Deja Everything by Adam Hammer (1978)

The only full-length book published by American surrealist poet Adam Hammer (1948-1984).

Poetry Review: Deja Everything is surrealism with a devious sense of humor, a sneaky sense of meaning, and a subtle heart. This small book is dedicated to Willie Mays, if that tells you anything, and it's almost impossible to find. There weren't that many printed in the first place, and doubtless the vast majority of the copies of this little 68-page paperback were lost. Or its owners love the book so much they'll never part with it; like me. Hammer has his own unique voice, but was influenced by poets such as Bill Knott and Thomas Lux (who edited Knott's recently released, posthumous Selected Poems on FSG). Seeing the ghost of Bill Knott (who outlived Hammer) peek out from one of Hammer's poems is like seeing two old friends sharing a bottle of lube oil. These days it would probably be craft lube oil. Here's a short poem entitled "History of Love": "I love springtime! you cried/ and it was wonderful indeed/ the bees were playing their little guitars ...". But Hammer (also known as Juan Carlos) doesn't write just any sort of surrealism, Deja Everything contains surrealism that provides its own meaning, like an Impressionist painting that hints at its foggy subject. As he wrote: "I wonder if it's possible/ to write a poem that is perfectly clear/ After all, poetry is a sort of mist/ No one really understands the way his work is ignored." There is also feeling, genuine feeling here, without (much) irony, so the reader knows there's a person, not a PC, behind these poems. A funny, angry, lost, naively smart, bitter, baseball-loving person. These poems also reveal a mind with a pinball-like vocabulary and the ability to elicit laughter from nowhere. Surrealists must wander the streets with a black leaf bag looking for that one right, but almost never connected, word for their next masterpiece. Hammer writes: "Politely does stained glass appear: ... O Lobster who is currently enjoying stained glass!" But why am I writing about a lost poet who died young in a country of forgotten, lost, dead poets. A poet who wrote one book on a small press with a limited press run? Who once edited the literary journal Gumbo with Yusef Komunyakaa, who lived to became everything that Hammer didn't. Every year hundreds or thousands of small books of poetry are published, doomed to be read (at most) by the poet's friends, family, and nearby poets. Most are fanatically mediocre, and virtually all will be quickly forgotten. But Deja Everything was a good book. Because sometimes a situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part. And I'm that somebody. Moments of brilliance should not be lost. As Hammer says, "The world is always ready for a new way of ignoring contemporary poetry." Books of poetry are lost everyday, and some, a few, shouldn't be. And this is my moment, of remembering a brilliant moment. [5★]