Showing posts with label Juliana Leslie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Juliana Leslie. Show all posts

Sunday, January 06, 2013

Juliana Leslie, Green Is for World




Dream Canary

Welcome to the hard edges
the curvier tough
of geranium lengths and tubes
a world figurative in prim
the beginning of earth
its equivalent arrow
or something
masters of evenings in hats
like rocks

Selected as part of the National Poetry Series by Ange Mlinko is Santa Cruz, California poet Juliana Leslie’s second trade poetry collection, Green Is for World (Minneapolis MN: Coffee House Press, 2012), a follow-up to her More Radiant Signal (Chicago IL: Letter Machine Editions, 2010). Throughout the collection, Leslie continues her fascination with colour, with tight lyrics and the occasional prose poem, and an articulation of the boiled-down essence of abstract things, mapping the less-explained. As she writes in the piece “Poem with Moveable Parts”: “democracy sends its flowers / into space / and space waits / to be covered gently / by paper.” According to some of the press clippings that come with the book, this collection corresponded with the beginnings of her study into the long poem. The blog of the Poetry Foundation, Harriet, reposted an article on Leslie from the UC Humanities Forum at UCSC, that includes: “In 2010 Lettermachine published Leslie’s 83-page More Radiant Signal, a collection of poems she worked on from 2001-2007. The poems in Green were completed in 2008-2011, the years she began her study of the long poem. For Leslie, the divide between a critical study of a poem and the way it can influence her creative work is blurry.” As Leslie includes in her “Author Statement”:

In the process of writing the longer works, I relied on source texts such as William Carlos Williams’ Paterson, Hugh Kenner’s The Pound Era, and Norman O. Brown’s Apocalypse and/or Metamorphosis. These texts describe and witness in various ways how the process of writing in a lyric mode is difficult without acknowledging the modes of historical consciousness and understanding that emerge in the twentieth century. As a result of studying the long poem for my dissertation research, I have also found it impossible not to write poetry without acknowledging these transformations. As a result, the technique I used to capture these tensions and pressures was collage, which is probably most notable in “The Age of Parts.” While the rhetorical effects of collage usually produce contradictions and juxtapositions across lines and convey instability and collapse, I am also interested in collage as a kind of visionary or metamorphic medium. The modernist practice of collage at its inception registered the contradictory status of knowledge and the emergent status of poetry as a way of relating to and understanding how the world is put together. I use this technique to speak back to a world that seems to be persistently in ruins and an effort to show how these ruins are generative and enabling.

Leslie’s poems have a lovely, meditative edge slipped in, composing poems that meander with purpose, and a narrative “I” that floats in and out of authority. Sometimes the “I” is as an anchor, and other times, simply a point in the centre for the poem to swirl around. There are some intriguing moments, including her repetition of the word “shipwreck” a couple of times throughout, or her centre that shifts (as in the poem “Something about Finches”) into “An X in the center laughing.” Green Is for World does include some longer sequences, including “That Obscure Coincidence of Feeling,” “Margaret Fuller,” “My Name Is Helen” and “The Age of Parts,” that opens:

There were deeper colors
more flexible wool
I chorused beneath
I begged each zipper
in each Virginia
I said
I am sorry
No one smiles in a diver’s throat
No one looks out from the inside
and asks, am I calling
Is this the place
a pilot beacons?
My good intentions rain
in buckets from a dome

*

The shift from smaller, individual poems into the occasional sequence is an interesting one, and one that could easily have come with an increased confidence as much as her dissertation research into the long poem. The intricate smallness of her poems don’t necessarily shift, but in sequences, the smallness increases, allowing moments to lengthen, and small moments to become smaller, and more formed, allowing the sequence to hold into a shape far more complex than her previous structures had allowed.

One of the finest poems in the collection has to be the sequence “Margaret Fuller,” ostensibly a poem on Sarah Margaret Fuller Ossoli otherwise known as “Margaret Fuller” (1810-1850), an American journalist, critic, and women's rights advocate associated with the American transcendentalism movement. Apart from the pure pleasure of language, sound and movement through the ten-part sequence, the poem is a highlight simply for the way Leslie incorporates ideas and abstracts as opposed to pure biographical facts, as so many other poems on historical figures insist upon. If nothing else in the entire work, Leslie should be applauded for such a magnificent poem. The first section reads:

I am that stranger
walking through

kitchen dust and pots
Please pledge your vivid

and your terse
your bold and nervous

humble acts and propositions
You may call me a woman

of modest steam in her time
I am printed matter

I am almost a sonnet
and hitherto defended

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Juliana Leslie, More Radiant Signal


Green's Function

Read the pictorial sunset moving backwards. Place the subject in her boat. Address the hand as it leaves the body. Consider the necessary element of surprise in the painting, the lack of similitude before you temper the definition. Say goodbye carnelian. Swallow the whole country if you can, the whole egg about to unfold. Consider salt as currency and meanwhile or further intuit the sun one letter at a time. Consider the falling viceroy, his plum shirt, the quiet signature you make in the sand, the glass, the inkwell, the mind alike in one mouth, the humble boy, his leafcutters, the bottom falls out.
Juliana Leslie's first trade poetry collection, More Radiant Signal (Chicago IL: Letter Machine Editions, 2010), is an impressive debut collection of taut lyric and prose poems. Her pieces are like small moments, stretched to slow conclusion, exploring the tangible essences of abstract things. Moving effortlessly from line to line, Leslie's poems end up in odd, considered places. A radiant signal indeed, furthering all else it brings.
Unknown Quantity

How many ways to exist?
I don't have a pencil
as if I could write this
I can't even think
You are the textual orange
between presence and absence
Wind in the subtext is my wind
Mom is in the alphabet
Simultaneously all of the gesture
you ever want:
mittens, war and calico
Throughout the collection, Leslie seems to have a fascination with colour, making her More Radiant Signal nearly an entire book on colour, radiant on all sides, such as in the poem “Paul Klee,” “Unknown Quality,” or “Softer More Radiant Signal,” that begins:
Tell me more about
crayons, contingency
and winter fruit
polyamorous structural
locations we know aren't always the best
for human hands anyway
Tell me she is all worn out
from work
and thinking
Unlike her shorter lyric pieces, which make up the bulk of the collection, Leslie's slightly longer poems appear more disjointed and fragmented, suggesting space, writing a series of similar moments to her shorter pieces, further stretched. With so much everything and almost nothing happening, her poems slowly work up to the point, which is not the point. Hers are poems, to tweak Auden's infamous quote, that make nothing happen. How is that even possible?
The Number One is in the Flower

Therefore in her arc is lily like
therefore

Her lights Her hips at a tilt

As figure / she said
in parallel air
and shadow m

The total distance
versus the rings of Saturn

*

We sing in real time before the fire
from a chapter in our book

with leaves in our throats at midnight
fluid vowel a

The number one is in the flower
coiled and unflown

In winter form In movement

In perpetual revolt