Archive for October, 2008

Joshua Michael Stewart’s For an Additional Three Minutes Please Insert Twenty-Five Cents

Friday, October 24th, 2008

Joshua Michael Stewart’s For an Additional Three Minutes Please Insert Twenty-Five Cents moves on from that payphone instruction for buying time which is becoming less and less familiar as cell phones rise to contrast different senses of passing time, of permanence, transience, and things in between. The question that begins the poem replaces, at least tentatively, a state considered, at least by those who believe in it, eternal with the by-definition temporary state of rental. Then the gathering of snow clouds is compared to the gathering of dust; the first is naturally transient. The very term used to designate it refers to its dissolution into snow. The latter is an emblem of lack of movement.

Slow and rapid change, transience and eternity are slipping into each other. It seems as if the “yellowing newspapers” on store windows could be changing at any pace and maybe, just maybe, the “[b]oys in dirty jackets collect[ing] / shards of glass to pack into snowballs” will turn into the old man of the second stanza before the snow falls.

At the very least, the blurred line between fast and slow underscores the possibility that the boys could become that man, that the teenage girl tugging on her sweater may have become the “woman with pine needle hair”. The general uncertainty of time adds to the disturbing air that leads the reader to wonder what sort of person would rule, even with their shadow, even if only in the appearance of a gesture, over this world.

That we do not know the addressee does not detract overall from the poem since this is about atmosphere more than specifics.

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The Reversed Transitions of Destruction

Friday, October 10th, 2008

In Guernica, Robert Thomas’s visceral poem Plague presents a series of changes that portray the progress of destruction as a reversal of time. The girl who first catches the plague shows it with a sun that seems to age in reverse—from a white-haired tonsured monk to a younger monk with the same hairstyle. Then the plague spreads “like a fire” moving backwards through a book—The Book—from “Revelations to Genesis.”

Later, the speaker, a painter, describes seeing

a girl’s death forcing itself
out of her belly in a parody of birth

To destroy life, death must reach back to life’s beginning, but witnesses distance themselves from it, label it parody, to avoid understanding the full connection.

The death of a man described in the last few stanzas, if only as something the painter’s model may realize as possibly occurring that evening, occurs

…while he strolls through

his vineyards testing the firmness
of a fist of grapes (not quite ripe)

Yet his death is accompanied by a realization that

…each sip of wine
under the arbor—must have sounded
to Him [God] like a prayer to be left alone

It is as if the wine has fled back into a state before readiness so as not to be consumed by death; nothing is harvestable when the harvester dies.

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The Secret State of Everything

Friday, October 3rd, 2008

Jéanpaul Ferro’s very sensual “The Secret State of Everything” in Willows Wept Review begins in a multiply liminal space. The first few lines establish this: “We came by moonlight to Cuba, / washed up on her shores with the giant catfish.” Moonlight suggests neither full darkness nor the full light of day but something in between. The shores of a nation represent both its political boundaries and the shifting line between sea and land. In the second stanza, the addressee’s kiss becomes “a topaz held against the morning light”, shifting to another kind of liminal light, that which marks sunrise, the time between light and dark rather than a state between light and dark.

Then, however, something shifts. Full non-liminal day appears, and makes “our every move sticky and blistering in the heat”. No longer referring to themselves as on the shore but on the island, which is to say fully in the territory rather than on its borders, they find themselves unable to change.

In response the two merge, try absorb the line between them, to swallow all the borders and liminal spaces. Then they return to the harsh waves “to hide” from a world of certain territory, light, and heat.

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