Originally published by Tompkins Square Press and
later by Water Row Press in Poems of Madness &
Angel (1986), this epic prose poem is printed all in
capitals. Stanzas are in paragraph form with ubiquitous ellipses, ampersands, parentheses, neologisms, and scat-talk. This monumental exposition
of love and lack-love was composed in one night
while Bremser was in solitary confinement at New
Jersey State Prison in Trenton, New Jersey, on a
Stromberg–Carlson typewriter.
Angel analyzes and incarnates vast amounts of
human experience. It is dedicated to bonnie bremser (brenda frazer.) It is about how they met,
about youth, and how allen ginsberg’s “howl”
inspired him. The poem reminds us that Bremser was part of the inner circle of the best minds of
his generation. References are made about Ginsberg, Peter Orlovsky, gregory corso, LeRoi Jones
(amiri baraka), philip lamantia, william s. burroughs, and jack kerouac. The influence of jazz
is also apparent in the poem, and Bremser evokes
George Shearing, John Coltrane, and Dizzy Gillespie.
It is an overwhelming foray into a nontrivial mind,
conscious of the political realities that separate him
from his “angel,” their music, their Beat artist-andpoet community. It is rampant with folk and street
aphorisms and barrels forward with a monster vocabulary juxtaposing rare adjective–noun combinations
as poignant and sensible as they are unfamiliar.
Positioning himself in what would now be
called a chauvinistic position as Bonnie’s creator,
Bremser as poet suggests his muse (Bonnie) relies
on him as much if not more so than he relies on
her: “I SHAPED HER, LIMNED HER, LIMBED
HER, TRIMMED HER, BLUED HER, GREW
& SYLPHED & HOPED TO GOD & PROPHECIED HER NIGHTLY & BY DARKNESS EVERYWHERE.” Yet the reader understands that it
is this angel/muse who is actually getting the poet
through the night. Bremser explains his agony:
“ANGEL THINKS SHE KNOWS HOW HORRIBLE IT ALL IS! I KNOW SHE HAS A FANTASTIC CAPACITY TO GET INTO THE
PAIN & TORTURE OF THAT WHICH IS ALL
AROUND HER . . . BUT SHE DON’T KNOW
THIS TO ITS SHARP CORE, HER DREAMS
ARE AS FLYING WONDERS COMPARED TO
MY WAKING WALKS THROUGH THE STYGIAN STINKING VOMITED HALLS OF DOLOROUS SPANG & CRONG MUCK.” Bremser’s
positioning himself as a poet, with the help of his
muse Bonnie, is what saves his sanity: “NOBODY
KNOWS ANYTHING . . . ONLY THE POETS.”
As Bremser reminds us, “IT WAS POETRY SAW
ME THROUGH.”
Andy Clausen and Kurt Hemmer