The Low Country Shvitz
Rick Lupert
North Street Book Prize 2023 (view all the winners)
Honorable Mention, Poetry
Critique by Jendi Reiter
Rick Lupert has the distinction of being our very first Wergle Flomp Humor Poetry winner, back in 2002. In The Low Country Shvitz, the latest in his series of whimsical travelogue poetry collections, he brings his unflagging energy and irreverence to describing a vacation with his wife, Addie, through Savannah, GA; Charleston, SC, and Asheville and Charlotte, NC. Perhaps they deserve an extra award for surviving as Jewish vegetarians in America's pork and shrimp belt.
This being a Lupert's-eye view, the quality of the donuts in various establishments is at least as important as the art and history. The poems have a breezy style and immediacy, as though he were live-tweeting (live-X'ing??) snarky comments about bizarre modern art and ostentatious Southern mansions while he and Addie tour each city. Travel lends itself well to jokes about everyday absurdities, as well as the insincere sweetness of Southern manners:
At the Canopy by Hilton in Charlotte
they say they will only clean your room
if you ask.
At the Kimpton Brice Hotel in Savannah
they say they will clean your room every day
but never do.
"In Los Angeles, they have forty words/for asphalt," he quips about his hometown, alluding to the cliché about the Inuit and snow as a sort of meta-commentary on the arrogance of thinking you can sum up a whole culture in a few remarks. Far better to be honest about your limited ambitions: the real subject of a Lupert travelogue is Lupert.
Sometimes I have the camera turned
the wrong way when I go to photograph
a piece of art and think oh my god
that painting looks like me!
His goofy man-child shtick feels incongruous when they encounter sites related to slavery, segregation, and the Civil War. The tone of these moments properly shifts to respectful and subdued, but they are marooned in the flow of the book as a whole. There's definitely a way to satirize the painful parts of American history, but that would require a deviation from the book's general good-naturedness and self-focus. My fellow judge, Ellen LaFleche, wished he'd been more curious about the service staff in the many restaurants and museums they visited, and that he'd included more Black people. Addie came across as more of a sidekick than a fully realized character.
The Luperts' lack of pretensions make them enjoyable virtual traveling companions. Tidbits of history go down easy as they meander from Savannah's Prohibition Museum and historic synagogue, to a Charleston crab shack tour where they can't actually eat anything, to a boat ride to Fort Sumter with odd fellow passengers:
Based on their beard,
clothing, eye patch, tzitzit,
and intense coughing,
we can't tell if they're
Amish, Jews, pirates, or
super spreaders.
The book clocks in at 272 pages, not as long a read as you might think, since many of the poems are just a few lines. Even so, it could have benefited from tighter editing and a proofreader to catch the many typos. The sans-serif font was kind of small, but its style was fitting for the casual text-message tone of the poetry.
The Low Country Shvitz is one of many books from his imprint, Ain't Got No Press. Join the Luperts on their poetic travels through New England, Paris, Ireland, and other places that may or may not have donuts.
Read an excerpt from The Low Country Shvitz (PDF)
Buy this book at Poetry Super Highway and Amazon
