from Listen to the Golden Boomerang Return by CA Conrad
Poems by MJ Iuppa
Passing the Hat
Night·Traveler
Snowlines
Chrysalis
The Gift
Grief is Milkweed
Rock and Keep
Nutshell:
CA Conrad: this shape poem indeed could be a "wild creature vibrating in the center of its body, standing on the bottom of the page". Some saw a coiled cobra; others a bird, if you looked at it sideways. Perhaps a profile... a ribbon -- or, quite clearly, a boomerang. Another thought was a head, with a dent left by the boomerang. One of 72 poems from his forthcoming book "Listen to the Golden Boomerang Return". Elaine offered the explanation that he is a "somatic poet" and certainly there are plenty of sites to explore to understand better somatic "rituals" and exercises. https://writing.upenn.edu/~taransky/somatic-exercises.pdf As Conrad summarizes it" the writing of (Soma)tics is an engagement with the thing of things and the spirit of things.
Many saw an ecological metaphor in the boomerang... we are receiving the consequences of our actions. The poem has no sentences but rather flows with multiple layers. Ex: How to live so...(i.e. so= thus) could also be how to live so wilderness never becomes mythology (so- in order that), with a sense of paradox. How does one put something in a park to "be wild on purpose" that is reduced to a museum representing only part of what once was?
We enjoyed the selection of the MJ Iuppa poems-- each one quite poignant. Although not intentional, the selection seemed to focus on grief, and variations on "weight". Mary was particularly pleased with the selection which brought back fond memories of living in the country.
Passing the Hat: the double entendre of "Patient" in the first line, both adjective, and noun sets up the series of double-meanings to "closing up" and steps to be taken, both for a summer lake house and preparation for death, and the multiple meaning of "hat". MJ's father was a doctor, and is passing on his wisdom, tossing his hat to his daughter, rivaling his delivery of 10,000 babies with her 10,000 poems.
The question came up, "why does he turn his face away" -- and is the "it" the chuckle... or perhaps emotion he can't face? The matter-of-fact, "this is the way it is" closes the small window of emotion, but not quite. His hat, brim pulled over her eyes, and he asks, "Are you ready"? Yes, the doors now shut on the house... but leaving the home, and is she ready for his passing? Hard not to read this poem without a catch in the throat.
Night Traveler: this one entailed a long discussion as we explored directions. Why is the poem told as if in the second person yet seems to be the speaker talking to herself? And yet, however each experienced the strange mystery oyf the poem, we all felt caught in that moment. One person wanted to hug those grassy-tongued cows. We realized what is moving is not at all the car. Holsteins out at night? Doesn't seem logical some said. What is "crossing to the other side"? To join in the sea of faces, or die and go to heaven? The cows definitely seem in charge!
Cold Cuts: skillful play on "cold" and somewhat playful on one level. It's wonderful when a poem makes us laugh-- the "Proud to serve" and capture of the wait-in-line experience with the counter clicks and "all the words not spoken when the customer is right" does this. Some picked up on an emotional edge of self-portrait... perhaps a role reversal. Something else is going on to support the opening line "I know I'm helpless..." or the deli woman looks through me. Why be embarrassed, confused by her accuracy? Unspoken are the prejudices we have perhaps that she could produce the proper thickness of thin. Does the speaker need approval? Need to give approval?
Others picked up on the assembly-line/job fatigue, the lack of friendliness (no served with a smile here! nor an effort for the servee to give a smile to the server!). Martin brought up the idea that we bring to poems whatever is on our minds, and having just read about a transgender experience, thought maybe the server's indifference was her defense. Bernie countered with the doctor's training dictum: don't think of zebras when you see a horse!
Bernie also offered this idea: what would happen if the "Anything else" didn't have a question mark after it?
Snowlines: unusual to challenge to the usual image of soft downy snow for making angels with the growl of grief, gritty powder, those angel wings a way to skirt the world's/gravity. The poem flows well, landing on gravity, with its double play. Shadow lines, old oaks, a sense of build up of generations point back to the title... perhaps a sense of baptism in the "rinsed clean in new snow", and a biblical overtone in "fall".
Chrysalis: Describing the magical process of transformation as a careful dream adds to the mystery, reinforced with the double-play of the word "lie" as a place to lie down, a lair, to prepare beauty, and a disguise. The final stanza is surprising and deep. "Perhaps the world is empty/as I am brief/like a reckless soul/turning int light—/weightless beyond safety. So much packed in those five lines.
The Gift: A lovely Maundy Thursday poem filled with lush images and sound. Magnolia unleashing a litter of tongues, bells, drones in the grass, and the speaker carrying on their tune. It took a while to see singing the words that took (i.e. that took root) separate leave off, and the final word, forever.
Grief is Milkweed: I believe we are going to have a field trip in the fall, and make sure that Mary can relive the delight of blowing milkweed silk and seed from the pod. How does this relate to grief? Whatever loss, or anxiety, incompleteness, like a poem released, thoughts find words, are written, available for anyone, perhaps received by no one. It remains an act of release of grief.
Rock and Keep: tender and poignant string sharing between mother/daughter, the play on the word cradle!
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