IN THE SEASONS OF MY EYE by Marty Matz
by Roger Humes

  Among the more underappreciated of American poets are the 2^nd Generation Beats.  In time and space they occupy neither the stellar position of the pantheon of Kerouac, Ginsberg, Ferlinghetti, etc., nor do they command the same respect the snobbish trendiness of scholarship offered to that first generation.

However, in the works of such writers as Jack Micheline and A.D. Winnans there continues the legacy offered by the original Beats:  an uncompromising sense of poetry before all else offered in a brutal honesty that is best described by borrowing Bukowski's title Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame, that state of constantly living "drunk with poetry."

Although of the 1st Generation Beats, Marty Matz is another who has failed to attain the acknowledgement for his writing that he deserves:   "I am the only great poet from that period who did not get famous--all because I ran off to Mexico in 1957, just as the news media were discovering the Beats."

In this volume published after his death we discover the power of his work.  His style is bold, accented by the fact all of his poems are written in upper case.  The words burn hot, the words of a poet as good as any of the other Beats but with the edge of never gaining the same notoriety.  It is hungry poetry with an appetite that is never quite satisfied:

ODE FOR FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA

WHO SHALL BE CALLED POET AFTER YOU
  ILLUSTRISSIMO
                        WHO SHALL STAND WITH BARE CHEST
           TO THE PURE COLD
                 DRINKING THE MUSIC OF GUADALQUIVER
PATRIOT
                    SPANIARD
                                               MAN OF THE TENDER EYES
                 WHO SHALL HAVE SO GREAT A HEART
                                          SO SOFT A TONGUE
                                                SUCH A VOICE SUNLIGHT
                       TO SING THE CARESSES OF THE WARM WIND
                                                    TO THE DREAMING CORN
THEY HAVE COME WITH TONGUES OF BRASS
                               WITH TWENTY SMALL KNIVES
                                          THEY HAVE PUT OUT YOUR EYES
THEY HAVE COME IN THEIR LEATHER HATS
                                                      WITH THEIR RIFLES
                        AT THE COUNT OF THREE
    HAVE CLOSED THE DOORS OF ETERNITY
          BEHIND YOU
YET
         THE ANDALUCIA YOU WARMED
                                           WITH THE PETALS OF YOUR SOUL
         WEARS YOUR GREEN STRENGTH WIT H REVERENCE
                  AS YOU WORE THE BLOOD OF IGNACIO
YOUR HEART SMOKES IN THE THIN AIR
       OF PACIFICATION
                      YOUR BROKEN ARMS HANG BEWILDERLY
                                         MADE IMPOTENT
                                                            BY THE CONSTRICITONS
                                                                               OF BEING A ROSE

In this poem we not only see the strength and power of Matz's craft, we also can view the echoes of  his observations and laments about his own life and work.  His heart, too, "smokes in the thin air" besieged by those who would question or ignore his work, his eyes put out by the oppression of the vogue, his tender heart crushed by the brass of trendiness.

To read Marty Matz is to delve into Americana seen through the of a poet who would not compromise his artistic vision.  This is poetry primal and pure, moving us into realms where words cannot truly go, only allude to the meaning which lies behind their syllables.

Read this book and learn as Bob Kaufman stated about Matz's work Time Waits:

 "This book is the Beat Generation's big gun. It goes off all over the world. The language is elegant. The poet is sure of himself. The world is sure of the poet."