Showing posts with label Marthe Reed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marthe Reed. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 13, 2021

Marthe Reed, deposition | dispossession: Climate Change in the Sundarbans

 

what is expected

a tide moving north then south
south

and north

 

contour
of flood

  

drench

and the memory of drench

It can’t help but feel bittersweet to see American poet Marthe Reed’s [see my obit for her here] posthumous poetry title, deposition | dispossession: Climate Change in the Sundarbans (Berkeley CA: Kelsey Street Press, 2021). deposition | dispossession: Climate Change in the Sundarbans writes on the implications of and erosions prompted by global climate change. Through her book-length poem, Reed focuses her attentions specifically on the Sundarbans, a mangrove stretch across the Bay of Bengal, India, a geography that sits as a particular canary in a coal mine around results of such global catastrophe. “when the stories are forgotten,” she writes at one point, “the river remains [.]” There is an enormous amount of research and other material that holds this collection together, set as a kind of lyric sketchbook of her findings, in a lyric propelled by space and sound and carefully-placed everything, offering a highly-crafted array of narrative flashpoints.

Gangetic    side-
swimming

“extreme
ecological specialization”—

            river dolphin
           
       upstream

with the tide
relict

lineages counter-
currents

river convergence
           
pools

                    eddies
 
sharp meanders

“blind”
 
in turbid water

river
habitat

light and dark

a habit of
lunar response


Reed’s ecopoetic is packed with enormous amounts of subtle play and interplay, writing the loss of wildlife and population through a poetics of open space, writing out what remains and what has already vanished. She writes a new map filled with holes. “I do not have a reliable map, only proliferating lists, slips of papers, have the Sun- / darbans lie submerged during monsoon, a green revolution, four of six local salt- / tolerant strains of rice no longer extant, rain-fed paddy agriculture /// nothing escapes the tides [.]” She writes of climate dismissal, specifically during the age of Trump, citing White House Press Secretary statements that paint a dark portrait of what might possibly be inevitable. Produced with an introduction by Angela Hume, Reed’s language on and around climate change is one that breaks and even drifts apart; a language impacted physically due to the flood. As Hume offers:

            Reed’s deposition | dispossession grapples with the challenges that climate change poses to the human imagination not through fiction but through poetry, a genre that, [Amitav] Ghost argues, “has long had an intimate relationship with climate events.” One might say that fiction writers and poets alike now face unprecedented conceptual challenges as they attempt to write about the almost unthinkable implications of climate change indicators. But perhaps Ghost is right in suggesting that poetry is well suited to the task, as it is unbeholden to narrative in ways that fiction can be and, moreover, has long been mobilized by poets themselves to convey extreme weather events. Notably, poetry today is wildly various in its trajectories and impacts, not unlike climate change itself, perhaps further contributing to its potential to help humans imagine new environmental realities.
           
Crucially, Reed’s poetry evades narrative. While many things happen in the book—for example, the flood “eats” and species “adapt”—it does not tell a linear story about climate change. Instead, deposition | dispossession attempts to formally attend to and register the nonlinear, cyclical ebb and flow that has long defined the Sundarbans’ ecology: the deposition, or accumulation, of sediment left in the tide’s path, and also the dispossession, or stripping away, of habitat in the flow and flood. As Myung Mi Kim writes in a poetic essay about her own documentary ecopoetics, “The book emerges through cycles of erosion and accretion. Certainly, this description is applicable to Reed’s documentary ecopoetics as well, deposition | dispossession evokes how the Sundarbans’ ebb and flow has always been and simply is, while also naming climate change’s devastating realities […].

 

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

DUSIE : ISSUE 22, kollektiv 9 : for Marthe Reed, curated by elisabeth workman & susana gardner

A while back, I participated in the 9th dusie kollektiv, one of an array of poets self-producing chapbooks composed and published in tribute to the late American poet, editor and publisher Marthe Reed (1958-2018) [see my obituary for her here]. All the participating chapbooks (including mine, produced last year through above/ground press) are now online as free pdfs, which you can very much download

s o m e w h e r e i n t h e c l o u d o r i n b e t w e e n
dusie.org          ISSUE 22         kollektiv 9          
D  U  S  I  E                  ISSN 1661-668  
jessenissim  lauramullen  michaelkalish marthereed   gillianparrish  erintrapp adraraine  johnbloombergrissman bronwentate elisabethworkman julietcook barbaratomash  charlesalexander  jaredhayes  ejmcaddams  eileentabios jonathanskinner  carriehunter  danateenlomax skrave cscarrier annareckin fengsunchen paulacisewski haleylasché  megankaminski kenningjeanpaulgarcia andrewpetersen robmclennan michaelruby aliciacohen margrethekolstadbrekke marklamoureux crischeek  annalenabell susanagardner meganburns
 

Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Ongoing notes: dusie kollektiv 9: Dana Teen Lomax + Juliet Cook



San Quentin CA: Dana Teen Lomax’ THE-IN-BETWEEN opens with a curious quote by Marthe Reed: “To reencounter / the inbetween, / we must learn / not only to resee / but also to / rearticulate that / which is seen, / more complexly, / anew.” I mention curious, because the formatting sets up Lomax’ short chapbook exploration/homage of columns, seventeen pages of sentence-breaths without break, each set as a singular band, and each focusing on a different element of what she wishes to explore or articulate as an example of “the in-between.” As the first poem reads:

the-in-between-o
f-my-foot-and-wh
en-it-hits-the-gro
ound-touches-the-
earth-kisses-it-if-
i-am-being-poeti
c-or-particularly-
cheery-the-effect
-of-the-weight-w
here-i-am-heade
d-and-why-plus-
how-much-energ
y-i-take-to-get-th
ere-and-not-fore
going-the-why,-o
f-course,-and-th
e-towhee-song-t
hat-i-do-not-reco
gnize-busy-as-i-
constantly-am-wi
th-human-concer
ns-along-on-the-
way…-all-this-fro
m-the-Sundarba
ns’-increasingly-
vital-perspective-

OH: Poet and publisher Juliet Cook’s contribution is DARK PURPLE INTERSECTIONS (inside my Black Doll Head Irises) (Blood Pudding Press, 2019), a suite of short poems that move through the meditations and examinations of lyric memoir. The poems in DARK PURPLE INTERSECTIONS seek to explore and understand gestures, decisions and a sense of balance, including prior relationships, stroke recovery, ageing and depression, and the construction of dolls. “I’m tired of being a last resort,” she writes, in the poem “We haven’t talked in years, but suddenly he wants me again,” continuing: “a suicide hot line inside a middle-aged woman’s body, / stuck on repeat.”

He was tired of hearing about my stroke and my poetry.

From whiplash on the back of the bed stand
to nipple piercings in a biohazard bag.

Dismembered brain
waves
like a broken doll hand.



Tuesday, July 16, 2019

Ongoing notes: dusie kollektiv 9: gillian parrish + Carrie Hunter



St. Charles MO: From poet gillian parrish comes cold spell (April 2019), a project, she writes, that began “in January 2015 shelved until January 2019, as other projects kept the roof overhead, as all the while life for our kin in the arctic keeps declining. The work was taken up again in answer to a call from DUSIE for chapbooks by Counter-Desecration anthology contributors written in honor of editor Marthe Reed and her call for work that acknowledges that ‘there is no safe distance,’ work that lives ‘somewhere inbetween self and other, near and distant, paradoxical poles resolving moment-to-moment… Meeting place.’” cold spell focuses its gaze on the north, on the chaos of climate change on the landscape and the wildlife, writing diminishing fragments and a staccato pulse along the path, writing out what has already been lost and what will soon also be lost: “come muskox come / with your curved horns / goat-hooved / nimble come singing / the old cold songs / pack back the ice / press it back in place / cool the world [.]”

Yellow eye for summer, blue for winter. To see at the end of the spectrum, sight sliding into scent. You scry in ultraviolet light; wolf piss and wolf fur, the filigreed lichen named for you, filling the forest floor, ghost corals, branching antlers, luminescent heedless one. Teach us to see in the dark. Knee-clicker, river-runner. You make the track, you are the map, become the drum. Teach us to be eaten. How the body is an offering. Snow-shveler. Forager. How will you feed through the ice? For we’ve made the rain start falling at the wrong time. A bad rain falling like glass. Far-ranger. Fog-bringer. Our old seers climbed the sky inside your skin. Become the drum to stop our dreaming. Trail-maker. Watcher. At the limits of our vision.

San Francisco CA: From Californian poet Carrie Hunter comes The Hyperobjective Marthe Reed (April 2019), a collection of exploratory lyric collages shaped as a single, chapbook-length poem. Throughout the collection, she weaves in a myriad of quotes from John Ashbery’s FLOW CHART: A Poem (Knopf, 1991), as well as from Marthe Reed’s essay, threading a series of observations and questions on mythology, ecology, memory and meaning. Ashbery’s FLOW CHART is constructed as an accumulation, what the Los Angeles Times referred to as “a book-length poem of more than 5,000 long Ashberian lines, which makes it one of the longest poems ever written by an American poet. All of the qualities of Ashbery’s recent poetry are here in amplitude or excess, depending on your point of view.” Hunter extracts from Ashbery’s excess to move in a multitude of directions simultaneously, while pushing a thesis built on accumulation and collage, utilizing as springboard into, around and through her own thoughts on human responsibilities to and around climate disaster. “Who survives is no better than who does not;,” she writes, “it’s just incidental.” Hunter’s is a large canvas here, and I would be curious to know if this project is self-contained in this form, or might become larger (it certainly has that potential). To end the poem “Like Hebe to the Rainbow’s Gauzy Showers,” she writes:

The “wildflowers in the wallpaper.” Taking it more internal than is meant. Not wildflower wallpaper, but a hybrid form of two thing which would never be hybridized.

The Yellow Wallpaper palimpsested over Ashbery’s wildflowers.

“Presto, no one was there.”

Memory of the ecosystem (genitive) collides
with lacunae of the individual.

Another empty room.
What Joan said too.
Ornery purgative exodus.
The father, and disobediences.
An injunction, chamois costume,
what about when it’s really too late.