Reviewed by: Hoarders by Kate Durbin Ginger Danto (bio) hoarders Kate Durbin Wave Books https://www.wavepoetry.com/products/hoarders 184 Pages; Print, $18.00 Their names are Jim, Hannah, Dorothy, Marlena, Maggie, Chuck, Linda, Craig and Ronnie, among others. They hail from such disparate corners of the country as Topanga Canyon, California; Warren, Michigan; Greenville, South Carolina; Ogden, Utah; and Las Vegas, Nevada. They come from all walks of life—economic, social, political—but have seemingly ended up in the same place: in a home so subsumed by accumulated stuff that much of it has passed its expiration date, emitting rank odors, mold, mildew, and other multifarious bacteria growing where it should not. Part oblivious to the deterioration of their hard-earned living quarters, the above-named men and women make up the hapless, has-been population of Kate Durbin's commentary on contemporary culture in the form of a third book of poetry titled Hoarders. Overtaking their property and by extension their psyches, the morass of material stagnating around Durbin's subjects even compromises their physical movement. For example, self-described avid reader and aspiring writer Allie of Chicago, Illinois, wife of teacher and fellow bibliophile Noah, preside over a library that is "filling the house so there are only narrow crevices to worm through; windows black with paperbacks so no natural light comes in; floors buckling under the weight of overstuffed bookshelves." Because it now takes "a little bit of dexterity to get to the stove," says Noah, and that the kitchen "is not a kitchen anymore," the couple subsist on pre-prepared, emergency ration dry food. Despite such hardship, their carefully inventoried, cherished volumes provide an existential comfort. A reason for being. A rationale for how they ended up here in the first place. A place called hoarding. All the more reason not to let anything, not any thing—go. Of a similar mindset, Greg of Melbourne, Florida. declares dubiously "Got a winner" toward the end of his namesake chapter—a first-person narrative [End Page 36] that has him rifling through local gas station garbage for beer cans and lotto tickets. His sentence concludes with the non-italicized "cockroach on a crumb." Melbourne Greg apparently sees fit to get rid of neither—the discarded ticket or the attendant bug of a species known to be an opportunistic denizen of neglected spaces. They go together, roach and refuse, partners in the personal detritus that defines Greg's now derelict life. True to his ilk, i.e., hoarders, Greg harbors quite a lot of "wildlife" in his cobwebbed milieu, including but not limited to water rats, frogs, crickets, fish—dead or alive. "My house right now looks like a cluttered-up junk yard," he notes in a moment of lucidity or resignation, or both. Followed by "bedroom door face down in the kitchen." Contextualizing his observations, Greg recounts a downward spiral of events, beginning with a near-death riding accident that sent him into a coma. He calls himself a survivor. But of what? A sense of crisis still hovers around him, along with mountains of miscellaneous matter. As it does with all of Durbin's hoarders, whose back stories tell of abandonment, abuse, petty arguments, and poor choices, with always the balm of acquisition as an antidote to suffering. "Retail therapy" may be championed on the twenty-four-hour shopping channels to which some are addicted, but the fallout is less than therapeutic. An acknowledged shopaholic, Cathy of Centralia, Illinois. admits her life "is kind of dedicated to shopping." She segues, by way of illustration, with "David's Bridal halter wedding gown with a blusher veil." This list is brief compared with the paragraph-long tally of designer garb, complete with discount prices, that follows her avowal: "I collect lots of things but especially clothes." But ultimately, Cathy's self-awareness devolves into desperation: "I am constantly ordering off(TV)," she writes. "I like the satisfaction of having something new" "I've wasted a lot of money" and finally, "I have a sickness." Cathy completes each of these comments with a detailed list of bought-off-TV-brand-name items with which she has filled her...
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