Jack Vian

In the vein of T.S. Eliot's famous piece "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", many post-Modernist writers try to convey what is ugly and terrible in hearts and realities. This style goes far past Wordsworth's interest in the almost quietly Byronic and the edges of polite society. People today too often fall into the trap of using excessive reality, humiliation or embarrassment in their verse and think it's compelling.

Usually work like this isn't done well, and I do not feature it--but Jack Vian's piece "A Cold Christmas Somewhere" in CoeReview, no. 43, 2012 is an exception.

It is both sad and lovely, beautiful and terrible. It's a great way of almost putting into words the intangible experience of how everything is more hurtful, painful and crushing in the dry cold of winter. It's about both emotions and seasons, and you can draw the overlap as much or as little as you want.

Here's an excerpt:

[...]
empties into their veins
and their toes stretch out
as if reaching out
for the starveling points
that needle in between
the softness of their hidden
seams like the hard neon
spikes of a heavenly crown
that can never be bought
but must ever be paid,
like a cold Christmas wish
on a cold Christmas morn
before the coldest of hearts
can break an even colder dawn.