I once attended a stand-up show in Amsterdam, and not speaking a word of Dutch I just laughed along with the crowd, letting myself get caughtup with the noise. It’s the logic of applause and food fights. I can’t think about the bubonic plague without getting anxious. When I watchPlanet Earth, I root for both prey and predator. The border between humor and disgust blurs neatly so it’s often hard to say. I was drivinghome from the grocery store last week and saw that my neighbor had painted and hung a new sign on his shed: THEEVES WILL BE SHOTand Kate asked, Who’s Theeves? In high school a boy did a Gallagher impression after prom, smashing watermelons on stage with a hammer,his fake mustache falling off mid-swing, and then two weeks later his parents received a bill for $30,000 to replace the pulp-smattered curtain.Or that time in second grade after we had just moved when a quiet boy in my class asked for a ride home. My mother, new to the city,got lost, and cross-stitched neighborhoods in the fading light because the boy didn’t know which was his, and he started crying, and my motherstarted to cry too, and we drove until the boy saw a familiar park, and eventually we found it, his house, and l1is mother was on the lawnwith two officers, and she’s crying, too, and then the drive home after, my mother whispering, Shit, Shit, Shit, and wiping her eyes.
Noise
Feature Date
- September 3, 2024
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“Noise” from THE WORLD’S LARGEST BALL OF PAINT: by Charlie Peck.
Published by Black Lawrence Press 2024.
Copyright © 2024 by Charlie Peck.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Charlie Peck is the author of World’s Largest Ball of Paint (2024), recipient of the 2022 St. Lawrence Book Award from Black Lawrence Press. His work has appeared previously in Cincinnati Review, Indiana Review, The Journal, Ninth Letter, and Best New Poets 2019, among others. He lives and works in Bayreuth, Germany.
"Charlie Peck’s lush, straightforward storytelling nevertheless holds something back. There are secrets here, lyric disconnects, the ancient ache in everything. Which is to say, these observant poems ring true whether they are or not. I bet both, as all treasures are. Honest and surprising, edgy and tender, urgently meditative, even shocking at times: these poems, thus this poet. Proof: 'When I went down to the woods that first day of winter/I found a car door against a tree trunk, the paint rubbed thin/from deer shedding their velvet…' This is how legends start. And go where? I had to find out."
–Marianne Boruch
"World’s Largest Ball of Paint is written by a man who has earned his living as a cook. Charlie Peck speaks of what he knows well, ‘the smell / of pork fat &garlic leading the way to the steel noodle counter.’ His poems feed us. They feed us hunger, want, loneliness, loss, addiction, violence, boredom, depravity, laughter, grief, joy. The menu is memory. Watch out. Eating this poetry can burn your tongue. Bite down. The words may bite you back, but they will fill your mouth completely. They talk back. This is a book like the best Gaeng Keow Wan, green Thai curry. It is habanero hot."
–Donald Platt
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