The āUnderdog Betā is a journey of kindness and discovery of ourselves and of others. It is the plight of all of us, in the world, in the Universe to be heard and accepted as we are; for us to look at ourselves and those around us no matter how big or small and listen with an open heart and an open mind. Sara CastaƱedaās poetry embraces that we have insecurities, fears and dreams in common. And by doing so we find love in everything, everywhere, all around us. Through these poetic stories told with humor and humanity, āUnderdog Betā brings in the light, and the payoff is well worth the gamble.ā
The āUnderdog Betā is a journey of kindness and discovery of ourselves and of others. It is the plight of all of us, in the world, in the Universe to be heard and accepted as we are; for us to look at ourselves and those around us no matter how big or small and listen with an open heart and an open mind. Sara CastaƱedaās poetry embraces that we have insecurities, fears and dreams in common. And by doing so we find love in everything, everywhere, all around us. Through these poetic stories told with humor and humanity, āUnderdog Betā brings in the light, and the payoff is well worth the gamble.ā
Every morning
I pass her by
during the blue twilight
she's three stories high.
On my favorite sidewalk
a sidewalk of red brick
she has a yellow door
and a gas lamp that's still lit.
And one day I hope
I hope I can afford
that red brick sidewalk
my home with the yellow door.
Underdog Bet by Sara Castaneda is a collection of 50 short poems. I was torn by this book when I first picked it up. It opened with a poem titled, The Yellow Door, which was a short, sweet, rhyming set of verses that dreamed of owning a particular apartment that the poet walks past daily. I was surprised when this was followed up with the title poem, which is far from my idea of what a poem should be. I can accept rhyming poetry, free verse, spoken word, limericks, sonnets, haiku, and so forth as valid forms of poetry, but I did not appreciate āpoemsā that read like a random collection of facts with what appears to be a lack of creativity.
To borrow from one of the poems, titled Luck:
Give it a good think
Decide what is best
And when the time comes
Iāll fill in the rest.
As harsh as it may seem, I wonder whether the poet gave these lines some thought as they were plotting their collection. The example provided represents the general rhythm that has been adopted throughout most of the book. It would have been appreciated if there was more variety. Unless the reader stops to take a break, the invariability of the text causes the poems to run into each other.
I admire the writerās ambition to create and publish their work, however, I would struggle to find an appropriate audience for this collection. There were several observations that if reworked might appeal to a wider population. As above, there is a need to give some thought to structure and rhythm. Not every poem should be arranged around the bouncy A, B, C, B scheme. It takes away any air of suspense or foreboding, or excitement.
Whilst I respect that there was the occasional āfree verse,ā I feel they needed to take the reader on a journey that contained similes and metaphors. When reading a sentence broken into three lines or reading a random list of facts about a particular topic, the poems leave nothing to the imagination. There is nothing to analyse, to ponder over, or resonate with. There is no character hidden within or beneath those facts to identify with, empathise with, or try to understand.
Above all, I was left confused by the book. There was no theme or cohesion between the pieces. I kept looking for a link and failed to find one. Whilst it isnāt necessary to have a subject matter or two, the lack of a focal point does not give the reader an idea of what they are reading. It makes it difficult to decide whether the book is for them or not. In this particular case, this reader (me) is not the intended audience. Aside from the first poem, there were not any others that I found enjoyable. It did not feel like the poet had made an informed selection of poems, but rather waited until they had enough to create a book; a presumption that may partially be based on the bookās subtitle, A Poet Makes a Book. Consequently, I rate the book 1 out of 5 stars. The blurb just did not ring true.