Reviews

When I started reading this, I couldn’t work out if the title were some justification by the author for the quality/coherence of poems inside, or maybe just a serving suggestion.

Both, it turns out.

Don’t be fooled, this poetry is not for those with weak hearts. Reading The Worm in the Tequila almost turns into a thriller at times, with the reader sitting on the edge of their seat, willing the poetry not to turn back to crap again. If you do read it, skip most of the first 20 pages. They’re full of half-digested brain farts that don’t have a place in any poetry book. At page 30 things start to go uphill, starting with a list of all the places he has been drunk.

Cochrane is a diabetic and an ex-alcoholic, which he writes about in some of him poems. These poems result in rapport with the author that I’ve rarely felt before. His reflections on his life with alcoholism, particularly, ring true. There are even some moments of beauty in his poems, when his metaphors deign to make sense.

The fact remains that the poetry is, for the most part, more confusing than a friend’s drunken 3 am ramblings. “Ham the Space Chimp has blue eyes” does not belong in a poem, not when the poem is entitled “Clouds”.

I always feel bad rubbishing a fellow New Zealand poet, mostly because the community as so small that I’m worried I’ll run into him one day. There may be some truth in Cochrane’s ramblings; I’m pretty sure I’m going to take another attempt at this book. But this time I’m definitely going to equip myself with a couple of shots of tequila to make it all go down better.