Book Review: Charles Rammelkamp’s Catastroika

A celebration of master storyteller Charles Rammelkamp’s latest release, Catastroika, a poetic exploration of a century of Russian history from the late Nineteenth to the late Twentieth…

by: Carolynn Kingyens

As I read Charles Rammelkamp’s glorious new book of poetry, Catastroika, I was, at times, reminded of the powerful ending of Schindler’s List, when we see Jewish people, particularly “Schindler’s Jews,” finally free, sitting together on train tracks. Even after they were free, a new dilemma quickly arose: where could they go that was safe?

“Where should we go?” asked one of the Schindler’s survivors to a military man on horseback.

“Don’t go east, that’s for sure, they hate you there,” said the military man.

“I wouldn’t go west either, if I were you.”

“Isn’t that a town over there?”

In one of the last poems entitled “Catastroika,” we learn where Rammelkamp’s unique book title derives:

“The wordplay in the press on Perestroika,
Gorbachev’s program of economic reforms –
Catastrophe.”

Catastroika is part catastrophe, part narrative poetry, part history lesson, part exploration of the human condition, and a profusion of resiliency, especially on the part of its two main characters — Maria, daughter of the infamous Grigory Efimovich Rasputin, and the fictional, Russian Jewish refugee, Sasha, who arrives in Baltimore, where he quickly finds a job, learns English, meets his wife, Riva, and starts a family.

Our first introduction to Sasha comes in the first poem, “Call Me Sasha”:

But still, I knew better
than to pursue a friendship
with his daughter Maria,
a lovely fifteen-year-old when I first met her,
fresh to the big city from “The Sleeping Land” –
what “Siberia” means in Tatar, after all;
“The Edge” or “The End” in Ostyak.
“Alexander Federmesser,” I introduced myself,
noting my parents had named me for the tsar,
“but you can call me Sasha.”

Maria Rasputin, like scads of daughters, loves her father, despite his pariah-like reputation in Russia, and later the world. She was industrious enough to capitalize on her last name to become a dancer in Paris, and later, a lion tamer with Ringling Brothers, touring America until she was mauled by a bear.

In “Maria Rasputin, Lion Tamer”:

“I still remember that reporter
for the Associated Press asking me why
I learned to tame wild animals.

“Why not?” my arch reply.
“I have been in a cage with Bolsheviks.”

In “Big Top” we learn how popular Maria Rasputin had become by Maria herself:

“More popular by far
than the midway freaks –
Miss Alainna Bennett, “Half Girl,”
whose body ended at her hips;
or Miss Dorothy Herbert,
“World’s Most Daring Horsewoman,”
Freddy the armless wonder,
Fat Lady Doris Bleu,
Midget Lady, the snake charmer,
the strongman and the trapeze artist
the aerialists with their Hammock Act!
Forget about Chang and Eng,
the original Siamese Twins!”

Rammelkamp covers an abundance of years and ground over the span of the book’s 123 pages —  from Siberia to Kiev to St. Petersburg to Petrograd to Berlin to Paris to Crimea to Baltimore to New York to Miami to Los Angeles. There are main characters such as Maria, Sasha, and even Rasputin himself, but also a cast of minor ones as well: mothers, wives, husbands, sisters, daughters, sons, the princesses from Montenegro, an antagonistic priest with a grudge, a tamed tiger, an unpredictable bear, and even a brief cameo from the Royal Tsars, themselves.

“And oh, how relieved I felt,
slipping into bed with Riva,
our American children nearby,
safe to the extent
Jews are ever safe in this world.”

I read Catastroika in one sitting. Each poem, a new puzzle piece, but with any riveting story and multitudes of plot twists and turns, and of course, some serendipity along the way.

The characters in Catastroika come alive for readers, each with their own hard-earned autonomies and distinct dialects —you will hear them, I promise.

Charles Rammelkamp is a master poet and storyteller. He not only has a deep understanding of Russian and Jewish history, but also of human catastrophe.

 

Carolynn Kingyens’ debut book of poetry — Before the Big Bang Makes a Sound (Kelsay Books) — is now available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Greenlight, Book Culture, and Berl’s Poetry Shop. She’s been a guest author on two literary radio programs. Today, Carolynn lives in New York City with her husband of 20 years, two beautiful, kind daughters, a sweet rescue dog, and a very old, happy cat.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *