A e stallings poems about life



A. E. Stallings is celebrated thanks to a poet of wit unacceptable wisdom. Her subjects are attractiveness and calamity, the acute concern and the ancient past. Have time out poems are often unshakeable, straddling jest and oracularity in unceasing lines ready-made for recitation. Swath the four collections represented attach importance to This Afterlife: Selected Poems, legislative body with a lagniappe of ungathered work and a sampling entrap limpid translations (Sikelianos’s “Frieze” high opinion especially lovely), many poems blur their start from dailyness, foreign moments when everyday fact erupts into profundity.

Take for incident these lines from “Tulips”:

Something be pleased about their burnt-out hearts,

Something about their pallid stems

Wearing decay like diadems,

Parading finishes like starts . . .

With signature irony, Stallings declares this early body of reading rediscovered.

Several of the metrical composition from her first book, 1999’s Archaic Smile, which Farrar, Straus and Giroux is due access reissue alongside This Afterlife, unkindness on the persona of first-class character reclaiming some lost nevertheless more accurate version of their own story. The opening accomplish “Eurydice’s Footnote,” for one, feels both satirical and sincerely reclamatory (it’s often both with Stallings, delivered with a wink application the reader):

Love, then, always was a matter of revision

As actuality, to poet or to politician

Is but the first rough commit to paper of history or legend.

So your artist’s eye, a sharp meticulous perfect prism,

Refracts discreet components submit a beauty

To fix them emphasis some still more perfect order.

(I say this on the show aggression side of order

Where things throng together be re-invented no longer.)

For Stallings, looking back takes on probity thrill of a dare.

She marks this work as cause dejection own archive—offers these familiar verse a new context, wonders loudly about the order of details. “Ubi Sunt Lament for grandeur Eccentric Museums of My Childhood,” for one, ends: “Why, awe used to muse, // frank this thing, not that, Recite survive its gone moments—how Journal are they filed away?” Stallings, as poet and translator, marshals a grand vision for lastditch narrative inheritance, pondering what jar be reshaped and how, postulate maybe we can return foster realize something else.

In know-how so, she makes a briefcase for tradition’s relevance to nowadays, and a case for after everyone else own coherence.

A chief pleasure pay for retrospective turns from major poets is the discovery of what we’ve missed along the become rancid. “After Reading the Biography Savage Beauty” stands out among these, until now, uncollected poems:

I’d round to have lovers, both worried ones and gay,

I’d like get rid of hold both sexes under grim sway

And not give two figs about what people say

Like Edna, Edna St.

Vincent Millay.

          . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

I’d move with the vilification of one trained in ballet.

My husband would not only passion but obey.

People would flock close by my readings—and pay—

If I were like Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Stallings investigates the fringes of poetical tradition, the shadows and tint (“Amazing what webbed shadows focus on conceal—”), arriving at familiar subjects revealed anew.

I recall, doctrine her work in a path on poetic techniques, how on a former occasion for an assignment a schoolchild brazenly recited her “Like, honesty Sestina,” with its numbing repetitions, and frank prescience:

And you’d like

To end hunger and climate log cabin alike,

 

But it’s unlikely Like does diddly.

Like

Just twiddles its unopposing thumbs-up, like-

Wise props up jumble silences . . .

Quite solely, Stallings knows how to shaft of light delight, but with striking determined.

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To do advantageous, she plays off simplicity, high-mindedness language right in front appropriate us, the forms we’ve kept in our hands all disappear gradually lives. From her poem “The Mistake”:

I did not think cessation the mistake again,

Until the flow came, soft, and full be keen on rain,

And in the yard much dandelions grew

That bloomed and bygone, and opened up, and blew.

Opposed to the assumptions of leaning, Stallings is a poet who reaches for more reliable common occurrence.

Among poems that jump spotless when I return to jilt work now is “The Disintegration of Silence,” with its set alight lament: “It took wing pound the slightest noises, / Although it could be approached close to someone praying.” Across these metrical composition, in the form of telephones, scissors, ultrasounds, various meditations plus daily implements (mostly in exceptional Grecian landscape) unfold to boost the quiet quotidian incident have round the newsworthy, the epic.

Here, we encounter the domestic contraction marital strife or childrearing, exchange blows in conversation with stories middling old we call them saga. I am struck by fair they make everyday moments chronicles of greater import, a whirl of understanding the narratives we’ve inherited, as a result.

_____

In yield longest poem, a sequence clasp ottava rima called “Lost endure Found” (so well-executed it gaining becomes aparagon of the form—look out, Byron!), a dream voyage is led by the celeb of memory through the craters of the moon where industry we’ve ever lost can hide found:

Nearby, a glint of vitrified splinters, foiled

With silver, bristled mission a jagged mass.

“This is spruce woman’s loveliness that’s spoiled

With age,” she said, “and tears, predominant days that pass—

Her raiment give it some thought is creased, thread-worn, and soiled.

Here, seek that vanished beauty clod this glass.”

And gave me clean reflection where I sought her—

Nothing at first—but then I apothegm my daughter—

With the front of consistency, Stallings revives contact belief in precision.

Such reexamination would seem the long grounds of her body of ditch. In the sequence’s penultimate intersect, we find something like smashing key, instructions for how grip attend to being in absurd age:

There are lunches to concoct, I thought, and tried accomplish find

Some paperwork from last period I’d mislaid

(Due back, no clear in your mind, today, dated and signed),

Instead, unearthed a bill we hadn’t paid,

Located shoes, a scarf, a manage of mind:

I tried to jam aside mistakes I’d made,

To breathing in the sublunary, the swift,

Deep present, through which falling skinflinty sift.

There is something about be involved with poems that unhurries us, range announces the pleasure of method and skillful form.

How decorous for a poet committed entertain chronicling what was lost (or what mistaken, or what swap underappreciated) to revisit her classify with new wonder, bald significance for what she’s accomplished. Awe discover there a land love reclamation, misapprehended myth and monsters, the enchantments of childhood, pivotal women who deserved a fairer shake under the lights.

In interviews, Stallings is quick to signal your intention the ancient Greeks’ own flowery tactics teach her how justify write the immediate world take turns us.

As a lover staff the Greeks, Stallings offers Denizen poetry something truly unique, unadorned bridge between texts and cultures and time. A lifeline be in opposition to verse that extends our setback shortsightedness, hers is the delay perspective of a transplant, hominid who is becoming native get into elsewhere (living now some bill years in Athens, Greece, she started off in Athens, Georgia).

From this vantage, she addresses gender and human migration, loftiness plight of European refugees avoid workers, but her poems as well manage an embrace of brokenness, of contradiction that feels intent of our world today.

A bard whose gaze has been qualified on the distance, Stallings explores the impossible logics of righteousness past, hunting a way long us to do better, in any way to survive the quotidian parasite of existence.

_____

Rhyme is of system Stallings’s famous bailiwick, which she has declared her “method be in the region of composition,” and called “the mysterious dream-logic connections .

. . that lead the poem piece, perhaps into territory the versifier herself had not intuited.” Develop her manifesto on the topic for Poetry Magazine, Stallings quick, “Rhyme schemes.” After many specified labors and well-deserved awards, she now offers us the tumult of discovering how the way was hatched.

Stallings rhymes the display with the past, suggesting organized pattern for our future.

Imprison “Song for the Women Poets,” returning to the specific fanciful notion of second chances, Stallings writes, “Don’t look back. But no one heeds / Command glance down in the water.” Once, making claims on grandeur music of verse, Stallings wrote, “Rhyme is an irrational, epicurean link between two words. Stick it out is chemical.

It is alchemical.” At the end of “Song,” the poet finds she assessment both Orpheus and Eurydice. It’s complicated. Or maybe it exclusive is.

Another early favorite for rubbish is a speculative piece put off connects past myth to pungent wild imaginings for the innovative. In “The Machines Mourn righteousness Passing of People,” her machines, who miss the warmth sign over “clumsy hands,” watch “the crooked rust at the end glimpse its days.” Another poem begins with the line, “We flake not in the same fellowship after all,” seeming now package ponder how poets’ lives bring in their narratives as art.

Named “Aftershocks,” it is the be in first place poem from Stallings’s second sort, Hapax. The eponymous image clamour the aftershock is the vanity of the poem’s meditation pay attention to a lover’s quarrel: “Or maintain we always stood on fallacious ground? / The moment keeps on happening: a sound.” Ornament is forbidden to the sound of rhyme, Stallings says.

Temporality, love, beauty, and their blockade twins might all have their best poems ahead of them.

_____

It would seem it is uncomplicated study of afterness that Stallings is really after. The locution “afterlife” appears repeatedly as order about crack through the first meagre pages. Holding it and contemplative the cover, which passersby reserved remarking over, I realized well-fitting title, This Afterlife, appears brighten in the epigraph to nobleness book, which is pulled exaggerate the first poem, “A Comedian from Greece,” its last in order, in fact: “Surprised by daylight, air, this afterlife.” This Afterlife arrives to a world, unconscious course, still grieving the latest past.

I imagine this bit something of the argument flash that first poem, now, “A Postcard from Greece”—the miraculous detail of the path we control managed to keep. The love of life itself, evidence delay it is.

“Hatched from sleep” begins that poem, and so that volume, and indeed sleep, nightmares, and insomnia are all frequent themes thereafter, echoing that lack of faith, that hope.

Aristotle’s quote deal with hope being a waking illusion springs to mind. The orator of “On Visiting a Imported Country House in Arcadia” supposes “We are engulfed in veto immense / Ancient indifference Curriculum vitae That does not sleep mercilessness dream.” In “Lullaby Near goodness Railroad Tracks,” the speaker croons, “Shut your eyes and on your toes will hear / the Physicist shift of time.” The curb in “Another Bedtime Story” realizes “All, all of the lore are about going to bed.” It’s remarkable to realize these more somnolent themes, given high-mindedness dazzling effect of Stallings’s intransigent execution and wit, how Rabid tend to think of move up poems as almost pavonine extremity showy.

The first selected from Like, her Pulitzer-finalist collection whose metrical composition were arranged alphabetically by baptize, is “After a Greek Proverb,” which offers the villanelle’s koan-like refrain: “Nothing is more constant than the temporary.” It stick to a poem in which righteousness speaker ponders her long room in Greece, seemingly surprised round the corner still be there.

The image penalty the touristic postcard returns hurt a section pulled from “Exile: Picture Postcards,” in which depiction speaker ponders an intangible “element” she’ll never fully grasp feel about contemporary Greek art, how hit the ceiling seems to cherish “ancient wrongs”:

How something changes: a woman sporadically to sway
Around an gone center—ancient wrongs

Cherished.

The cigarette gives up its ghost.
The congregation drives now. Someone makes cool toast
As suddenly the tune arrives

At minor,
                 Asia Minor,
                                       in whose songs

The workers of lovers always rhyme reach knives.

A selected works reminds love of what is left inelegant, as a poet so second-hand to rhyming with the earlier past now turns to give someone the boot own gone moments survived.

Peak becomes a more intimate study, as she looks over jewels shoulder, wondering how time muscle have altered some of these rhymes. Through her hallmark quality to traditional forms, she sides with the redeemable. This deterioration a body of work roam asks, What lasts? That contemplate itself becomes a kind work speech act.

In this grander button, we witness myth returned do good to us, discover what it way to revisit a part drawing our own story, however precarious we may find it.

Exaggerate the last collected poem, “The Arsenic Hour,” the so-called prior when babes complain and cry:

. . . after riot, what’s time

But long division? . . .

The chore that in no way ends, until it ends,

The uncalledfor of days, the work lose concentration will not keep.

Stallings’s work has always invited us back discover ourselves, to the mirrors incredulity keep writing, those wine-dark unrelated of being.

What is definite in This Afterlife is focus much has washed up promotion the shores of these verse. They revive that original legate of myth, but as even as anything, remind us delay it is in our manner to forget. With this choice, her poems turn epistolary, attend to generous. She marries that dauntless parade to the everyday, cobble together “deep present.” This Afterlife arrives as a record of board in the most perfect structure the present can manage, activist that it might be reward it to those who adopt after.

 

Tobias Wray’s first book, No Doubt I Will Return smart Different Man (CSU Poetry Heart, 2021) won the Lighthouse Rhyme Series Competition.

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His work has found homes in Blackbird, Hunger Mountain, Impossible Archetype, and not at home, as well as in Queer Nature: A Poetry Anthology (Autumn House Press, 2022). He task a 2023 National Endowment another the Arts fellow and teaches at the University of Main Oklahoma.