WHAT IS YOUR BOOK COVER TRYING TO TELL US?
PART FIVE: PHOTO FINISH


Paper Rad, BJ & da Dogs

Barry Schwabsky writes in again, with an interesting anecdote:

"... when I worked for a 'major publisher' in the 80s, it was a near-absolute rule: We were not supposed to put photographs on fiction books, only on non-fiction books. Photo equaled reality, drawing (or all text) equaled fiction. ... in using photographs, New Directions was simultaneously recognizing photographs as works of the imagination while recognizing poetry and fiction as bearing on the real."

Photos by now are used on just about any cover, from self-help books to poetry. (Graphic novels are a notable exception; the cover above is an anomaly.)

There are numerous examples of great photography on books of poetry--Kasey noted several on his blog. One of my own favorites is this beautiful and haunting image from the cover of Brandon Downing's The Shirt Weapon:



one of Brandon's own photos, sans type. He also designed two books by Michael Scharf, which are equally lovely.

Barry also wondered about detourning a more mainstream or even mass market look. That's clearly the case with Kasey's Breathalyzer



designed by Anne Boyer, with a photo I believe Kasey himself found. The design is a direct quote of an old design by Doubleday ("An Edge Books original" it says there at the bottom). The overall effect is fairly kitchy, absolutely in keeping with both Kasey and Anne's sensibilities. And the book itself is, I have to say, my very favorite to date of Kasey's many recent pubs.

I asked Nada if she felt that quoting the past necessarily lent something an air of kitsch, and after some discussion, we came to the conclusion that it's really quoting certain periods--modernism, say--



that does it. I love the design of The Grand Piano series, although I'm not altogether certain that the kind of kitschy look of the cover art is intended--Barry's sense of humor is fairly dry and not always readable (by me). The writing itself ranges from very serious to fairly light-hearted, so some level of buoyancy may indeed have been intended.

I'll say this much: I love how these things feel in the hand. The covers are smooth and earthy, bend easily without feeling insubstantial; the inside pages are thin and light, but not cheap. While The Grand Piano would have actually made a terrific online project--most of the response to it has, in fact, been online--so much attention has been paid to the look and feel of these, I'm more than happy to have them in print.

This is, I want to say, my primary complaint with much poetry in print. While short-run printing means poets can use their closets to store clothing, rather than boxes of Joe Blow's The Tendencies of an Obscurantist, Vols. I-IV, many short-run books feel awful in the hand. Not because they look bad, but because not all short-run printers are created equal. There's a weird "tacky" feeling, for want of a better description, to the covers of many recent books I've picked up or have been given. (More on this subject in a later post.)

Printing in small quantities does not mean a book has to feel (or even look) cheap.



Maureen Thorson's Tinyside and Big Game Press is a great example--that's a recent tiny pub, above. These books not only look nice--designed with a kitschy sensibility all Maureen's own--they feel good, too. I'm pretty sure I asked her once, in a bar in D.C., how she made them, and I'm pretty sure she told me. But we were in a bar in D.C., with a group of poets, and I haven't a clue now what she might have said. I suspect she uses a color printer and card stock for the covers.

Never underestimate the raw, feel-goody power of color printing on card stock. My own Elsewhere comics were printed--offset, mind you--on card stock, and they feel good in the hand, no matter what you think of the art. I got the idea from another comics artist who has consistently used four-color printing on card stock, the great Anders Nilsen.

Which reminds me: Several days ago, François Luong asked what comics covers might be trying to tell us. This particular cover



seems to be telling us--at least us poets--that we could no doubt stand to be a bit more adventurous.

But it isn't fair to compare books designed by artists with those designed by poets--and I promise not to do that in future posts.