Ai’s Vice is not merely a collection that includes persona poems, but a book that is composed almost entirely of them. There are very few poems that are not written in the first person. I like this approach. I think, especially due to the nature of many of the poems, that it’s easier to distinguish the narrator from the writer (a mistake that can be easily made reading poetry, though usually not by an experienced reader).
The challenge, depending on the poem’s subject, is authenticity. If the poem is based on a real character or event, then the poet’s job is to enter that person, that moment, and to bring the reader with them. Ai does this well. For example, the poem Child Beater is written from the perspective of a woman who carries a deeply disturbing disdain for her child, so strong that it causes her to abuse the girl. The poem begins with the narrator describing the setting, establishing the tone of the piece, which is somber and foreboding to say the least –
Outside, the rain, pinafore of gray water, dresses the town
and I stroke the leather belt,
The rain and gray water begin to paint a sad picture and with the title in mind, the reader knows exactly where this poem is going when the narrator strokes the belt. But the next two lines are what hook us.
as she sits in the rocking chair,
holding a crushed paper cup to her lips.
Now we have a picture of a young girl simply being young, playing a game as she rocks,
back, her eyes open, forward, they close.
I would think that even readers who don’t have children of their own would be cringing at the thought of a sister or niece or cousin in that rocking chair. Being a parent, I cannot read something like this without thinking of my own daughter and this moment that Ai has created is absolutely heart wrenching.
Of course, she could probably achieve the same thing without using the first person, but as the poem moves we’re treated to the mother’s thoughts which give us some insight into the reason (if there’s even an acceptable word for it) for her actions.
One possible drawback to this approach is that readers do not get the opportunity to “know” or learn about the poet. Then again one could argue that simply by using the “I” when entering these other personas, the writer is indeed sharing something of themselves, even if it’s merely their opinion of the subject. So often, poets are writing about very personal events, the goal being to make those events relatable. Probably, the mark of a truly experienced writer is one whose subject is not of a personal nature, but a universal subject that is made personal (for both writer and reader) through setting, image and character development, etc.
One final interesting observation, and I’m sure this has been noted before, is that a poet who has made a living out of using the first person, the “I,” would adopt the penname, Ai. This might be coincidental as it apparently means “love” in Japanese (she claims to have a Japanese father, though she never new him). Nevertheless, the choice is fitting.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
"Good Woman: Lucille Clifton"
“Where you sing | i poet.” Lucille Clifton’s volume of collected work “Good Woman: Poems and a Memoir 1969-1980” is as much a selection of song and short story as it is poetry. Her voice booms and whispers, pauses and carries. And her narrative is of the revisionist kind.
I couldn’t imagine being a poet in the sixties and seventies (let alone an African American poet) and not writing about the civil rights issues that so heavily permeated that period. Many of the poems found in “Good Woman” were written during these two decades, still a tumultuous time for the nation regarding racial equality. Lucille Clifton is a voice of this generation and of her race. The “tyrone” and “willie b” poems examine the attitudes of marchers and demonstrators during the civil rights movement, with race and segregation as the core. “willie b (1)” reads “mama say…my daddy was a white man | the mother fucker”. She is obviously not afraid to use language as a tool. She’s also not afraid to introduce popular culture into her work, as she does in “tyrone (3)” when the narrator speaks of Jackie Robinson – “and if we buffalo soldiers was sports fans we sure would cheer”. More than just injecting pop culture into a poem, Clifton is questioning the accepted view of Robinson’s “breaking the baseball color line.” What did it really mean at the time? What did it mean to those who were fighting for it?
From a craft (reader’s) perspective, the lack of punctuation and capitalization and oddly broken lines sometimes make her poems difficult to get a good read on. The sentence is compromised, often resulting in run-ons and fragments. This is the voice Clifton has chosen to emulate a dialect, a southern black language. There is a music to it, a simplicity that is representative of her culture and background.
She weaves themes like sexuality and labor with old stories of spirituality into revisionist renditions. Poems such as “anna speaks of the childhood of mary her daughter” paint the picture of a working class family – “we rise up early and | we work. work is the medicine | for dreams.” – and their struggle with circumstance and spirituality – “that dream | i am having again; | she washed in light, | whole world bowed to its knees, | she on a hill looking up, | face all long tears”.
The African-American culture is one that has endured and endures. Lucille Clifton’s poetry is representative of this. Every culture creates a mythology throughout their history, composed of music, literature, stories, art (among other things). I would dare say that Lucille Clifton has contributed significantly to the African-American, and indeed American, mythology.
I couldn’t imagine being a poet in the sixties and seventies (let alone an African American poet) and not writing about the civil rights issues that so heavily permeated that period. Many of the poems found in “Good Woman” were written during these two decades, still a tumultuous time for the nation regarding racial equality. Lucille Clifton is a voice of this generation and of her race. The “tyrone” and “willie b” poems examine the attitudes of marchers and demonstrators during the civil rights movement, with race and segregation as the core. “willie b (1)” reads “mama say…my daddy was a white man | the mother fucker”. She is obviously not afraid to use language as a tool. She’s also not afraid to introduce popular culture into her work, as she does in “tyrone (3)” when the narrator speaks of Jackie Robinson – “and if we buffalo soldiers was sports fans we sure would cheer”. More than just injecting pop culture into a poem, Clifton is questioning the accepted view of Robinson’s “breaking the baseball color line.” What did it really mean at the time? What did it mean to those who were fighting for it?
From a craft (reader’s) perspective, the lack of punctuation and capitalization and oddly broken lines sometimes make her poems difficult to get a good read on. The sentence is compromised, often resulting in run-ons and fragments. This is the voice Clifton has chosen to emulate a dialect, a southern black language. There is a music to it, a simplicity that is representative of her culture and background.
She weaves themes like sexuality and labor with old stories of spirituality into revisionist renditions. Poems such as “anna speaks of the childhood of mary her daughter” paint the picture of a working class family – “we rise up early and | we work. work is the medicine | for dreams.” – and their struggle with circumstance and spirituality – “that dream | i am having again; | she washed in light, | whole world bowed to its knees, | she on a hill looking up, | face all long tears”.
The African-American culture is one that has endured and endures. Lucille Clifton’s poetry is representative of this. Every culture creates a mythology throughout their history, composed of music, literature, stories, art (among other things). I would dare say that Lucille Clifton has contributed significantly to the African-American, and indeed American, mythology.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Broumas Post
Olga Broumas’ book “Beginning with O” is a difficult read. It is difficult to follow and difficult to understand. That is not to say that it’s a bad book or poorly written. It is certainly not to suggest that Broumas is not a gifted poet. Obviously, Stanley Kunitz’ having selected it as winner of the Yale Series of Younger Poets award (1977?) immediately qualifies the book as poetry of the highest regard. Besides, far be it from me to decide what is and is not good poetry. I am seemingly not far enough along in my critical education to make such brash judgments about a book that I simply have difficulty following. What I can do, however, is make some observations.
The first poem, “Sometimes, as a child” includes some beautiful imagery: “sometimes you’d dive… through water so startled it held the shape of your plunge” and “you’d emerge clean caesarean, flinging rivulets from your hair, your own breath arrested.”
The poet asks her reader to recall a moment so distinct, so important that it changes you, changes your perception, maybe your life. I enjoy, too, the method of organizing a book with an introductory poem of sorts (I’ve seen this used often), that is separated, at the beginning, from the remaining sections – sections that contain numerous poems. This first poem works almost as an epigraph, a prelude of what’s to come.
I have to admit, though, the real “meaning” escapes me. It seems on one hand a love poem, on the other a nod (knowing the matter of the rest of the book) to mythology itself. Perhaps she is combining the two ideas, mythology is a love that endures. Admittedly, I am also curious about her use of italics throughout the body of the poem. Is the narrator speaking in someone else’s voice? For someone else, perhaps?
The poem “Circe” is divided into three sections, “The Charm,” The Anticipation” and “The Bite,” which would seem to parallel, in a way, Circe’s use of magic potions to transform her enemies into animals. The poem itself, however, is elusive in its purpose. “The Charm” seems to speak of passion, “the fire bites…bites on her own sweet tongue.” It is a woman’s passion (probably Circe’s), but for whom or what we’re not quite sure. “The Anticipation” is written in the voice of a woman who waits for someone (or something?) to pursue her, but which she has some kind of control over. “The Bite” is interesting in that the narrator (possibly the woman from the previous section) becomes Circe as she walks into town at night, ultimately leaving men behind. It would seem there is a lesbian theme in this poem, but the whole substance of which puzzles me.
The last section gives homage to Anne Sexton’s “Transformations.” Broumas writes a series of fairy tale poems with traditional titles and uses, on a couple occasions, Sexton quotes as epigraphs. There continues to be an overarching theme of eroticism with what seems like lesbian overtones (a quick Google search of Broumas confirms this idea). Still, there is little in the way of typical narrative in these poems. Broumas could certainly be commended for her revisionist thinking. Where some poets prefer telling stories, Broumas seeks to evoke emotions. She will not offer you the truth as she sees it, but rather offer you a place to feel around for the truth yourself. She does this with an exquisite voice and a language that is almost surreal. There is undoubtedly a large audience for these poems, and for poets like Broumas. Unfortunately, I am at present not among them. I am much too simple, and afraid I always will be.
The first poem, “Sometimes, as a child” includes some beautiful imagery: “sometimes you’d dive… through water so startled it held the shape of your plunge” and “you’d emerge clean caesarean, flinging rivulets from your hair, your own breath arrested.”
The poet asks her reader to recall a moment so distinct, so important that it changes you, changes your perception, maybe your life. I enjoy, too, the method of organizing a book with an introductory poem of sorts (I’ve seen this used often), that is separated, at the beginning, from the remaining sections – sections that contain numerous poems. This first poem works almost as an epigraph, a prelude of what’s to come.
I have to admit, though, the real “meaning” escapes me. It seems on one hand a love poem, on the other a nod (knowing the matter of the rest of the book) to mythology itself. Perhaps she is combining the two ideas, mythology is a love that endures. Admittedly, I am also curious about her use of italics throughout the body of the poem. Is the narrator speaking in someone else’s voice? For someone else, perhaps?
The poem “Circe” is divided into three sections, “The Charm,” The Anticipation” and “The Bite,” which would seem to parallel, in a way, Circe’s use of magic potions to transform her enemies into animals. The poem itself, however, is elusive in its purpose. “The Charm” seems to speak of passion, “the fire bites…bites on her own sweet tongue.” It is a woman’s passion (probably Circe’s), but for whom or what we’re not quite sure. “The Anticipation” is written in the voice of a woman who waits for someone (or something?) to pursue her, but which she has some kind of control over. “The Bite” is interesting in that the narrator (possibly the woman from the previous section) becomes Circe as she walks into town at night, ultimately leaving men behind. It would seem there is a lesbian theme in this poem, but the whole substance of which puzzles me.
The last section gives homage to Anne Sexton’s “Transformations.” Broumas writes a series of fairy tale poems with traditional titles and uses, on a couple occasions, Sexton quotes as epigraphs. There continues to be an overarching theme of eroticism with what seems like lesbian overtones (a quick Google search of Broumas confirms this idea). Still, there is little in the way of typical narrative in these poems. Broumas could certainly be commended for her revisionist thinking. Where some poets prefer telling stories, Broumas seeks to evoke emotions. She will not offer you the truth as she sees it, but rather offer you a place to feel around for the truth yourself. She does this with an exquisite voice and a language that is almost surreal. There is undoubtedly a large audience for these poems, and for poets like Broumas. Unfortunately, I am at present not among them. I am much too simple, and afraid I always will be.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Ed Ochester and Jan Beatty
Among the things that poetry exists to explore are the popular and commercial cultures, the places we live and used to live (in body and mind), the work we do and the labors we’ve endured, the loves we enjoy and the ones we’ve left behind, the people we’ve encountered, engaged and been captivated by. These are only a few of the themes that can be found in Ed Ochester’s new and selected poems, “Unreconstructed.”
There are over one hundred poems in this collection, spanning four books, but I will look closely at just a few that resonate with me. From the book “Changing the Name to Ochester,” there are several poems with a working class narrative (very Jim Daniels like) that tell the story of Whitehead Metals and an employee named Duke. These are blue collar themed poems representative of the Pittsburgh community and heritage.
There are a couple short and playful yet poignant poems that define the place where Ochester is writing from while creating setting and commenting on the social dynamic witnessed by the author. “Why I Love Teenagers” gives a prankster the benefit of the doubt by allowing them a reasonable excuse for altering a sign at the Burger King in Holiday Park, PA. The poem “Monroeville, PA” humorously observes the reaction of people on the street after someone yells “Hey Asshole!” These poems exhibit Ochester’s attention to the everyday moments that help make up our communities and personal worlds.
I was particularly intrigued by the phrase “Whatever blossoms is rooted in the dark” and how it is used as both the end of “The Muse” and the beginning of the following poem, “The Heart of Owl Country.” The line seems to say that everything we witness, particularly the beautiful images, have a beginning that is often as yet unseen or not yet described.
As a whole, Ochester’s poetry is accessible, his voice is casual, conversational and he creates settings that are inviting. His is primarily a narrative style that tells a story and explores our relationship with the people and places that surround us.
If Ochester’s poetry can be considered relatively conservative then Jan Beatty’s is brutally honest. She is really pulling at the root of darkness with poems that expose society’s more gruesome side. She writes disturbing yet compelling narratives about rape, incest, pedophilia and sexual fantasy. These are stories that are often difficult to hear, but ones that need to be told. There is a reality in them that comes from the language Beatty uses, a dark and brazen language. For instance, in the poem “Morning Radio” the narrator describes a poetry radio show being listened to by a young girl as “bringing her pleasant poems to be raped by” while “the belt of her father’s robe passes her face…before he gets on top of her.” Two poems, “Fifteen” and “The Day I Stripped” tell the story of a young girl who gets molested by her gynecologist. In “Fifteen” – his tongue is shoved down her throat and in “The Day I Stripped”, his “tongue [is] wormy in my throat.” These images are not easy to read, but they are highly effective in keeping the reader engaged in the story.
Even the poems that are more meditative, such as “Fog” and “Standing by the McKenzie River at Night” are dark and cold. She writes of the foam on the river changing shapes, stiff men in robes (that reminds the reader of “Morning Radio”), fog surrounding the narrator “like a lover’s hand over my face as limbs grab and slash in passion…”
One thing can certainly be said about Jan Beatty: her poetry is not afraid to tell us what’s wrong with the world, to expose atrocities and leave us thinking, well after we’ve put them down.
There are over one hundred poems in this collection, spanning four books, but I will look closely at just a few that resonate with me. From the book “Changing the Name to Ochester,” there are several poems with a working class narrative (very Jim Daniels like) that tell the story of Whitehead Metals and an employee named Duke. These are blue collar themed poems representative of the Pittsburgh community and heritage.
There are a couple short and playful yet poignant poems that define the place where Ochester is writing from while creating setting and commenting on the social dynamic witnessed by the author. “Why I Love Teenagers” gives a prankster the benefit of the doubt by allowing them a reasonable excuse for altering a sign at the Burger King in Holiday Park, PA. The poem “Monroeville, PA” humorously observes the reaction of people on the street after someone yells “Hey Asshole!” These poems exhibit Ochester’s attention to the everyday moments that help make up our communities and personal worlds.
I was particularly intrigued by the phrase “Whatever blossoms is rooted in the dark” and how it is used as both the end of “The Muse” and the beginning of the following poem, “The Heart of Owl Country.” The line seems to say that everything we witness, particularly the beautiful images, have a beginning that is often as yet unseen or not yet described.
As a whole, Ochester’s poetry is accessible, his voice is casual, conversational and he creates settings that are inviting. His is primarily a narrative style that tells a story and explores our relationship with the people and places that surround us.
If Ochester’s poetry can be considered relatively conservative then Jan Beatty’s is brutally honest. She is really pulling at the root of darkness with poems that expose society’s more gruesome side. She writes disturbing yet compelling narratives about rape, incest, pedophilia and sexual fantasy. These are stories that are often difficult to hear, but ones that need to be told. There is a reality in them that comes from the language Beatty uses, a dark and brazen language. For instance, in the poem “Morning Radio” the narrator describes a poetry radio show being listened to by a young girl as “bringing her pleasant poems to be raped by” while “the belt of her father’s robe passes her face…before he gets on top of her.” Two poems, “Fifteen” and “The Day I Stripped” tell the story of a young girl who gets molested by her gynecologist. In “Fifteen” – his tongue is shoved down her throat and in “The Day I Stripped”, his “tongue [is] wormy in my throat.” These images are not easy to read, but they are highly effective in keeping the reader engaged in the story.
Even the poems that are more meditative, such as “Fog” and “Standing by the McKenzie River at Night” are dark and cold. She writes of the foam on the river changing shapes, stiff men in robes (that reminds the reader of “Morning Radio”), fog surrounding the narrator “like a lover’s hand over my face as limbs grab and slash in passion…”
One thing can certainly be said about Jan Beatty: her poetry is not afraid to tell us what’s wrong with the world, to expose atrocities and leave us thinking, well after we’ve put them down.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Transformations
I was a little surprised when I read Transformations. I assumed the poems would explore in depth, just one aspect of each fairy tale. Instead, the poems were extraordinarily thorough in her renditions. I didn’t expect the poems to retell the fairy tales so completely. Each one is really a story, a short fiction almost, more than just a poem. Most, if not all, have some kind of introductory poem that leads into the fairy tale poem. Many of those introductions are practically separate poems of their own, often giving some sort of back story like the one that begins Rapunzel.
Additionally, I like Sexton’s use of humor. It can be dark, but nonetheless amusing. For example, in Rumpelstiltskin, the woman who’s child is on the line if she can’t guess the dwarf’s name is “persistent | as a Jehovah’s Witness.” Hansel and Gretel’s “parents | had come upon evil times. | They had cooked the dog | and served him up like lamb chops.”
I haven’t read Sexton before so I looked up a few of her poems: Wanting to Die, The Truth the Dead Know, and Her Kind. It is easy to understand, after reading these, why her fairy tale poems are on the more depressing side. Her poetry in general is very somber and depressing.
There is a creepiness, too, about the book in general. I don’t know if every edition has illustrations, but mine does. They certainly aid in giving the book a macabre feeling. The sketched eyes, without any other facial features, that accompany One-eye, Two-eyes, Three-eyes, while appropriate, are particularly disturbing. And speaking of disturbing, I’m interested to hear what everyone thinks of Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty). I honestly am not sure what is going on in that poem, well the end particularly. There’s an incestuous relationship introduced and I can’t quite put my finger on the purpose or reasoning behind it.
Otherwise, I enjoyed the book. It’s quite a bit different than the poetry that I’m typically interested in. It’s easy to see why she is a highly celebrated poet. She mixes storytelling with poetry in this collection and it works well. Though I haven’t read the originals, it almost seems like the revised tales in her book are original Brothers’ Grimm tales. They are dark and foreboding, almost medieval.
Additionally, I like Sexton’s use of humor. It can be dark, but nonetheless amusing. For example, in Rumpelstiltskin, the woman who’s child is on the line if she can’t guess the dwarf’s name is “persistent | as a Jehovah’s Witness.” Hansel and Gretel’s “parents | had come upon evil times. | They had cooked the dog | and served him up like lamb chops.”
I haven’t read Sexton before so I looked up a few of her poems: Wanting to Die, The Truth the Dead Know, and Her Kind. It is easy to understand, after reading these, why her fairy tale poems are on the more depressing side. Her poetry in general is very somber and depressing.
There is a creepiness, too, about the book in general. I don’t know if every edition has illustrations, but mine does. They certainly aid in giving the book a macabre feeling. The sketched eyes, without any other facial features, that accompany One-eye, Two-eyes, Three-eyes, while appropriate, are particularly disturbing. And speaking of disturbing, I’m interested to hear what everyone thinks of Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty). I honestly am not sure what is going on in that poem, well the end particularly. There’s an incestuous relationship introduced and I can’t quite put my finger on the purpose or reasoning behind it.
Otherwise, I enjoyed the book. It’s quite a bit different than the poetry that I’m typically interested in. It’s easy to see why she is a highly celebrated poet. She mixes storytelling with poetry in this collection and it works well. Though I haven’t read the originals, it almost seems like the revised tales in her book are original Brothers’ Grimm tales. They are dark and foreboding, almost medieval.
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