and yes it was spreading our legs to
heart ‘ s desire , I was sure ,—
A year of one idea , toward spring –
But an underbrush exploded .
You open its year-long window it doesn ‘ t show much –
Some humans ! drown and
alternately sleep – you drown , toward spring , you sleep
That ‘ s the thing , your neck stretched way past your body
lethal , the stretch –
It ‘ s all happening without witness .
Mothers around the world
Fathers in the economy cafe drink pink cocktails
past noon .
Your computer ‘ s always breaking . You duct-
tape it .
The landscape doesn ‘ t show
itself to you .
There is such a magnificent spacing in the poems of American poet ‘Annah Sobelman, in her second trade poetry collection, In the Bee Latitudes (Berkeley CA: University of California Press, 2012). Sobelman uses punctuation nearly as visual cues, altering a lexicon what of punctuation often is to what it could actually be. Who else would use two commas at the end of a line? Marvellous, really. It’s as though she is aware of punctuation in poetry as a medium unto itself, the space and the sparse and the parse of spacing. One only hopes she reads with the same breaks and spacings her texts display.
In her In the Bee Latitudes, Sobelman utilizes a series of insect-like smallnesses, incorporating sentence and word fragments nearly to the point of collage, reminiscent of Toronto poet a. rawlings’ Wide Slumber for Lepidopterists (Toronto ON: Coach House Books, 2006), or even Toronto poet/publisher Jay MillAr’s magnificent chapbook, Sporadic Growth:being a third season of 26 fungal threads (Vancouver BC: Nomados, 2006). One wonders, what do these fragments work to achieve in their accumulations? Sobelman composes an expansive exploration towards understanding bees, bats and other subjects that she manages to shift into lavish abstracts disguised as poem-essays. Or is it the other way around?
what breaks into
the bitterness this morning
sing the childless
heart-stopping , stop .
what your depression
felt like ,
above water .
i can tell you what it is