The “our” of this poem is as huge as can be: it is humanity. The last sentence, though, is jabbed in the reader’s back like a sword as the poet slides one step from the red cape. The first two sentences make a nicely phrased, but not remarkable, set of propositions: murder begins with the ability to perceive the perception of others, and within that murderous world we move like cracked glass. Notice the subtle music: “OB-jects” = “GA-zes,” the proliferations of w’s, the way the ‘e’ and ‘a’ sounds surround the ‘o’ sounds in the last sentence. The language and music are precise, elegant and clean, completely under her control. Then she delivers a poem like this right off the bat. This pushes the already proactive reader-why else come to Carson?-into full proactive-reader mode. As is her habit, she prefaces the book with a finely crafted essay that ranges widely and reads proactively. Before it, she readies the reader like a bull. This is the first poem from Men in the Off Hours. As in “Epitaph: Zion:” Murderous little world once our objects had gazes.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |