Poetry Express: Why Do Some Poems Take Up More Space Than They Should?

The Paris Review emails me a daily poem.  Some of them I get but many of them I don’t.  It’s not that I don’t like poetry but sometimes it seems that people are trying to hard to be obscure or academic.  

Perhaps I’m too plebian. I listen to hip-hop and can find poetry there in the rhythm, placement,   irony, and inventive use of  common memes.  That’s not to say I could make a steady diet of it or that it’s  all so wonderfully poetic.

 I am put off by poems that make use of the empty white space on the page.   Like if there’s some sensation of flight and the words of the poem are placed so as to configure a bird or a plane.  Or maybe a cat figure forms the pattern for word placement. 

Fact is, I don’t need it.  If the image is expressed  , I can imagine the cat myself.  Maybe a different cat, maybe a better one. 

 So in the latest  poem sent to me, there are images of a scorpion.  I’ve seen scorpions. If you say scorpion, I see them in my mind’s eye. I don’t need to see the words slithering (yes, I know scorpions don’t ‘slither’)  on the page as they do in “ Monsoon by Eduardo C. Corral: 

Monsoon by Eduardo C. Corral Issue no. 228 (Spring 2019) Scores                of scorpions                                  honey-bright scorpions                   twist counter-                                        clockwise around my body                                     saw-toothed pincers shred                   my jeans & shirt                                           when I’m stripped completely                   all but two                                        scorpions stop clattering                   they scramble up                                        my left arm & shoulder                   press tack-                                        sharp legs against the arteries                   in my neck                                        I slowly reach for them                      expect a few                                           bloody sparks but instead                   of scorpions                                        my thumb troubles                   two warm letters                                        initials his initials                the scorpions                                        rattle twist clock-                   wise this time                                        saw-toothed pincers cut                   into my skin                                        I refuse I refuse                   to speak his name                                        the scorpions honey-bright                   come to a halt                                     raise their tails a bead of poison                glints on the tip                                     of each stinger the small bones                   in my tongue                                           break it starts                      to rain

Short Storyland: "Witness" by Jamel Brinkley

Jamel Brinkley

Perusing Twitter I saw someone posted a tweet complaining of disappointment endings to short stories.  I thought it was fair insight as I think of the short stories of Ernest Hemingway and some other writers of the genre.  Well, it's not a genre exactly -- well anyway, I found a modern short story in Paris Review that had a good ending.  The title and writer are shown above.  So what's the story?

In its most basic sense, it's about Bernice, Dove, and the narrator.  The narrator is Bernice's sister -- she lives in a tiny New  York City apartment.  Her brother, the narrator and writer presumably, comes from somewhere small to make it in the big city like his sister.  He has to sleep on the couch; there's only one bedroom of course.   Narrator can't find a job, not until the end, but that's only a side trip.  

The basic theme of the story is that brother and sister get alone just fine until Bernice meets a "dude" named Dove who hustles  a living as a DJ.  Bernice is a bit frivolous, given over to following her impulses.  Dove has a certain kind of mouth move that appeals to her and she marries him.  Yeah, that makes three in a tiny NYC apartment. 

Okay so,  if this short story is any indication, Jamel Brinkley is a talented writer who can get into your head with his internal reckonings.  He and his sister love and understand each other in a kind of intimate Frannie and Zoey way, with lots of inside humor, and crackling wit.  

Narrator looks down on Dove and with some reason. He's a vapid shallow character who doesn't have the depth of understanding that Bernice needs.   You do wonder why she married him.  The only thing I can figure is that she's a bit loose in her associations, and maybe she's become desperate to marry.  She has some kind of illness which comes into play later.   Tiny apartment also  plays a part as the writer/narrator reviles poor Dove every chance he gets.

What makes it particularly sad is the Dove is the kind of guy who sometimes doesn't understand he's being whipped.   Narrator seems to think that perhaps he's not whipping Dove hard enough to make an impression.  Narrator exhibits a persistent and increasing cruelty to Dove right up to the end of the story when Bernice becomes ill and dies. 

It's only at that point that Dove understands how deeply reviled he is, not only by the narrator/writer, but also by the mother of Bernice and her brother.  

The mother appears only intermittently;  there's no mention of a father.   I get the impression of a hard childhood somewhere far uptown.  I'm guessing her irrationality, wild accusations, and need to blame someone for her daughter's death serves to explain narrator/writer's cruel streak but who knows?

There's a slight racial component to the story but it's not preachy or didactic and it's really not about that so much as it is about who the main characters are, what they think, what they feel.  

Okay so back to the tweet about insufficient unsatisfying endings.  This one has Dove not going to Bernice's funeral.  There's a final encounter where narrator/writer "reaches out" to Dove, inviting him back to the apartment to get his crates of vinyl records.  

There's no great battle climax and that's to the good, just the  steady quiet decline of relationships that should have been better from the get-go and gradually got worse. 

First They Come for the Symbols: Fight over Columbus Statue in South Philly's Marconi Park

The Antifa Taliban who are everywhere shouting at the top of their lungs for the defunding of police departments should take a look at South Philadelphia where two groups of demonstrators clashed over a statue of Christopher Columbus who sailed  for Spain and made a pathway to the New World. 

The city of Philadelphia had already taken down a statue of former mayor Frank Rizzo, a staunch and strong-armed law and order man.   Columbus statues were recently toppled or taken down in Camden, NJ and in Wilmington, Delaware.  Now there were protestors demanding that the Christopher Columbus statue in South Philadelphia’s Marconi Park     be taken down.

 Only problem was that surrounding the statue was a determined crowd of  South Philadelphians who   want to keep the statue where it has been for decades. When the anti-Columbus crowd grew increasingly frustrated at not being able to get near enough to topple the statue or vandalize it, they  surged forward and were met with. . . well, shell I say overzealous indignation? 

Yes, well a few of the antifa-BLM demonstrators did get roughed up, none badly, perhaps a bit of South Philly detuning.  The news here is not protest but that there were present at Marconi Park an alleged forty police officers who, following directives from on high,  did not interfere with the rude exchange of opinion. 

   There was one chubby fellow crying that the police “did nothing” and “should have helped us” and so forth.  There was a young female college student who also testified to the lack of action on the part of the police.  But while Columbus’ defenders were as angry  and vocal as the madding crowd, it was a minor dustup. The conflict was about  as   vigorous as a schoolyard fight amongst third graders. 

Still, this nameless naïve person whom shall be referred to as “Chubby Boy” or perhaps “Chubby White Nerd” was absolutely astonished he got the bum’s rush by a Columbus defender.  He should really bring his outrage to the mayors of at least a dozen cities who are calling or taking calls for  the abolishment and/or “defunding” of police departments a la CHAZ – the Seattle looney-bin acreage where cops abandoned their precinct under orders from the Seattle Mayor Jenny Durkan.  The message of the official panderers like Durkan is “don’t escalate” and those were the orders also given by some unnamed official in Philadelphia. But apparently following even those instructions, the after-market quarterbacking resulted in one police leader being fired. 

The hypocrisy is fairly typical of the “defund” crowd.  They don’t support police until they need them. And when someone else does need them they do their best to hinder officers from doing their job. 

Yes, we know there are some bad actors among   police ranks but overall those are statistically insignificant. Most American cops are good-willing, of good characters, and devoted to keeping people like Chubby Boy (mentioned above) safe.   Anyone who doesn't understand this should try their antics and complaints in other countries -- Argentina, Russia maybe? See what happens when you throw bricks or paint on a cop.

Surprising as it may be, there are still people with a deeper understanding of the unusual challenges and hurdles police face today .  

You can read about those people and other news here: https://6abc.cm/2YCK2jy