbers, or as if the dead God of Nietzsche could be resurrected by a hoard whose suffering is the very thing that binds them. In that case, instead of a savior, the hero of these poems is a common wound: “Come unto me those/Who have turned your roads/Into hazardous games.” The language is straight out of the book of Micah (whose own anaphoric language begins each chapter with “Hear”), an Old Testament prophet no one believes, but the language pops with contemporary hideousness: “Come, candidates for oval offices/ Come, candidates for electric chairs.” In what is perhaps the most powerful poem in the collection, “Sermon at the Washington Monument,” Kostovski the po
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