~JENDI
REITER~
AMY
MECKLER:
WHAT
ALL
THE SLEEPING
IS
FOR
The voice of these poems is intimate
but avoids the emotional
turbulence of "confessional" poetry.
The narrator inhabits
the world of the poems without dominating
it . . . .
Stillness and light are the words that come to
mind when describing Amy Meckler's first book of poetry, What
All the Sleeping Is For (winner of the 2002 Defined Providence Poetry
Book Competition). Stillness, because the verses unfold at a measured
pace like the natural processes that are Meckler's defining themes: pregnancy,
the seasons, lovers' alternating cycles of
separation and reconnection. Light, not in the sense of "light verse"
(with its derogatory hint of "lightweight") but a light touch, a technique
so unobtrusive that its sophistication may go unappreciated at first sight.
The voice of these poems is intimate but avoids
the emotional turbulence of "confessional" poetry. The narrator inhabits
the world of the poems without dominating it, telling her own stories and
those of friends and family members with the same empathy and clarity of
observation.
Meckler writes straightforward narrative free
verse, sometimes coupled with slant-rhymes and internal assonances that
spring out when the poems are read aloud. For instance, in "Perspectives,"
the repeated sounds that twine through the poem create a harmony that shows
the strength of the lovers' relationship despite arguments and fears of
abandonment. That reassurance is not easy or definitive, but rather
a leap of faith that must be periodically reaffirmed.
Many of these brief poems work as extended
metaphors, in which a seemingly prosaic scene is suddenly shown to reflect
a highly charged personal truth. The stakes are far higher than you
realized at the beginning, when the poem innocently invited you into the
game. Among the strongest of these are "Bridge Half Gone," "The Thing
I Wanted to Say," and "Bad Timing." The shift occurs so deftly, the
emotional trap is sprung so quickly, that the reader looks back bewildered
and vulnerable, looking for the hinge on which it turned. How did
we get from a subway ride to a father's love and loss? From tea-time
to seduction? As Meckler describes it in "Slipping Glimpser":
The quick flinch,
late
turn of the
head. Vapor,
glint of speck.
Sun on frog's
glassy eye,
for example. The moment
you can't have
back. One word
not heard at
the crook of a confession."
In "Bad Timing," the opening image of a train
just missed becomes a symbol of a failed relationship with a lover.
The theme is emphasized by the use of slant-rhyme, which unfortunately
stumbles in the penultimate verse: light/fated is stretching the definition
of a slant-rhyme, and Jetway/appeared just doesn't sound like one at all.
I shift from
hip to hip awaiting the next train.
Familiar failure
of tin and bone
how doors slid
shut as I approached
and my arm would
not reach
to part them,
fearing amputation.
You came to
mind, the motion
of your empty
track I waited beside,
dial tone, your
new queen bed
where we made
a little noise
we mistook for
chants or vows.
I knew before
you how brittle
we would grow
inside that rattle.
Similarly, in "Bridge Half Gone," repair work
on the Williamsburg Bridge between Brooklyn and Manhattan exposes the fault
lines in a relationship. To her lover, who lives next to the 24-hour
din of the construction work, the speaker jests, "You're only in my bed
/ to get some sleep, aren't you?" But later lines reveal that it's
no joke:
In my own bed,
you push me
as far away
as you can.
Balled in your
pod, you sleep
as if there
is no one
just outside
your walls
taking herself
apart.
Meckler's technique of pairing scenes is used
to powerful effect in "The Next Day," in which the story of a child saved
from charging rams by her father and sister segues into a date rape where
there was no one to rescue her. In contrast to the extended description
of the rams' onslaught, which has the slow-motion weight of nightmares,
the sexual assault is revealed only in staccato sentence fragments: "Backfire
beyond the garbage alley beating through / the shut window in my apartment.
/ First date. I thought I knew him." Did the earlier incident really
happen, or is it a mythic reinterpretation of events too devastating to
confront directly? The poem's opening words, "I think of myself as
a little girl," leave both interpretations open. Overall, this sure-footed
first collection is a promising start to Meckler's poetic career.
Meckler, Amy. What All the Sleeping
Is For. Fort Montgomery, New York: Defined Providence Press, 2002.
ISBN: 0-967-3495-4-0 $12.95
© by Jendi Reiter
