PTSD Martini by
Dario Cvencek
Carbonation Press
…the music of/ a country that/ no longer exists
If you spend any time in the Seattle poetry scene, you are likely to come across Dario Cvencek. He is an unstoppable literary force, releasing poems and hosting readings throughout the city and region. Rumor has it, he is also a fantastic bass player. After a recent event in which we both read our work, Dario asked me if I would review not one but two of his books. This seemed like an odd request at the time but I told him I would try my best, uncertain of how this would all come together. Now that I have read both volumes, I think I understand his reasoning a little better. This review is going to look a little different than my normal reviews as I try to link these two very different books to Dario’s overarching themes and poetics.
PTSD Martini is filled with honest and brutal accounts of war like this: “but then the shots became/ burst gunfire and that/ gunfire kept going/ rat-a-tat-tata rat-a-tat-a-tata.” As you can read in his bio, Cvencek grew up during the Bosnian War of the 1990s. The poems in this book are most effective when describing the intersection of childhood with war and violence. This is the perennial problem for countries who wage war, the forgetting of those most impacted by it. Thus, as the generals draw their battle lines no one pays any attention to the school destroyed by bombs and the child victims inside of it. In PTSD Martini Cvencek recounts, “all of us kids were helping out/ stacking those sandbags…/ it was magical to play with sand like that/to build forts ACTUAL forts.” These kids caught in war are unable to separate their fantasies of play with the terrifying reality surrounding them. In that way, maybe they resemble some of the adults who start these wars. With the grandiose adventures in their heads, these military leaders remain blissfully ignorant of all the pain they will cause.
Eventually, Cvencek had to leave his homeland. Thus, PTSD Martini is filled with moving lines describing his longing for home. “I want to go home/ its warmth is calling/ to see all those meadows/ and green fields again.” Our lives are often tied to a place. As much as I enjoy traveling, there have been moments abroad when I have sorely missed the familiar comforts of my upbringing. Cvencek does a fantastic job of evoking these feelings while reconciling his present location to the tumultuousness of the past.
Mirror Made of Words
by Dario Cvencek
Carbonation Press
Mirror Made of Words has a softer tone than it’s predecessor. One way it does this is through Cvencek’s use of rhyme. “Once the winter snow begins/ to thaw, and the ice starts breaking/ a new music will stir in you/ like a spring anthem in the making.” Many of these poems contain gentle reflections far removed from the ravages of war. They are more concerned with investigating the meaning of existence than documenting the shocking violence of humanity. “It’s not up to me/ not the morning when it dawns/ not the night when it falls.” This is the work of a survivor who has lived through all of the trauma and is now ready to share some hard-won truths.
I daresay that Mirror Made of Words even contains poems of hope and joy. “Love is here to grow/ oh, the sweet joy of it all/ I get up and I stand erect/ and I move the worlds.” How encouraging it is to see this poet move so flawlessly between tragedy and ecstasy. But this is indeed the range of human existence. One minute you’re crying into your beer and the next you are leading a drinking song with those similarly inebriated at the bar. Like many poets, Cvencek finds so much of his hope and joy in nature, “three nights in a row I catch myself/ spotting ladybugs…/ let them climb/ my fingers.” While those in high places inflict their martial plans on the world to achieve some semblance of satisfaction, Cvencek has discovered happiness in these simple observations of natural life.
Cvencek’s poetics are concerned with survival in the physical, mental, and spiritual planes. Both books reflect this and complement each other in surprising ways. However, I should mention that both PTSD Martini and Mirror Made of Words are rather hefty tomes, at least for poetry collections. For a shorter introduction to Cvencek’s work, you may need to pick just one of them. If you’re looking for a firsthand account of life in a war-torn country, PTSD Martini is your choice. If you are looking for a quieter, more reflective poetry, Mirror Made of Words is a great companion on a lonely afternoon. And if you find yourself in a Seattle bar or café on a rainy winter evening and Dario Cvencek takes the stage, you are in for an unforgettable time.
Benjamin Schmitt
Benjamin Schmitt is the author of four books, most recently The Saints of Capitalism and Soundtrack to a Fleeting Masculinity. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Sojourners, Antioch Review, The Good Men Project, Hobart, Columbia Review, Spillway, and elsewhere. A co-founder of Pacifica Writers’ Workshop, he has also written articles for The Seattle Times and At The Inkwell. He lives in Seattle with his two children.