In The New Republic for September 16th, I started out a bit lost with the poem “Otro Color Mas Negro” by Jesse Garces Kiley. (‘The other color even blacker’ is how I would translate that). It seemed much had to be brought to the poem that I did not have. It begins, “Lola Beltran, you’re not the only one.” No idea who Lola is. Which is why God invented Google: she’s a way famous Ranchera singer. Being a fan of Ranchera, I should have known this. With this context, the poem opens up. “My grandmother…asks for more black tea…She wants / to hear you beg, Lola.” Some nice stuff in here: “binding dry her tea bag / like a tiny heart.” The last line is very poesy though; I vote for the poet to contemplate dropping that line when the poem comes out in a book.
“Call of Duty: Modern Warfare” is a poem by Christopher Kempf addressing the video game and its relationship to bombing the real Baghdad. Pretty cool stuff here too: “the pealing / guns of which split / the walls of our bedroom for months…” a line to be read in multiple ways, always the most powerful sort of poem for me. He goes into what the game skips about war: “Not the …boxes / of dead…Not / the wedge of flag our neighbor / David came back as.” What a powerful line. Muchos Kudos.
Claire Woodard does a poem, “Summer on the Lake” about the time the Shelleys and Byron spent together and what came out of it (a kid and Frankenstein, among other things). “three men, / two women, one pregnancy / and many rolls / of thunder.” a very fun enjambment there! Much chewy poetry.
Mary Jo Bang’s “An Individual Equinox Suitable for Framing” demands much attention and consideration. “Light under the sky, the window not open…” it begins. I like the complexity of her near-rhymes: ‘times’ with ‘dime-sized’ and so on. But much of it simply puzzled me: “a surrender to / what is in vain to rest from…” “the architecture isn’t only belated…” I mean that’s an interesting line, and worth mulling over, so maybe just taking each individual little part is all we need to do. “Everything said not once but several times.” Surely there is meaning there, if only we work at it long enough. the poem talks of loss, of changes, what was and is no longer, the rolling confusion we all suffer. Maybe the fact that I can say that about this poem is enough, and explains why I like it in spite of itself.
Peace in poetry,
P M F Johnson
My eBook of poems, Against The Night, a wry look at the love that builds throughout a marriage, is available on Amazon, and at other fine e-retailers.
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