Dorothy Trujillo Lusk is a savagely funny writer whose poetry mangles the clichés of modern life to reach a new kind of negotiated peace. She "lacks breeding and gravitas and degrees," but she's a titanic force in the new Canadian poetry, and Ogress Oblige is a jeremiad of heroic and epic proportions.
Lusk writes in a variety of avant-garde forms, then shreds them up into mulch, the better to express the frustrations and rage of the poor single mother--or thinking human being--in a society which cares little for her or us. As one train of invective leaves the station, another pulls in. Wrapped crates pile up on the stationmaster's steps, crates marked "The Monstrous," "The Sacred," "The Female." Words are left gasping all over the page.
Her remarkable verbal dexterity is itself a kind of banner of hope, a way out. With grace and mercy, Ogress Oblige surveys a battered landscape in which "art is expensive," for a course in "legendary victim improvement."