Let’s pass over the first poem (or whatever you want to call it) in the May issue of Poetry Magazine, which begins with a few pages of meaningless scribbles then devolves from there (2 & 1/2 pages filled with the letter “t”, for instance) and proceed to the next poem, which is Joshua Mehigan’s “The Fair,” a short work of three stanzas. “The fair rode into town…like a plate unbreakable because / it has been dropped and glued so many times.” What a creative simile, one of a series of fun lines. “The fair was no fair.” There are deeper meanings here if you dig for them, but they do not become onerous. I just want to quote line after line because they are so chewy, but I’ll limit myself to one more: The fair slid into town…as a clown / slides into pants.” And the ending is maybe the best part of the poem.
Jessica Greenbaum also delivers an excellent poem, “For A Traveler.” In the first line: “Let me tell you the shortest story.” A good grabber, which matters with poetry as much as fiction, I have come to believe. It’s a straightforward poem: “when I was their son’s girlfriend…” about the narrator first harvesting from a rich garden. “the tomatoes smelled like their furred collars, the dozen zucchini / lined up on the counter like placid troops with the onions, their / minions…” Dig that quick rhyme. “That day the lupines received me.” The sort of poem one can dig into, to learn more about the craft. And again, a powerful ending.
Bob Hicok deconstructs and rearranges words and phrases to most satisfying effect in “The pregnancy of words.” “…times. Which is smite / for you violet types, a flower / that says ‘love it’ if you listen. Me, I…don’t feel it matters that evil thrives / in live.” and “with slips and slides / and elide’s eally ool.” Again, such fun. He goes on for maybe 40 lines of such language play, which seems a central task for poetry, to me anyway. “the tools I use / are the stool I stand on.” Enough! On to the next poem.
Jacob Saenz gives us a powerful one, “Forged.” “My brother wore bags over his boots / to keep the grease…from the steel mill off the carpet & steps // he mounted…” a gritty, blue-collar poem, the likes we don’t see enough of. “to control the two-ton bundles / held by a buckle above the heads // of hard-hatted men that could snap” notice how the ambiguous antecedent there adds meaning to what could snap, and what it means to control. Brilliant.
Vievee Francis gives us a bawdy poem, “Intelligent Design,” which is also great fun, though I can’t quote most of it without blushing. “I would worship at the fount / if I had more faith” is as far as I will go. Read it yourselves!
Lots of other good poetry in this issue, one of the stronger recent issues.
Peace in poetry,
P M F Johnson
My eBook of poems, Against The Night, a sweet, rueful look at love in a long marriage, is available on Amazon, and at other fine e-retailers.
Related Blogs:
