Obadike’s collection uses simple language. Her poems most often consist of short lines. Yet, these factors do not make her poetry elementary at all. It is still intensely packed with emotion. She gets down to the raw simplicity of the heart, mind, and body. The poems are packed with feelings of uncertainty dealing with love, and self-identification. In several poems, the speaker does not want the person they are with to look at them though they still seem to want that person present.
“I just like how your hands / Hold on to me so tight. / Don’t watch me when we dance” (26).
The speaker wants the other there, not because they love them, but because they don’t seem to want to be alone with only themselves, who they seem afraid of or ashamed of at times.
The poems often show the simple thoughts going through the heads of the young. A girl that wants to ride with boys just because of their older age and their nice stereo, thoughts about puberty, the body, sex, etc. These poems often use slang, for instance, dope, dibs, jinx, you owe me a coke, etc, to show the immaturity and imagination of youth.
Bohince’s collection seems like a journey through different times and landscapes of her, or the speaker’s life, mixing childhood occurrences with feelings she has as an adult, with lovely and sometimes violent descriptions of her father’s farmhouse and property. Sometimes these times are specific, like a time she was swimming or a time her father was sleeping, other times the poems describe something more generic, like the feelings of the first day of hunting season which happens year after year.
Bohince’s poems are rich with adjectives. These adjectives don’t seem overdone, but necessary to the books flowing pace. The adjectives she uses are also often unusual and fresh, such as “kit foxes,” “gauzy ruin,” and “self-same branches” (6).
Bohince seems like she may use the act of hunting, killing deer, to compare to her father’s murder. She talks about some people seeing death for mere profit, and how they don’t think about the act of killing the deer but think of the profit of its parts; skull, ribs, spine, meat, etc… There are extremely beautiful images of nature throughout this collection. Bohince seems to notice the tiniest animals and plants around her and captures them into her words as if to not let them be forgotten to the world. Often though, she takes her skill at naturalistic images and turns them violent, showing that both nature and man have violent tendencies.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Obadike/Bohince
In thinking about the way these two collections unfold as entire books, I found each to have its merits.
Obadike was the more useful of the two to me. (Perhaps it is just because I enjoyed her writing more than Bohince's, but that's neither here nor there.) I liked that the book started out at one time in the author's life and then went off into unconnected territories. This book made me think about collections of poems in terms of constellations. I admire the way that Obadike used the book in a non-linear fashion, but at the same time achieved some sense of what we might call narrative. By starting at one place in time and then moving backward or into the metaphysical and then returning to the original place with a renewed sense of authority or uncertainty was an original approach to the lyric tradition.
It is for this reason that I enjoyed Obadike more than I enjoyed Bohince. Bohince's work all stemmed from a place of authority that did not seem earned. Perhaps the author deserves the kind of weight she was trying to impart onto the collection, but if it does not come from within the book itself, the reader is wary of such authority. The process mentioned above, of beginning, leaving and returning, employed by Obadike gave her final poems the kind of authority that Bohince's flatly try to assert.
Obadike was the more useful of the two to me. (Perhaps it is just because I enjoyed her writing more than Bohince's, but that's neither here nor there.) I liked that the book started out at one time in the author's life and then went off into unconnected territories. This book made me think about collections of poems in terms of constellations. I admire the way that Obadike used the book in a non-linear fashion, but at the same time achieved some sense of what we might call narrative. By starting at one place in time and then moving backward or into the metaphysical and then returning to the original place with a renewed sense of authority or uncertainty was an original approach to the lyric tradition.
It is for this reason that I enjoyed Obadike more than I enjoyed Bohince. Bohince's work all stemmed from a place of authority that did not seem earned. Perhaps the author deserves the kind of weight she was trying to impart onto the collection, but if it does not come from within the book itself, the reader is wary of such authority. The process mentioned above, of beginning, leaving and returning, employed by Obadike gave her final poems the kind of authority that Bohince's flatly try to assert.
Obadike and Bohince
Obadike’s work threw me for a loop. I liked her work, and I didn’t like her work. Many of the successes of her poems is the subtle humor and simplicity of language and casual attitude. However, at times this beautiful simplicity had me thinking: “Cliché!” at times. Thus, the battle (or tensions) between clever and defamiliarizing of a made-phrase, to catching a made-phrase in action continued throughout her work. For example of the simplicity in made-phrases and casualty: “She sneezes/on the chance someone/ will bless her” (54). Here the poem “Strategy” flows nicely and is strange because of its enjambments. It borderlines cliché when talking about sneezing and the common response of “bless you.” Obadike did this throughout her work, sometimes leading up to a made-phrase and completely changing the context. I felt like a lot of her work was predictable: “starve us with their hunger,” “smell so sweet,” etc. Then, she’ll say something completely unexpected like “risk is a mashed up fruit” (52). “Clink” is a great example of how her simplicity is stunning and unexpected. I just wish there weren’t so many made phrases. This tactic seems as if some of the poems were forced into existence, especially after hearing that Ben Lerner said sometimes poets need to make their book 64 pages in length. I just question some of the poems. I am torn as to whether or not I enjoyed the work, but I can at least say, half of the time I was impressed with Obadike’s devices. I felt also at times the gender was skewed and it may be possible that the speaker had no intended gender or switched lots of times. I really liked this approach to creating a work of poems. I like that I have a challenge in reading poems. Overall, Obadike has an interesting approach to emotional and self-connection.
As for Bohince, I wanted to focus on the acrostic poems and what they do in terms of “saying something.” When I was in grade school I used to love doing these poems, because you not only could write a poem, but you could make other words or a poem with the left margin as well. It was nice to have a horizontal poem and a vertical one. I must say though, I thought this form of poetry was elementary and at times a little kitschy. However, this style of poetry reoccurred multiple times throughout this collection. Does this set the tone for a childlike author or does it have a deeper meaning? “Memento,” “Outhouse,” and “Geese In Snow” all have the title in the poem as the acrostic. I think this was too simple and a waste of a device. I feel that Bohince should not have given away the poem by revealing it to the reader right away. I think this defeats the purpose of actively engaging or challenging the reader. So, I must say I was disappointed in this. However, “Acrostic for My Father” (40) reveals that the vertical poem says “I dream of you.” I think this is clever that this was not revealed to the reader, however, at the same time the message is cliché. If I had not read the back of the book, which interprets the collection to be a murder mystery, I would have never known or guessed the poem(s) serve as an elegy or finding out the mystery. When describing the father or mentioning him with “I dream of you,” it seems really kitschy. I feel like this work was forced into an interpretation, and that’s disappointing. I would much rather read something that I could come up with my own conclusion, and not be told what is supposed to happen. Bohince has beautiful poetry and defamiliarized associations and images, however, I’m caught up in plot and I’m not happy. It clouds the talent she has of writing poetry.
As for Bohince, I wanted to focus on the acrostic poems and what they do in terms of “saying something.” When I was in grade school I used to love doing these poems, because you not only could write a poem, but you could make other words or a poem with the left margin as well. It was nice to have a horizontal poem and a vertical one. I must say though, I thought this form of poetry was elementary and at times a little kitschy. However, this style of poetry reoccurred multiple times throughout this collection. Does this set the tone for a childlike author or does it have a deeper meaning? “Memento,” “Outhouse,” and “Geese In Snow” all have the title in the poem as the acrostic. I think this was too simple and a waste of a device. I feel that Bohince should not have given away the poem by revealing it to the reader right away. I think this defeats the purpose of actively engaging or challenging the reader. So, I must say I was disappointed in this. However, “Acrostic for My Father” (40) reveals that the vertical poem says “I dream of you.” I think this is clever that this was not revealed to the reader, however, at the same time the message is cliché. If I had not read the back of the book, which interprets the collection to be a murder mystery, I would have never known or guessed the poem(s) serve as an elegy or finding out the mystery. When describing the father or mentioning him with “I dream of you,” it seems really kitschy. I feel like this work was forced into an interpretation, and that’s disappointing. I would much rather read something that I could come up with my own conclusion, and not be told what is supposed to happen. Bohince has beautiful poetry and defamiliarized associations and images, however, I’m caught up in plot and I’m not happy. It clouds the talent she has of writing poetry.
Comments on Bohince’s Work
In an overall summarized evaluation of Bohince’s work, I’d say the arrangement collection is successful if the content and chapter separations intentionally work to convey a struggle between feelings for the speaker’s father. I found part one of the book misleading in that it creates a negative story filled with bad memories (seen clearly on page 12) and underlying dislike and distress. The feelings held and displayed in part one are quickly combated in part two by a more sympathetic portrayal of emotions toward the father (page 35), a rendering that overflows partially into part three before original feelings are revived.
To justify my claims, I have attempted to recount my feelings and interpretations of the book in the following paragraphs.
Opening Poems:
The first poem is filled with religious tones and striking imagery. The title, “Prayer,” plays an interesting role for the opening poem of a book. It leaves one to question whether this opening prayer will serve as the commencement to a religious ceremony, a start to a series of testimonies on abandonment, or a prelude to a tragic story. The ending, “when no one else will speak to me,” infers a sense of desertion and loneliness. Such a gloomy opening for a book entitled, Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods, leads one to believe that the incident was not a happy one.
Aside from the inferences obtained in the opening poems, I found the abstraction of concrete images deceptive as well. In the first two poems, especially, several phrases seized my attention, a feeling I expected to see throughout the collection. Instances like, “a clot of feeling,” “I felt something then// in the approximate bones of a field mouse,” or “soil glittering with the misery of rain,” poetically combine concrete images with abstract emotions. A technique promptly abandoned after the second poem. This is not to say that imagery is not throughout the collection, because that would be a false statement (the collection is filled with vivid images), I just think this particular type of image ends abruptly.
Part I:
Part one gave scenes and snapshots of childhood images, memories, and feelings that worked to create a story; a story that generates a feeling of anger. In the chapter we get poem about the “Black Lamb” and the “Hide Out.” There is a seemingly clear negative relationship between father and speaker.
Part II:
Part two commences with similar yet noticeably different religious tones found in the opening poem of the book. In fact the first several poems in part two have religious inferences. It’s here that the book strays away from the topic and reverts back (after the religious poems p.35) to the relationship with a conspicuously atypical feeling. At this point, the father figure image plays a stronger role in influencing the emotions of the poem, rather than the negative memories introduced in part one. The poems on page 39-40 relate the sympathetic side of the speaker’s standpoint.
Part II:
For the most part, part three of the book continues displaying the sympathetic side, until about page 52, then the author writes, “His cruel creature, the lie of his beauty// beginning there in that element.” This is the part that aims to tie the first two parts together by showing the tension in feelings toward the father’s life. In some instances the speaker is cleaning a room trying to get a smell of her father, while in others she is attesting to the stressful life of being a woman (p.55). The book ends with the religious undertone that surfaces throughout and opens the book. The last poem entitled, “Charity,” is an appropriate conclusion, because the Bible notes (I Corinthians 13:13) that of faith, hope, and charity, the greatest is charity, and with the numerous biblical references it’s appropriate that charity ends all.
To justify my claims, I have attempted to recount my feelings and interpretations of the book in the following paragraphs.
Opening Poems:
The first poem is filled with religious tones and striking imagery. The title, “Prayer,” plays an interesting role for the opening poem of a book. It leaves one to question whether this opening prayer will serve as the commencement to a religious ceremony, a start to a series of testimonies on abandonment, or a prelude to a tragic story. The ending, “when no one else will speak to me,” infers a sense of desertion and loneliness. Such a gloomy opening for a book entitled, Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods, leads one to believe that the incident was not a happy one.
Aside from the inferences obtained in the opening poems, I found the abstraction of concrete images deceptive as well. In the first two poems, especially, several phrases seized my attention, a feeling I expected to see throughout the collection. Instances like, “a clot of feeling,” “I felt something then// in the approximate bones of a field mouse,” or “soil glittering with the misery of rain,” poetically combine concrete images with abstract emotions. A technique promptly abandoned after the second poem. This is not to say that imagery is not throughout the collection, because that would be a false statement (the collection is filled with vivid images), I just think this particular type of image ends abruptly.
Part I:
Part one gave scenes and snapshots of childhood images, memories, and feelings that worked to create a story; a story that generates a feeling of anger. In the chapter we get poem about the “Black Lamb” and the “Hide Out.” There is a seemingly clear negative relationship between father and speaker.
Part II:
Part two commences with similar yet noticeably different religious tones found in the opening poem of the book. In fact the first several poems in part two have religious inferences. It’s here that the book strays away from the topic and reverts back (after the religious poems p.35) to the relationship with a conspicuously atypical feeling. At this point, the father figure image plays a stronger role in influencing the emotions of the poem, rather than the negative memories introduced in part one. The poems on page 39-40 relate the sympathetic side of the speaker’s standpoint.
Part II:
For the most part, part three of the book continues displaying the sympathetic side, until about page 52, then the author writes, “His cruel creature, the lie of his beauty// beginning there in that element.” This is the part that aims to tie the first two parts together by showing the tension in feelings toward the father’s life. In some instances the speaker is cleaning a room trying to get a smell of her father, while in others she is attesting to the stressful life of being a woman (p.55). The book ends with the religious undertone that surfaces throughout and opens the book. The last poem entitled, “Charity,” is an appropriate conclusion, because the Bible notes (I Corinthians 13:13) that of faith, hope, and charity, the greatest is charity, and with the numerous biblical references it’s appropriate that charity ends all.
Bohince & Obadike Response
I'm going to focus my post on something a little different than usual. I'll get to the content of the books near the end, but I really want to bring up the tangible, physical element of reading this past week's books. In the past few months, I've become increasingly interested in book design. I'm currently taking a design course and have found it a new hobby to find books, which, despite the old adage, can be judged by their covers (so to say). It is hardest to judge poetry books, I feel, because the craft inside can always differ, despite the design. In addition, in the small-press world of poetry, it is hard to use "good" (i.e. high-production) design due to finances and limited printings. Despite this, I feel that the books by Obadike and Bohince lend themselves to design judgment.
Beginning with the cover of Bohince's Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods, it is important to notice the sharp colors and textures used (notice the soft drop-shading of the title - it is the same forest green used on the back cover). There is consistency in the text layout and an ambiguously bold image (consider Lerner's Lichtenberg Figures). Inside the book, details like the embossed maker's page invite the reader in and create the sense that the book at hand has been carefully appended. Likewise, the soft, speckled creme pages add a semi-rustic feel, complementing the content.
Obadike's Armor and Flesh, then, is an extreme away from Bayonet Woods. The cover features a bold, nearly overpowering shade of yellow, with an uncomplementary black text. The text choices on the cover serve as a big indicator of the quality of book design. amd from that the quality of the book can (almost certainly) follow. Compare the back covers of both books. The soft gold lets the forest text set INTO it on Bayonet Woods. On Armor and Flesh, the black text is setting ON the bright yellow, nearly looking like it will slide off of the lacqeur gloss of the cover. And this high gloss is another important note; using the bright yellow only enhances the shine of this finish, and as silly as it seems, interfered with my expereince by being more quick to become cold, creating a negative experience as a reader.
I brought up design last week concerning the in-class version of Ondaatje versus the original version I took out of the Carnegie Library. It was important to note how the narrative was experienced with or without the image of Billy on the cover. I also mentioned the unlikelyhood that Ondaatje had anything to do with the newer cover feat. the Billy image. And it is hard to say just how much input Bohince or Obadike put into the design of their books, but I feel that it is a very important element of how one's work is percieved. I hope that everyone understands this as we work on our manuscripts and in the future thinks about who is handling and what will happen to work that is published.
I agree in large part with many of the sentiments already shared about the work. Much has been made of the female experience/female voice these two poets use. As a male, my experience does differ from these experiences in some way. I viewed Bohince's book as less about a specifically female experience as much as about the father/daughter and generational experience (...how many poems have I read about a baby-boomer dealing with cleaning out a deceased parent's home?) As critical as that jab may be, Bayonet Woods is a good book, that finds its focus in narrative, consistent voice and careful language.
As for Armor and Flesh, the language seemed flat and unresponsive to the poet's whims, forcing Obadike to depend on what Lizzie reffered to as "blatant objective." To close with one last note that depends on my design-premise, it is valuable and reinforces the "blatant objective" when one considers the cover art of Obadike's book - a form entering a second skin, flesh entering into armor, a woman into a man... the same objective-fulfilling image pairs Obadike had to rely on throughout her project.
Beginning with the cover of Bohince's Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods, it is important to notice the sharp colors and textures used (notice the soft drop-shading of the title - it is the same forest green used on the back cover). There is consistency in the text layout and an ambiguously bold image (consider Lerner's Lichtenberg Figures). Inside the book, details like the embossed maker's page invite the reader in and create the sense that the book at hand has been carefully appended. Likewise, the soft, speckled creme pages add a semi-rustic feel, complementing the content.
Obadike's Armor and Flesh, then, is an extreme away from Bayonet Woods. The cover features a bold, nearly overpowering shade of yellow, with an uncomplementary black text. The text choices on the cover serve as a big indicator of the quality of book design. amd from that the quality of the book can (almost certainly) follow. Compare the back covers of both books. The soft gold lets the forest text set INTO it on Bayonet Woods. On Armor and Flesh, the black text is setting ON the bright yellow, nearly looking like it will slide off of the lacqeur gloss of the cover. And this high gloss is another important note; using the bright yellow only enhances the shine of this finish, and as silly as it seems, interfered with my expereince by being more quick to become cold, creating a negative experience as a reader.
I brought up design last week concerning the in-class version of Ondaatje versus the original version I took out of the Carnegie Library. It was important to note how the narrative was experienced with or without the image of Billy on the cover. I also mentioned the unlikelyhood that Ondaatje had anything to do with the newer cover feat. the Billy image. And it is hard to say just how much input Bohince or Obadike put into the design of their books, but I feel that it is a very important element of how one's work is percieved. I hope that everyone understands this as we work on our manuscripts and in the future thinks about who is handling and what will happen to work that is published.
I agree in large part with many of the sentiments already shared about the work. Much has been made of the female experience/female voice these two poets use. As a male, my experience does differ from these experiences in some way. I viewed Bohince's book as less about a specifically female experience as much as about the father/daughter and generational experience (...how many poems have I read about a baby-boomer dealing with cleaning out a deceased parent's home?) As critical as that jab may be, Bayonet Woods is a good book, that finds its focus in narrative, consistent voice and careful language.
As for Armor and Flesh, the language seemed flat and unresponsive to the poet's whims, forcing Obadike to depend on what Lizzie reffered to as "blatant objective." To close with one last note that depends on my design-premise, it is valuable and reinforces the "blatant objective" when one considers the cover art of Obadike's book - a form entering a second skin, flesh entering into armor, a woman into a man... the same objective-fulfilling image pairs Obadike had to rely on throughout her project.
Bohince/Obadike
Starting with Paula Bohince:
I did enjoy Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods, however I agree with the term "sobering" to describe it. Actually, it was pretty grotesque in parts. Not necessarily employing the same kind of violence that Ben Lerner's book did, but I felt it elicited a very similar emotional reaction. For example, on page 19: "Johnstown" seemed to capture all the essential elements I found within the whole book.
It was consistenly feminine/heavily gendered. She describes a rape, something that is almost always connected to the victimization of a woman (and in this case it is) and the destruction of the feminine spirit/innocence/womanhood. In many of her other pieces I notice the same attempt to destruct the female voice and sexuality. The poem "Pond" also lends itself to this notion of the victimized...for lack of a better word. She starts by saying, Don't be mean to me, which comes off almost childlike, and if not childlike, most certainly womanly in the sense that it's absent of any masculinity at all. She plays into the historical gender roles a lot and yet I did not see any "uprising" or redemption of the female. At times, I thought perhaps Bohince intended for the book to whine a little bit using violent content and imagery (it is successful in this).
Another poem I found very telling was pg. 32 Eating Fish in Pittsburgh. Bohince's commentary on the family and the father/daughter relationship she establishes throughout the book reminds me of Sharon Olds. She unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) digs herself into a role again, but adds nature and the primal tone that nature commands to explain things. For instance: and the rain/the smell of fish oil in my clothes/the bones I kept, as gifts. All very human, very natural images pursuing a kind of nature vs. nurture tone.
As for Mendi Obadike's Armour and Flesh, I'd have to go with Lizzie on this one. I had a hard time with the experience of reading it/ i.e. I felt like maybe it was trying for something it wasn't really achieving. I'm aware of the experimental nature of her and her husband's collaborative work, but maybe because of the lack of supplemental material (ie the photography and videography that I've heard accompanies her poetry), I couldn't get into it. Something about the work seemed flat and unalive, though often I was impressed by the sequencing, for instance "One Black Girlhood" landing in front of "In the Street." Thought this was an interesting choice for the first two poems of the batch because they were so scrappy or something. Gritty? No. Political? I can't pick a word to explain them, but they remind me of vertical prose poems and have plotlines with climaxes. Given the research I'd done on Obadike, I was floored because she is remarked as a renowned artist. I'll be excited to hear how the rest of the class experienced her.
I did enjoy Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods, however I agree with the term "sobering" to describe it. Actually, it was pretty grotesque in parts. Not necessarily employing the same kind of violence that Ben Lerner's book did, but I felt it elicited a very similar emotional reaction. For example, on page 19: "Johnstown" seemed to capture all the essential elements I found within the whole book.
It was consistenly feminine/heavily gendered. She describes a rape, something that is almost always connected to the victimization of a woman (and in this case it is) and the destruction of the feminine spirit/innocence/womanhood. In many of her other pieces I notice the same attempt to destruct the female voice and sexuality. The poem "Pond" also lends itself to this notion of the victimized...for lack of a better word. She starts by saying, Don't be mean to me, which comes off almost childlike, and if not childlike, most certainly womanly in the sense that it's absent of any masculinity at all. She plays into the historical gender roles a lot and yet I did not see any "uprising" or redemption of the female. At times, I thought perhaps Bohince intended for the book to whine a little bit using violent content and imagery (it is successful in this).
Another poem I found very telling was pg. 32 Eating Fish in Pittsburgh. Bohince's commentary on the family and the father/daughter relationship she establishes throughout the book reminds me of Sharon Olds. She unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) digs herself into a role again, but adds nature and the primal tone that nature commands to explain things. For instance: and the rain/the smell of fish oil in my clothes/the bones I kept, as gifts. All very human, very natural images pursuing a kind of nature vs. nurture tone.
As for Mendi Obadike's Armour and Flesh, I'd have to go with Lizzie on this one. I had a hard time with the experience of reading it/ i.e. I felt like maybe it was trying for something it wasn't really achieving. I'm aware of the experimental nature of her and her husband's collaborative work, but maybe because of the lack of supplemental material (ie the photography and videography that I've heard accompanies her poetry), I couldn't get into it. Something about the work seemed flat and unalive, though often I was impressed by the sequencing, for instance "One Black Girlhood" landing in front of "In the Street." Thought this was an interesting choice for the first two poems of the batch because they were so scrappy or something. Gritty? No. Political? I can't pick a word to explain them, but they remind me of vertical prose poems and have plotlines with climaxes. Given the research I'd done on Obadike, I was floored because she is remarked as a renowned artist. I'll be excited to hear how the rest of the class experienced her.
Response to Bohince
In reading Bohince's "Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods" in conjunction with Obedike's "Armor and Flesh," it was impossible for me not to develop an immediate bias on the success of the book, as Bohince so clearly has a greater grasp for not only language but also the mysterious and the enigmatic present within the image. In particular, I found the poem "Johnstown" put this on full display, when she movingly describes a rape victim, "left crumpled in a tree stand/wearing only a muzzle of ice, her mermaid hair frozen/ in wierd angles." The image is incredibly emotionally evocative, drenched in the dark and grotesque; I felt I was reading something out of a Grimm's fairy tale.
I agree with Camiele that this book is very sobering. I think this overall dark and twisted tone deals in direct connection with the themes that tie the book together: Bohince's relationship to her father and her reaction/reflection on his brutal murder (by someone she trusted and cared for), the speaker's doubt in God and the fruits of prayer, as well as the murder of innocence and the violence of the world (most noticably when she is talking about animals, ie. lamb, deer, the cardinal). There is a huge sense of desperation, of the world being cursed (whether we are speaking about Bohince's ancestor's of Bayonet Woods, the current inhabitants of Johnstown, the Easter Lamb). I would have to say, though, the curse falls mainly on the speaker's shoulders. In "Black Lamb," I feel it is the speaker, and not the actual lamb, who is "deep in troublesome clover,/alone, quaking beneath dwarf pines."
After several readings of many of these poems, it is difficult for me not to appreciate the complex mechanics working in this book to create a sense of completeness - the acrostic pieces, the Gospel conceit, the vivid descriptions of rural Pennsylvania, its poverty and tragic history, the speaker's clinging both to her father and to her ancestors, all of whom have shaped her to be "the curse" of what she is (though perhaps this is too negative a description). However, like Camiele, I had mixed feelings as far as the originality/beauty/success of individual pieces. While I certainly despised none of them (what a wonderful contrast to Obedike!), some of them lacked a specific energy that stayed with me after I had finished reading them. An example of this would be "Eating Fish in Pittsburgh," which I felt had more of an "over-dramatic" autobiographical feel to it, revealing details of the speaker's life without giving me much of a greater insight. Also, I was let down by the final piece, which seemed to me very much an "in conclusion" segment attempting to answer all of the reader's questions concerning early ambiguities/conflicts within the speaker. Bohince writes, "But what the Book/omits, what the song, is how He allotted/for each gift one brutality/for balance." While I think this is beautifully worded, it seems a panacea for the speaker's early interactions with God and prayer.
As a first book of poems, I feel the piece succeeded on a large level, at least, interesting me enough to look out for her future work. I feel she might have been feeling out a lot of things within her own work; but I feel many things here as part of a grand experiment, and certainly, a moving narrative.
I agree with Camiele that this book is very sobering. I think this overall dark and twisted tone deals in direct connection with the themes that tie the book together: Bohince's relationship to her father and her reaction/reflection on his brutal murder (by someone she trusted and cared for), the speaker's doubt in God and the fruits of prayer, as well as the murder of innocence and the violence of the world (most noticably when she is talking about animals, ie. lamb, deer, the cardinal). There is a huge sense of desperation, of the world being cursed (whether we are speaking about Bohince's ancestor's of Bayonet Woods, the current inhabitants of Johnstown, the Easter Lamb). I would have to say, though, the curse falls mainly on the speaker's shoulders. In "Black Lamb," I feel it is the speaker, and not the actual lamb, who is "deep in troublesome clover,/alone, quaking beneath dwarf pines."
After several readings of many of these poems, it is difficult for me not to appreciate the complex mechanics working in this book to create a sense of completeness - the acrostic pieces, the Gospel conceit, the vivid descriptions of rural Pennsylvania, its poverty and tragic history, the speaker's clinging both to her father and to her ancestors, all of whom have shaped her to be "the curse" of what she is (though perhaps this is too negative a description). However, like Camiele, I had mixed feelings as far as the originality/beauty/success of individual pieces. While I certainly despised none of them (what a wonderful contrast to Obedike!), some of them lacked a specific energy that stayed with me after I had finished reading them. An example of this would be "Eating Fish in Pittsburgh," which I felt had more of an "over-dramatic" autobiographical feel to it, revealing details of the speaker's life without giving me much of a greater insight. Also, I was let down by the final piece, which seemed to me very much an "in conclusion" segment attempting to answer all of the reader's questions concerning early ambiguities/conflicts within the speaker. Bohince writes, "But what the Book/omits, what the song, is how He allotted/for each gift one brutality/for balance." While I think this is beautifully worded, it seems a panacea for the speaker's early interactions with God and prayer.
As a first book of poems, I feel the piece succeeded on a large level, at least, interesting me enough to look out for her future work. I feel she might have been feeling out a lot of things within her own work; but I feel many things here as part of a grand experiment, and certainly, a moving narrative.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Bohince
The overarching nature of this collection of poetry is one of deep sorrow and almost impending solitude. Each poem draws heavily on the atmosphere that pain and loneliness seem to provide. Meaning, Bohince leaves very little in the way of hope; by the end of the book the soul is left open and raw.
Her imagery is such that even in moments when humour is allowed, and after a torrential downpour of emotional overdrive, necessary, all one manages to glean from it is an overwrought sense of desperation. Though the imagery is vivid and even invites the reader to continue to sift through the drama and find the meat of the poem, on the whole the experience is somewhat of a let down in terms of the desire to immerse oneself in the world of Bohince's characters. Quite simply, I found myself less than intrigued by the characters that show up throughout the book.
Even the obviously Biblical characters of John, Lucas, and Paul left much to be desired in terms of what they could actually do for the book as a whole. Let's be honest, one doesn't use obvious Jesus references unless they want someone to get the idea that these Apostles, as Bohince openly calls them, meant something to the narrator of the book; however, I didn't get the sense that there was much of anything to be taken away from these characters except a few quick jabs of wisdom in the most superficial of ways--these are characters who seem to have a connection to the narrator; however, very little to do with the reader.
As someone whose main goal it is to understand the form and layout of a book, I was intrigued to note the separation of sections. Three sections must mean that there are at least two voltas within the text; however, I didn't notice much of a difference in terms of tone or even content. By tone, I mean there is nothing more to be taken except the inevitability of demise, loneliness, and almost no hope. From the very first poem in which Bohince entreats the attention and adoration of God himself--"Adore me, Lord, / beneath this raw milk sky, your vision / of silvery cream comprising daylight"--there is an incessant somberness in each section. Though, I suppose in terms of focus in the book, the sections serve to allow a change of scenery. The first section flows as does the water with which it is built. Each image is in part a fluid and natural transportation from one poem to the next as in "Spirits at the Edge of Bayonet Woods": "constant swirling, watched her weep beside / the river's illiterate banks, lay her dress upon / its slick grasses, wade into the inch of loam / then lie facedown in its merciful pull." (pg. 18) As I said, the imagery does a great job creating atmosphere and shift in scenery; however, some of the poems take a turn for the melodramatic--case in point: "Spirits at the Edge of Bayonet Woods". There is, and I'm sure Bohince knows and understands this, a difference between drama and melodrama. In fact, I'm sure she does, because in the very next poem, "Johnstown", Bohince finds the medium between the drama of life and the Maudlin nature of soap operas.
Another aspect of the book that I found fascinating: Bohince's use of the acrostic. Now, I'm one to write a vertical lyric now and again. The problem that arises with most acrostics, however, is that they don't say as much as the one vertical line itself. It seemed as though she was trying to create a poem as important to the story as the actual act of the acrostic itself; however, again Bohince leaves much to be desired. Though the imagery is simplistic, the "message" even simpler, Bohince seems to sacrifice a lucid connection from poem to poem for the supposed cleverness of an acrostic. Though an exception is "Acrostic: Geese in Snow" on page 36, even this poem's imagery is ultimately sacrificed for such a lofty and figureless word as "curse"--the poem's final word.
Bohince's poetic imagery and even her desire to create something with deep meaning falls drastically shorter than what I had hoped. However, there are moments when lightening strikes, and it strikes hard. Such poems as "Johnstown", "Quarry", and "Pond" create a breathtaking environment and opens the reader so that the words are raw and very real.
Her imagery is such that even in moments when humour is allowed, and after a torrential downpour of emotional overdrive, necessary, all one manages to glean from it is an overwrought sense of desperation. Though the imagery is vivid and even invites the reader to continue to sift through the drama and find the meat of the poem, on the whole the experience is somewhat of a let down in terms of the desire to immerse oneself in the world of Bohince's characters. Quite simply, I found myself less than intrigued by the characters that show up throughout the book.
Even the obviously Biblical characters of John, Lucas, and Paul left much to be desired in terms of what they could actually do for the book as a whole. Let's be honest, one doesn't use obvious Jesus references unless they want someone to get the idea that these Apostles, as Bohince openly calls them, meant something to the narrator of the book; however, I didn't get the sense that there was much of anything to be taken away from these characters except a few quick jabs of wisdom in the most superficial of ways--these are characters who seem to have a connection to the narrator; however, very little to do with the reader.
As someone whose main goal it is to understand the form and layout of a book, I was intrigued to note the separation of sections. Three sections must mean that there are at least two voltas within the text; however, I didn't notice much of a difference in terms of tone or even content. By tone, I mean there is nothing more to be taken except the inevitability of demise, loneliness, and almost no hope. From the very first poem in which Bohince entreats the attention and adoration of God himself--"Adore me, Lord, / beneath this raw milk sky, your vision / of silvery cream comprising daylight"--there is an incessant somberness in each section. Though, I suppose in terms of focus in the book, the sections serve to allow a change of scenery. The first section flows as does the water with which it is built. Each image is in part a fluid and natural transportation from one poem to the next as in "Spirits at the Edge of Bayonet Woods": "constant swirling, watched her weep beside / the river's illiterate banks, lay her dress upon / its slick grasses, wade into the inch of loam / then lie facedown in its merciful pull." (pg. 18) As I said, the imagery does a great job creating atmosphere and shift in scenery; however, some of the poems take a turn for the melodramatic--case in point: "Spirits at the Edge of Bayonet Woods". There is, and I'm sure Bohince knows and understands this, a difference between drama and melodrama. In fact, I'm sure she does, because in the very next poem, "Johnstown", Bohince finds the medium between the drama of life and the Maudlin nature of soap operas.
Another aspect of the book that I found fascinating: Bohince's use of the acrostic. Now, I'm one to write a vertical lyric now and again. The problem that arises with most acrostics, however, is that they don't say as much as the one vertical line itself. It seemed as though she was trying to create a poem as important to the story as the actual act of the acrostic itself; however, again Bohince leaves much to be desired. Though the imagery is simplistic, the "message" even simpler, Bohince seems to sacrifice a lucid connection from poem to poem for the supposed cleverness of an acrostic. Though an exception is "Acrostic: Geese in Snow" on page 36, even this poem's imagery is ultimately sacrificed for such a lofty and figureless word as "curse"--the poem's final word.
Bohince's poetic imagery and even her desire to create something with deep meaning falls drastically shorter than what I had hoped. However, there are moments when lightening strikes, and it strikes hard. Such poems as "Johnstown", "Quarry", and "Pond" create a breathtaking environment and opens the reader so that the words are raw and very real.
Obadike and Bohince
This book was a complete disappointment. I normally don’t like using blanket statements like that to describe a work, but I found Obadike’s “Armor and Flesh” wholly lacking in our areas of focus. I was consistently unimpressed by each individual poem, and despite some attempts to tackle layered conflicts, the blatant objective of the poems made them flat and uninteresting, employing clichés like “She wears a mask,” or “Is chance/a cousin of romance?” and basic puns like “she sneezes/on the chance someone/will bless her” (which would arguably work as a line, but certainly not an entire poem).
Obadike’s attempt at form was equally disappointing: “Eschew and Languish” as well as “Carpool and the Tape Deck” were immediately transparent as a villanelle and sonnet (respectively), and showed basically no control or play with either form. Also, the devotion to the form completely stifled her content, resulting in stanzas like “Don’t watch me when we dance. / I don’t love you. I don’t. / All that you feel is chance.” The rhymes become so predictable, that I had essentially recited the poem prior to reading it. The sonnet started out with more promise, an actually story, without some direct allegory to be forced down the eye sockets of the reader. Unfortunately, Obadike once again compromised word choice in order to maintain the form, awkwardly throwing in chunky sentences about the car resembling a circus.
Obadike’s serves as an example of a poet who seems unable to craft strong, individual poems, and instead strings them together, hoping the result will be more elaborate and beautiful. Regrettably, predictability and stale language of each piece inhibited any chance (or more accurately, desire) to absorb a theme.
On Bohince:
Paula Bohince’s “Incident at the Edge of Bayonet Woods” used bizarre and engaging descriptions that had me rereading individual poems over and over again. Her word choice is so deliberate, that even when I’m not fully sold on an image, her consistency and devotion to one voice is difficult to criticize. She consistently mixes simple diction with long, scientific phrases, and words you haven’t heard or thought of in years. The eerie “Trespass” is somehow terrifying and delicate: “Above and around us, the electric fence/ hums like God--/ a magnification of the dreaming gnats we awakened/ discovering the lode of bones.”
Despite her pristine voice, we are constantly finding ourselves outside, alone or in danger. The contrast is certainly appealing enough to pull you to the next poem. Conversely, the drawn-out imagery and frequent density do make the collection more difficult to read in one sitting, but the slow progression of one central story make it fairly easy to pick up again.
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