Tag Archives: Winter 2013

POSTAGE DUE

postagedueJulie Marie Wade
White Pine Press ($16)

by Julie Babcock

In her debut poetry collection Postage Due, Julie Marie Wade investigates the line between poetry, prose, and ephemera to create a volume that illuminates the complicated interplay of personal memory and desire. Among lined and prose poems, readers can also find postcards and letters the writer has addressed to elementary school friends, enemies, and former role models like Mary Tyler Moore. The various forms highlight tantalizing acts of quasi-autobiographical performance, exploring questions about who affected the author in the past and what she wants to say to them now.

The book’s concept showcases Wade’s talent for writing about larger issues through surprising and personable details. For instance, in “Epiphany,” a poem about the ways in which Truth is often obscured by the strange rules of elementary school education, the poet moves from her own experiences to ask the reader, “Did you ever make a diorama? Perhaps from a shoebox & in the third grade?” Despite the question’s hyper-specificity, Wade knows most readers with a fairly standardized U.S.-based education will answer “yes.” These shared experiences illuminate other, more significant connections about what we are taught, what we experience, and the ways it affects us.

While the forms of the poems are engaging, there are times when the overall effect is less so. The poems work so much with episodic memory details that often the sense of present conflict is lost. “For Anna Shope, Who I Always Hated in High School” begins as an interesting confession about the speaker’s annoyance at Anna’s good grades and, more importantly, about the writer’s obsession with Anna’s looks and ability to get boyfriends. However, as the poem continues, both internal and external conflicts are erased:

We both graduated with 4.0s. You went pre-med, & I became an English major.

Are you a doctor yet? Am I a poet?

I’m not sure how the measure’s made, but I feel sure you’ll make it. And as for me & my weak knees: I’ve been kissed that way I once could only dream.

In many poems, including this one, the speaker relates past problems from a current position of relative privilege, and this perspective makes it difficult to understand what is truly at stake. Because the language is so conversational, this avoidance of current conflict is felt even more acutely, and the poems can frustrate in their lack of resonance.

The postcard poems that appear at various points in the collection create the most direct and affecting confessions, and they are also the poems where the conflicts are least resolved. The postcards to her mother and father, particularly, surprise and evoke a tension that is often pushed away in other poems. The book’s organization into four parts—“Lent,” “Pentecost,” Advent,” and “Epiphany”—adds another layer to the themes of confession and retribution that run throughout. Having also published two books of lyric nonfiction, Wishbone: A Memoir in Fractures (Colgate University Press, 2010) and Small Fires (Sarabande Books, 2011), Wade is clearly interested in experimenting with the line between autobiography and art; we can look forward to reading more from her and to watching her autobiographical performance continue to evolve.

Click here to purchase this book at your local independent bookstore
Purchase this book at your local independent bookstore.
Rain Taxi Online Edition Winter 2013 | © Rain Taxi, Inc. 2013/2014

CAMOUFLAGE FOR THE NEIGHBORHOOD

camouflagefortheneighborhoodLorene Delany-Ullman
Firewheel Editions ($18)

by Steven Wingate

Lorene Delany-Ullman’s Camouflage for the Neighborhood explores a subject of much recent national concern: the effect of militarism upon America, both collectively and in its citizens’ individual psyches. While this territory has been explored by writers such as Kevin Powers (The Yellow Birds), Brian Turner (Here, Bullet), Ben Fountain (Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk), Jehanne Dubrow (Stateside) and Siobhan Fallon (You Know When the Men Are Gone), Delany-Ullman brings to this conversation a prose poet’s eye for the way that many small parts, like individual strokes in a pointillist painting, fit together into a larger canvas.

Camouflage presents a sweeping vision of domestic militarism in America, reaching from Cold War Los Angeles—the epicenter of the military-industrial complex—to our contemporary era with its protestors, over-deployed soldiers, and peculiar blend of blind patriotism and self-doubt. To her credit, Delany-Ullman avoids taking easy political stances on the personal and social histories she examines. It’s not so easy to bemoan weapons when a family has “feasted on venison, bear stew, tender quail” thanks to a grandfather’s gun. Through concise vignettes, the poet builds a world that’s difficult to dismiss because we’ve gotten to know the people in it.

The person we get to know best is Delany-Ullman—or her authorial persona—whose life is steeped in military presence. We see childhood “duck and cover” drills at Cold War schools. We see America pre-Vietnam War, when the country didn’t question its military nature. We see a young woman fated, early on, to date and marry military men: “My Barbie tried to love G.I. Joe. But he had married war.” We see the spillover of violence into the domestic arena, with kids shooting air rifles at each other and partially blinding a homeless man with a paintball gun.

In Delany-Ullman’s vision, domesticity itself is subject to the constant threat of micro-scale military action. I don’t want to call it violence, because it isn’t random or emotional. Instead it’s organized and purposeful: “Sometimes only our dog was in the line of fire.” In the broader theater of the international world, war can break out at any time in any era—in Beirut, in Israel, in the heart of America with a dirty bomb—and the unity of those times and threats knits the components of this work together.

Stylistically, Camouflage for the Neighborhood is a straight-ahead book; its formal approach is classical (typically one flush-left stanza/paragraph per poem) and its language does not seek to dazzle inordinately. Because it is so centered on individual experience, one can read it as an extended lyric essay. It is this very slipperiness that makes Delany-Ullman’s work a notable contribution to the growing literature of American militarism in all its faces—some angry and wrathful, some protective and loving, some adrift but forging ahead nonetheless.

Click here to purchase this book at your local independent bookstore
Purchase this book at your local independent bookstore.
Rain Taxi Online Edition Winter 2013 | © Rain Taxi, Inc. 2013/2014