So loneliness is not
emptiness,
not an ambushed field,
not Cistercian,
not cloistered
but
concupiscent
so fragile, full,
and open to you remembering,
silverizing
oxygen,
kissing
a little trowel
I keep
down my dress.
Yes I
do want rauwolfia,
jasmine, California poppies,
forget-me-nots, I desire the
raw green
peppercorns
in your noisy toolbox. (“LOS ANGELES →
CONTINENT”)
Writer,
editor and publisher (founder of the chapbook publisher and online journal Tammy)
JoAnna Novak’s second poetry title, after Noirmania (Inside the Castle,
2018), and third published book, is Abeyance, North America (New York/Kingston
NY: After Hours Editions, 2020). Abeyance, North America is constructed
as a suite of five lyric suites: “LOS ANGELES → CONTINENT,” “BOSTON → BOSTON,” “INTERLUDE:
PARADISIAQUE,” “NORTH PACIFIC DRIFT → HOTEL SUITE” and “ABEYANCE → LOFT X.”
Novak’s poems are ripe with a confident and sexy swagger, and there is a meditative
insistence here that is quite compelling, accumulated through her
short-sketched lyrics, one set on top of another. “You are the one I want / and
we will examine it / every day. Horrible / carpeting of illegal white /
trillium and those cats / and prostitutes for / I was game at Thunder / Bay
amethysts and kissing / your cock beautiful.” Her poems articulate movement,
awareness, beauty and consequence, each suite-section shifting from one state
to another, even if there might be little to do obvious difference between those
two states. “Suppose the Virgin River left Zion and replaced / the Harbor.” she
writes, to open the prose-sequence “BOSTON → BOSTON”: “Put the edge of my plan
in a gorge.”
There is a 2018 interview online with Novak, conducted by Sarah Blake for Chicago Review of Books that I found quite interesting. The interview focused, in
part, on some of Novak’s work with formal structure—the Spencerian sonnet, line
breaks and Oulipian structures—specifically within her then-newly-published
poetry debut, Noirmania. The interview reinforces what Abeyance, North America already provides: the awareness that Novak’s structural
considerations are purposeful, as well as highly playful, through a small
collection composed across an ambitious space and conceptually-large canvas. How
does her abeyance, her suspension, spread itself across an entire continent? As
Novak responds as part of that 2018 interview:
I agree that line breaks
and enjambment create magic, for sure, and I love when you can be tugged
between multiples readings of a line. I write prose, too, and so a lot of the
time, when I’m typing a poem, I’m eager to think about the gaps and leaps and
aporias I can create by tabbing or spacing. I like the gulps and caesuras a
poem splattered with white space can have. And then, too, I think working with
the whole page can be an extremely useful editing tool. I’m bolder in what I
excise when I write with a lot of white space. Sometimes I’ll work a draft of a
poem that way and then bring it back to a more controlled form—I like when
language retains that distilled feeling.
No comments:
Post a Comment