That Turned Ugly Fast

by Mark Berriman, Viggo Mortensen

Overview

In this, Berriman's fourth collection, he continues to fight for the underdog. Pulling no punches, Berriman's words can be both inspiring and jaw-dropping.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780878398157
Publisher:	North Star Press of Saint Cloud
Publication date:	09/15/2015
Pages:	96
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.30(h) x 0.20(d)

About the Author

Mark Berriman is the publisher of the Stillwater Gazette. He is an author, poet, artist, columnist, and community leader. His work has appeared in theSt. Paul Pioneer Press,Minneapolis Star Tribune, and numerous regional and national periodicals. His artwork has been featured in galleries throughout the Twin Cities.

Editorial Reviews

'Dancing in the boneyard / He is the man in the bunny / suit waving from the side / of the road.' These lines from a poem in Mark Berriman's new collection, That Turned Ugly Fast, might well describe the poet himself. He twirls his subjects out and around in jitterbug language, taking on everything from corn syrup to the zipper merge. Sometimes he makes you laugh; sometimes he makes you cry. You won't be bored, and don't worry: it will be over too soon—almost before you know it.”
— Joyce Sutphen, Minnesota Poet Laureate

“We stand on the brink at the ending of time. Time was, Time is, Time will be no more. / And it's The Big Bang Epiphany in the gap between thought and image voices streams / racing whispering through our blood pleading through our bones strange activities of / our nerves the unconscious life of our minds a tetrameter of iambs marching shouting / Voices Without Restraint alchemically transmutative symbol decipherment The Book / as Sacred Elixir Manger du Livre Eat The Book and I eat That Turned Ugly Fast / by Mark Berriman the poet who is writing the apocalypse and I am never the same again.”
— Ron Whitehead, author of I Refuse I Will Not Bow Down I Will Never Give Up

“In these poems, Mark Berriman sees the small things. He writes the details—the hair on the nape of a lover's neck, a child's leg folded over a cat—like an old man watching and lost in past memories. But then he turns it about, and spits it out and makes demands of the world. Then he sounds like a young man full of frustration and swinging around to point a finger in your chest to punctuate a moment.”
— Jack Sargeant, author of Naked Lens: Beat Cinema, Deathtripping: The Cinema of Transgression

From the Publisher